Director Felix Mortimer said that he never calls his work “immersive” and it crucially isn’t. Ushered around by two chaperons with varying degrees of improvisational ability the audience experiences the story of the murderous couple in short bursts. Several flats on various floors of the building serve as sets for the banquet, murders, fights and plotting. Michael Adams and Sarah Ratheram were the Macbeths on this particular evening and so close up they were particularly captivating. Still, there is something inherently problematic with the way audience and performers interact and how the narrative is driven between the scenes. Clearly separated from the action I was mostly an onlooker but not always, there was an palpable awkwardness about what my role as an audience member was at any given point. Am I supposed to interrupt when someone is being murdered or would that screw up a perfectly planned time table? Gavin Duff’s Banquo and Roseanne Lynch as Lady MacDuff manage to blur the line as their performance aura is more penetrable and their fate so bloody that compassion and shock eradicates all dramaturgical concern.

Alexander Luttley’s flirtatious Porter gives us rare interaction with a fictional character and there is an utterly creepy devised scene by Gruff theatre which should not be spoiled but it feels like it’s straight out of horror film. However, it’s all too brief and doesn’t entirely slot into the rest of the evening. Exploring and roaming is not encouraged and questions to where certain doors lead are blocked rather unceremoniously. I remain contained in the space and controlled in my actions to the point of frustration. After I was placed in front of a telly blaring out lengthy faux news material in a moment of unchaperoned free will I decided on a visit to the loo. It turns out to be bad timing indeed and I missed the tragic Lady Macbeth scene. Tuts and disapproval from the chaperons greet me and I feel guilty for what is essentially a structural weakness of the piece. On every staircase or behind every corner there are Bordurian stage managers and assistants with clipboards not so secretly directing groups of actors from one place to the next. What a logistical effort from cast and crew, sadly not one that convinces entirely. The borscht served at dinner was terrific though, it was red as blood and therefore matched the plan of our murderous couple perfectly.

A note on details in world building: the passport necessary to enter Borduria and which is never referred back to throughout the performance strictly states potassium – or Banana – consumption is not advisable when traveling through the rift, yet the trifle served at dinner contains bananas. Little details like this show that this mammoth project is ultimately a fractured project and instead of emanating new insight these fractures unveil the crumbling substance of the piece itself. The Bordurian substance then, a mostly consistent design reminiscent of the socialist GDR in the 70s, falters behind the drab facades and curtains.

It all has to do with expectations, really. Having experienced the meticulous location detail and research that went into other promenade shows (think Punchdrunk or Signa) this one disappoints. However, it has to be acknowledged that with its aim to be more than just a variation on a theme and actually follow the plot of the play the production has set itself a difficult task.

The tagline of the performance is “Does murder sleep?” and the answer to that is “Yes, very well, thank you.” Why I was made to stay overnight remains a mystery as the main action is all wrapped up by 1 am, no murderous shouts or midnight wandering. I suppose, there’s nothing like being woken up after five hours of sleep, made to climb up seven flights of stairs to stand on a wet East London roof top to witness the fizzled out after pains of a promenade performance. Astonishing clear view over London with a cup of coffee and Bordurian ramblings around me – odd, but definitely an experience. Clearer than anything else in this show is the potential of what could have been.

Newsflash: The war is over, the enemy defeated and the boys are back. It’s Christmas and the Mediterranean Messina is swapped for a British upper-class mansion. The returning soldiers find themselves in Leonato’s home where Beatrice and her cousin Hero greet them. It doesn’t take long for Beatrice to pick a fight with Benedick, an old flame and sworn bachelor. There’s still a spark there when the two of them engage in some verbal duelling, but alas – in this production – it’s not quite right. Garry Summer’s fidgety Benedick is not cocky enough to keep up with feisty Beatrice. Lines that need to stab merely poke and twists that need to surprise only arouse mild interest. Libby Evans’ Beatrice is full of panache and intent but without the right chemistry between the central couple the balance of the play is in danger.

It wouldn’t be too bad if the rest worked but there are just one too many misjudged directorial choices in the piece. Scarlett Clifford plays Hero as verdant debutante with a crush on the young Claudio (Andrew Venning). To have her constantly giggle like a schoolgirl makes the character appear a bit vaporous but in a production of Much Ado it’s always a challenge to make any Hero anything less than a bit of a drag because she’s such a passive character and a play-thing for men’s whims. And it’s true that we do feel for her when she is shamed and breaks down, with only Beatrice rooting for her.

The juicy villain is quickly found in Don John who here is presented as a repressed homosexual and Jack Lewis’ interpretation works well within the setting. To clear away the villainous mess Gordon Rideout and Catherine Nix-Collins are brilliant as the gormless guards Dogberry and Verges tapping into the richness and the humour of the malapropisms. The two might possibly be the best thing about the whole show. Unfortunately when they come to meet with Julian Bird’s starched Leonato, the fun stops.

The overbearing sincerity of long stretches of the production obfuscate moments of real emotional punch. Sometimes the stiff upper lip tone of the chosen setting jars with the dramatic high points. When Claudio shames Hero and consequently Leonato condemns his daughter while she is at his feet sobbing one can’t help but want to tell them to pull themselves together and have a cup of tea to calm their nerves. It’s all a bit like Woodhouse without the wit. Some awkward blocking and laboured motivations for action do the rest.

Zarah Mansouri’s set design is sparse but fittingly so reflecting the post-war austerity of the setting. There is, however, a defiant glamour in the Christmassy hue that’s spread over the production including the rather elegant and gorgeous costume choices, even if the choice of Christmas as a time setting is purely decorative.

This production somehow manages to highlight the weak spots of the original while spoiling its own idea. Although there is a wonderful mime-only scene that provides some Benedick and Beatrice backstory I’m certain that the story would have been somewhat confusing for someone who has never seen the play done before.

Shakespeare’s problem plays are neither comedy or tragedy, and they always feel like a bit of a mixed bag. In Measure for Measure, the Duke of Vienna goes away on leave and entrusts his deputy Angelo with enforcing dormant laws. Barely in office, Angelo begins to rid the city of scum and moral decay. One of the early accused is Claudio, who got his fiancé Julietta pregnant out of wedlock. He is to be beheaded as punishment, and it seems only the pleading of his virgin sister Isabella manages to pierce Angelo’s unrelenting shell. There is a catch, of course; only if she, who is preparing to become a nun, gives herself to Angelo, will he consider releasing the brother. When Isabella goes to tell her brother about the situation, she is sure he will agree that his death will be preferable over such a degrading act. What a surprise – she has to think again.

The story, of course, is so much more intricate than that, and there are secret letter exchanges and disguised friars in abundance. But the main issue stands: the idea that women are regularly sacrificed by men to save themselves, to make a point about frailty and morality or for mere entertainment has not been passed up from Shakespeare’s times.

Today’s level of awareness about various issues – inequality in payment or the normality of female objectification – are only ever slightly raised by such admirable campaigns as SayNoToPageThree. Director Phil Willmott is certainly very aware of how the sexual politics have changed throughout the centuries, but also how some patterns still remain solidly misogynistic. What, then, do you do with a text that essentially uses marriage as punishment for wrongdoers?

How about letting the audience walk straight into a brothel, greet it with the voluptuous Pompeia (Natalie Harman in a strong performance), and seduce it to look right at the debauchery? And why not then lead it away to a court room to be witness to a trial about moral decay? Supported by a partly promenade approach and a gorgeous moving cage-like set structure by Phil Lindley, it’s an innovative use of the space. When it elegantly disperses focus, Miguel Vicente’s light design in particular contributes to that spatial seduction.

Towards the end in a nightclub scene, the production finds some intelligent and visually strong solutions to suggest a shift in power between the sexes. There are other very strong motives evoked by set and costume (Philippa Batt) that place the production in a vaguely fascist society. This comments on a lot of recent issues in the media, and highlights the devastating effects seemingly arbitrary political decisions have on regular people’s lives.

The scope of the production asks a lot of the 14 performers, and sadly they can only partially keep up with the challenge. It is a shame that Daisy Ward’s holier-than-thou Isabella can’t quite carry the weight of that responsibility and struggles to match Paul Critoph’s strong performance of the conflicted enforcer Angelo. From the first moment onwards it is Rikki Lawton who hits the nail of the production right on the head with his cheeky lawyer Lucio. His banter with Nicholas Osmond’s Duke is comedic relief in the more anaemic and laborious stretches of the production.

When cutting down Shakespeare texts it’s always hard to get the balance just right, and so there are some performers you’d just like to see more of. Laura Webb as Juliet, for example, is underused, as is Richard Franklin as the Provost. Dermot Dolan’s constable Elbow, with his richness of malapropisms and his interplay with Brian Eastty, is not as funny as he should be.

If you’re ready to overlook these kind of things it’s an exciting take on Shakespeare that comes with a lot of vision and many things to like about. Deserves seeing.

Silly slapstick, knowing glances and audience interaction make the perfect recipe for light evening entertainment, and these two comedy shows have their random setting cranked up to very high. Unfortunately, bad wigs alone don’t make a good screwball comedy. Having toured the productions for months and months, the English Theatre Company now offer A Bitch of a Hitch and Waiting on Shakespeare on alternating days in this Hoxton venue.

In the Hitchcock piece, a young history teacher gets tangled up in all kinds of dodgy business by following a husky femme fatale (Amy Berry) into a club. What follows is a lengthy string of Hitchcock references (Birds: check, MacGuffin: check, Psycho shower: check) and people running off-stage to change their wig or costume.

The jokes are hit and miss, but in general the problem with the production is certainly not the irreverence of the material, but a fundamental disconnection to the subtleties of the referenced material. You just don’t see the master of suspense ever trying this hard. The performers cannot be blamed, they are throwing themselves into the flimsy material trying to rescue whatever there is, especially Nick Potts, who gives a very physical performance as the teacher who faces villains and shoot-outs. Joshua Stuart Mills plays more characters than fit on an average sized notepad and has impeccable comedic timing.

It’s strange because the ingredients for a funny show are basically there, but it just doesn’t come together as well as it needs to. Ultimately, there is enough material for an entertaining 25 minute show, but stretched out to well over 80 minutes it just gets a bit tedious: an evening with The 39 Steps is certainly to be favoured over this production.

Directed by Christopher Jeffries, the following Shakespearean twist on Waiting for Godot feels more fluid, and there is a great deal more to like about it. A time-travelling thief wakes up in the Globe to mess around with the rehearsals of famous Chamberlain’s Men Will Kempe and Richard Burbage. The two squabble about what show to put on for the Queen and their boss, Shakespeare himself, still hasn’t showed up. As setups go this is again fairly random: why a thief from our time? No one in Waiting on Shakespeare knows, and it’s just not wacky enough not to question its coherence. There is more squabbling and heaps and heaps of references, and a lengthy Hamlet re-enaction with the audience playing key characters.

All of this on its own is mildly amusing, but due to a lack of coherent frame it just seems to be leading nowhere. This kind of show is Reduced Shakespeare Company territory, and they have a much more secure grasp on style and tone to create humour out of a richness of textual references. Clocking in at around 85 minutes the show, has the same flaw as A Bit of A Hitch.

The result is never as suspenseful as Hitchcock or as poignant and funny as Shakespeare which, considering the potential, is a right shame.

Here is the link to the programme page on the BBC website. It was part of a series of events and programmes Patrick Spottiswoode, Globe education director facilitated over a couple of years exploring the relationship of Germany and Shakespeare. Lyn Gardner wrote a lovely piece about the history of Germany’s fascination with Shakespeare and the Globe programme here.

The story of the young Dane contemplating how to take revenge on the uncle who has murdered his father has been done uncountable times by companies throughout the centuries. Contemplating love, madness, suicide, family and politics, it’s a story that can serve as a vehicle for numerous explorations of political and social issues. In this version by director Martin Parr, Hamlet is not given much time to pointlessly ponder his actions.

Turning a play that usually sprawls between two and a half and three hours down to the TV movie-length of 90 minutes is an achievement in itself. This Hamlet zips along rather nicely, and the fact that time is clearly out of joint in this interpretation overall plays to the advantage of the piece.

Only four actors play the most prominent characters in this version, and it is self-referential and witty about the play’s own performance and reception history. When Hamlet addresses the audience almost conversationally right from the beginning, we know that this chamber piece-approach is also aiming to explore motives of theatricality or performances of public personae.

For example, efficient text edits cut right to the core of the “play in the play”, and having Claudius (Liam McKenna in a charismatic performance) give the audience the murdering knave. This elevates the whole section from a mere plot contrivance to make Hamlet see his uncle’s guilt into an eye-opening observation of such human foibles like flattery or guilt and how they relate to our inner demons and fears.

To have both Getrude and Ophelia played by the same actress (Suzanne Marie) opens the door to some very intriguing implications, some of which might be subtly about incestuous urges, others, when Getrude recounts the news of Ophelia’s demise, are played nearly like an out-of-body recollection.

It’s not an abstract meta-Hamlet though, the characters and their motivations are very much the focus. Seeing Hamlet performed on the site of the original Rose Theatre is a special treat, so the set and props are minimal and effective. Rebecca Brower’s design, which is dominated by red strings of light, adds depth to the character’s actions and turns the challenging and confined space of the Rose into an intriguing spectacle. It jars slightly with the chamber theatre approach of the piece, but it is still wonderful to watch how the performers claim the unusual space as their own. The Rose has a great acoustic for a place that’s essentially a little wooden stage with a roof looking out on an excavation site, and in this historically-laden place Shakespeare’s words sound as fresh and crisp as the day they were written.

Jonathan Broadbent’s Hamlet is a soft-spoken and sometimes impish man – a strong performance with a more adult-like approach to the character, which made sense in the overall arc of the story. And Jamie Sheasby, faced with the challenge of being Laertes, Rosenkrantz and the Gravedigger, found some very convincing and entertaining-to-watch nuances.

Not all of what was attempted works though. A card game with poisoned tequila shots never quite reaches the dramatic heights of the sword fight in the original. This is a great Hamlet for Shakespeare new-comers and open-minded connoisseurs. To me it felt like nothing essential was missing from the story, but with its ruthless cuts it is definitely not for people hallowing the original text.