[In the following review of the 2002 Royal Shakespeare Company production of Much Ado about Nothing directed by Gregory Doran, Hemming contends that Doran's interpretation was unable to adequately link the dark and comic aspects of Shakespeare's drama.]

Even Shakespeare's sunniest comedies have dark shadows. In Much Ado About Nothing the focus is on Beatrice and Benedick, the two sceptics whose romance is conducted through denial. But equally important is the contrasting love affair of Claudio and Hero, during which Claudio cruelly and publicly jilts Hero at the altar. What price love here? Little wonder Beatrice and Benedick are so suspicious of it. Gregory Doran's RSC production astutely aims to illuminate this context by setting the play not in 16th-century Messina, but in the Sicily of 1936—the returning soldiers have just conducted Mussolini's campaign in Ethiopia. In the world of The Godfather, the strict codes of honour and revenge make sense; in a country under Fascism, the play's concern with loyalty and betrayal hit home. It's a great idea and the production looks lovely on Stephen Brimson Lewis's evocative, sun-baked set, and yet somehow it doesn't quite convince.

While the programme notes talk about vendettas and the subservient role of women in this machismo-dominated world, you don't feel this oppression on stage, and so you miss the full horror of Hero's impotence. Occasionally the setting really works—when Hero's aged uncle suddenly draws a nasty little knife to threaten Claudio, for instance, then you feel the brooding violence that otherwise is largely absent. Elsewhere, there is a slight uncertainty about the staging, which often leads to performers telegraphing the subtext. Margaret, Hero's attendant, is a woman of lax morals—so here she sits with her legs wide apart. Don Pedro can't get a wife and here it's clear that he is really gay—an interesting idea, in this macho setting, but Clive Wood's performance is so wildly camp that it loses all subtlety.

The comedy too is often rather stilted. The eavesdropping scenes are funny, but marred by overplaying. It is a nice touch, for instance, for Hero (Kirsten Parker) and Ursula (Noma Dumezweni) to hose down the screen of creepers behind which Beatrice is hiding, but the gag is rather spoiled by overdoing it. And the whole comic subplot with Dogberry and his watch, always difficult to make funny, doesn't come off at all here.

To be fair, the production does also have some inspired comic touches. Benedick, recovering the morning after the party, drops two Alka Seltzer tablets into his water—then covers the glass to dim the resultant fizz. And the two leads are excellent. Harriet Walter and Nicholas le Prevost make a mature Beatrice and Benedick, which lends pain to their wariness. Walter's Beatrice has a brittle wit, born of experience, and her rage at Hero's fate is palpable. Le Prevost is a superb Benedick: droll, world-weary, and wonderfully gawky in love. He plays his best lines with lovely timing and his attempts to read meaning into Beatrice's curt summons into dinner are delightful.

John Hopkins gives a fine performance as the superficial, self-regarding Claudio, and Gary Waldhorn brings expert timing and dignity to the part of Hero's father. And with the big scenes the production comes into its own. Hero's disgrace at the altar is painfully good, and, in a nice detail, the little pageboy is whisked away as the scene turns ugly. This is an attractive staging, full of such thoughtful little touches, and bowled forward by the brilliant energy of the two leads. Yet overall, the production rarely seems to relax enough to release both the comedy and the dark undercurrents of the play and so it misses its potential.