Review: MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane
There’s a moment, halfway through Jamie Lloyd’s Much Ado About Nothing, where Tom Hiddleston - suave, composed, effortlessly cool - finds himself completely buried under an avalanche of pink confetti. He writhes, he flails, he attempts (and fails) to maintain dignity, and the audience, already on the edge of riotous laughter, absolutely loses it.
That’s the show in a nutshell.
After a few years of restrained minimalism, Lloyd is back in full technicolour chaos mode, and thank God for that. This isn’t Shakespeare treated like a precious artifact. It’s Shakespeare like a house party - messy, sweaty, loud, and, crucially, fun.
From the second you step into the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, the atmosphere is different. The pre-show playlist isn’t the usual classical filler - it’s a blast of 90s club bangers, the kind you forgot you knew every lyric to. The audience is already buzzing before the play even starts. Then - boom - we’re off, and for the next few hours, Lloyd drags Shakespeare out of the museum and straight into a neon-lit fever dream.
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| Photo by Marc Brenner |
If Hiddleston’s Benedick is a human peacock, preening and strutting his way through life, then Hayley Atwell’s Beatrice is the one yanking out his feathers. She doesn’t just deliver Beatrice’s wit with precision - she weapons it, slinging insults like a prizefighter who knows she’ll win every round. The two of them bounce off each other like a perfectly choreographed stunt sequence, every jibe laced with an undercurrent of unbearable attraction. They are, in short, ridiculous. And we love them for it.
But Much Ado isn’t just a two-person show, and this cast is stacked.
Mason Alexander Park’s Margaret should, by all rights, have their own spin-off. Every time they appear, the energy shifts as if they’ve just wandered in from a much cooler production and are generously allowing this one to exist alongside them. James Phoon’s Claudio is as frustratingly idiotic as he should be, and Mara Huf’s Hero has more backbone than usual (which makes her public humiliation all the more gut-wrenching).
Meanwhile, Forbes Masson’s Leonato goes from avuncular warmth to devastating heartbreak in a way that makes you want to reach for a drink. And then there’s Tim Steed’s Don John. Traditionally, Don John is a brooding, mustache-twirling villain, all dark glances and barely contained rage. But Steed? Steed goes the other way. He’s hilariously deadpan, as if even he can’t quite believe he’s bothering to be evil. His villainy is less “diabolical mastermind” and more “grumpy man who enjoys ruining dinner parties,” and it works. Every line is delivered with such dry absurdity that it somehow makes him even more menacing.
Lloyd’s approach to staging is bold but never overstuffed. The set is stripped-back, the focus is tight, and yet, somehow, it all feels huge. The secret weapon? Confetti.
It starts small - a few bursts here and there, like punctuation marks. By the second act, it’s a full-on theatrical device, a physical presence in the story. Hiddleston drowns in it. Atwell weaponises it. By the time the show ends, the audience is wearing it. And you just know people will be picking it out of their pockets days later, a tiny, pink reminder of a night when Shakespeare was actually fun.
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| Photo credit: Marc Brenner |
Lloyd has pulled off something rare: a Shakespeare production that feels genuinely alive. It’s fast, fresh, chaotic, and proof that, when handled correctly, the Bard doesn’t need updating - he just needs to be let off the leash.
If you already love Shakespeare, you’ll be giddy. If you don’t, well, you might find yourself humming 90s dance anthems, covered in pink confetti, wondering why you ever thought he was boring in the first place.
Either way, this is what theatre should feel like.
Much Ado About Nothing is at Theatre Royal Drury Lane until 5th
March, and tickets are available here: https://lwtheatres.co.uk/whats-on/much-ado-about-nothing/
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