The disease of finding parallels between periods is endemic among theatrical directors, and John Barton hasn't missed his opportunity in All's Well. His points are made more strongly in the programme than in the production, though. He emphasises the similarity of the inter-generation gulf in the play and that which exists to day; but although it's true that there is a cleavage between the generations, the youngsters showing a firm disregard of their seniors and the old ones finding such an attitude as much puzzling as distressing, this isn't the most "contemporary" thing about the play.

Much more so, to my mind, is the vein of black comedy that reaches its peak in the scene where Parolles is humiliated by his own companions. This scene of sustained cruel mockery finds an exact counterpart in much current writing; The Local Stigmatic, for instance, a curious play of senseless violence done twice at the Royal Court on recent Sundays, comes from the very same drawer. It is this unwontedly realistic quality about All's Well that for me sets it so high among Shakespeare's comedies. It is not about humours or puppets; it is about people.

Although John Barton's production sets the play in the middle of nowhere at no particular time, this realistic quality comes out well, largely owing to the strong performances by Estelle Kohler as Helena and Ian Richardson as Bertram. Critics have been arguing about Helena for centuries: Saint or witch? Miss Kohler answers the question convincingly. She is neither. Or both. She is an ordinary inconsistent person. The old countess (Catherine Lacey) loves her, and she is a shrewd judge. But to take advantage of the unwilling Bertram by asking the King to command him to marry her was a dirty trick, and she knows it. The machinations by which she gets herself into Bertram's bed are dishonest, and she knows that. She is a girl determined to get her own way (you might compare her with Linda in The Pursuit of Love): but she is a nice girl just the same, and it is likely that Bertram will be happy with her, with her pretty monkey face, when the complications are done.

She is best likely to be happy with Bertram, who is devoid of any good quality, and clearly shown to be so in an icily correct performance by Ian Richardson that is as good as anything he has ever done. Shakespeare presumably thought the ending a happy one (unless he only added the tendentious title because he knew most people wouldn't); perhaps he saw Bertram as a kind of Prince Hal, with Parolles serving as his Falstaff, able to reform once his evil genius had been removed.

Parolles is given a characteristic Clive Swift performance that starts off modestly in the inhibiting atmosphere of the court at. Rousillon but blossoms into something much better in his misfortunes at the wars. (I'm not sure that Mr. Swift isn't becoming the slave of some verbal mannerisms, though.) He is neatly seen off whenever he tries conclusions with the elegant Lafeu, a part which suits Brewster Mason like a glove.

Sebastian Shaw plays the King of France with his accustomed dignity, and at the other end of the social scale there are enjoyable performances of Florentine trollops by Natalie Kent (Mariana) and Helen Mirren (Diana).

Timothy O'Brien's set is an important factor in establishing the placeless, timeless, yet positively realistic atmosphere. In the mode popular with the Royal Shakespeare Company, it is set on a small stage superimposed on a main one, at the back of which is an ornamental pavilion. This arrangement concentrates the attention to the centre of the stage where most of the action is located. Period fluctuates between the Elizabethan-style costumes to the Crimean complications of arms-drill performed by the troop because the setting never tries to suggest anything too definite, it allows the characters to impose their own real, human qualities.

The play is undeniably a slow starter, but once it's got rolling it remains, for me at any rate, peculiarly attractive right to the end. This production shows it off as well as could be.