It costs only £5 to stand at the Globe in the area directly in front of the stage and if you are a male you might even get kissed by the Queen of Egypt, no less. There is a downside, however: if Marc Antony catches you, you can expect to be flogged.
The most famous lovers in history are well past their sell-by date; insanely jealous of each other, they kiss away kingdoms. Clive Wood’s old ruffian is at his best when he, very understandably, wants to strangle Cleopatra. The serpent of Old Nile has always had a bad press and Shakespeare, like everybody else, observes her through the biased eyes of Rome, who loathed her because they were frightened of her. There is no indication at all in the play of her intellectual powers, which were considerable. What we are given is almost a parody of sexual obsession, a woman of such infinite variety, that her mood changes minute by minute, and sometimes even in mid-sentence.
Eve Best, following in the footsteps of Sarah Bernhardt, Theda Bara, Claudette Colbert, Vivien Leigh, Margaret Leighton, Janet Suzman, Glenda Jackson, Helen Mirren, Judi Dench, and Mark Rylace (sic), is no Egyptian dish, but very English and very energetic. I never for one moment believed I was watching Cleopatra. I enjoyed Best’s performance most when she was being witty and especially that amusing scene when she was chasing a frightened messenger round the stage. How very different from the home life of our own dear Queen.