SOURCE: "Night of Misrule in the Kingdom of Self-love," in The Times Higher Education Supplement, March 14, 1975, p. 17.

The Twelfth Night that has come from Stratford to London is the test of my claim that this is a great era of theatre. Here is the greatest and yet, in some ways, the most difficult of English comedies. And here is a superlative production of it, yet without a name, either of producer or actor, that would pull the public in, yet full of universal, simple joyful competence.

Well, Nicol Williamson is perhaps of star quality, although more like an actor to actors, not ever likely to stop the play with applause on his entry—as audiences used to greet great Larry even in Strindberg: Williamson's knobbly knees, croaking voice, craggy head and sharp theatrical intelligence will not draw fans from afar. For a moment his Malvolio wobbled on the...