Reviewed by: Dido, Queen of Carthageby Globe Young Players Miranda Fay Thomas Dido, Queen of CarthagePresented by the Globe Young Playersat the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, Shakespeare’s Globe, London, England. April 9–18, 2015. Directed by Jacqui Somerville. Design by Mia Fiodquist. Music composed by Olly Fox. Musical Direction by Rob Millett. Choreography by Paul Harris. With Guy Amos (Aeneas), Alexander Clarke (Jupiter/Sergestus), Benjamin Clarke (Cupid), Martha Lily Dean (Ganymede/Ilioneus), Isaac Deayton (Achates), Ed Easton (Ascanius/Carthaginian Lord), Brogan Gilbert (Nurse/Carthaginian Lady), Jasmine Jones (Dido), Ben Lynn (Iarbus), Joseph Marshall (Cloanthus), Sekela Nancy Ngamilo (Anna), Yasmin Prince (Juno/Hermes), and Tamla Tutankhamun (Venus). The Sam Wanamaker Playhouse’s (SWP’s) second season closed, as its first season had done, with an effort from the Globe Young Players. Featuring the same cast of young actors as last year’s The Malcontent, this latest offering showed a pleasing level of maturation within the company while still retaining a sense of fun and play, despite the play’s generic expectation of tragedy. Clearly growing in confidence within the intimate, candlelit space of the SWP, the youngsters’ performance of Marlowe’s tragedy was, overall, far more successful than their first endeavor. This was largely due to the direction of Jacqui Somerville, who enabled the young actors to play on their youthfulness rather than trying to hide it. As we awaited the play’s beginning, the usual architecture and lighting of the SWP were augmented by the sight of grape vines creeping up the pillars to the left and right of the stage, indicating a more classical source than that of last year’s satirical comedy. All three stage doors were left ajar, tantalizing the audience’s gaze with glittering things in the dark beyond. The performance itself began with the young cast emerging out of the darkness, attired in the grays of school uniform complimented by more playful materials of silver and sequins. One boy, who we later discovered to be Cupid (Benjamin Clarke), had safety pins arranged in a pattern of wings on the back of his blazer, and a sling shot rather than a bow. The production consciously evoked the idea of a school play, and chose to acknowledge the youth of the actors and use it to their advantage. Seen in this light, the fake moustaches worn by the children were witty rather than twee. The musical instruments, from oboes to trumpets, played by the cast during the opening revealed that, unlike in many a school production, some of these youthful players had talent and nous beyond their years. [End Page 531] The direction by Jacqui Somerville was clever and sensitive, with the actors encouraged to make imaginative use of the space. Music composed by Olly Fox was deployed subtly and aptly, and helped unify the production, with chimes used to accompany the gods and goddesses as they executed their powers. The costumes, designed by Mia Fiodquist, were some of the most consistent seen at the SWP this season, with the Trojans entering in swish half capes, camouflage pants, and caps with feathers. They also had mud on their shins, and there was a sense of touching ambivalence as to whether the earth stains were redolent of the toil the soldiers had endured or the playground scrapes in which the children might have been embroiled. Jasmine Jones and Guy Amos more than justified their casting as Dido and Aeneas. Jones, in particular, had real stage presence as the Queen of Carthage: her regal orange satin gown embellished with shells, beads, and sequins supported her impressive sense of gravitas (Fig.12). Amos too showed increasing maturity in his portrayal of the Trojan hero. Aeneas’s woeful tale of Troy speech (see Marlowe, The Complete Plays, eds. Romany and Lindsey [Penguin, 2003], 2.1.121) is a perfect set piece for a young actor, and clearly written for a rising star capable of staring powerfully into the middle distance. Yet despite their ability to play beyond their years, the chemistry of the two remained enjoyably teenaged. Dido’s line, “I love thee not. / And yet I hate thee not” (3.1.170–71) came across as delightfully...