And one can only imagine what first-nighters back in 1967 made of a meta-theatrical concoction that takes Hamletas a sort of palimpsest upon which are imposed all manner of discussion and debate that one might either classify as cod-Beckett or accept as deeply profound. This has been quite the season, in fact, for defining British plays returning to their original homes – No Man's Land pitched up at Wyndham's (its first West End perch), as did Amadeus at the National's Olivier, where it premiered in 1979. How lovely, too, to encounter it in the same theatre, the Old Vic, where Stoppard's existential vaudeville first announced this banner dramatist to the world. And if Rosencrantz and Guildernstern Are Dead as a play doesn't, in my view, rank with much of its author's extraordinary subsequent output, Leveaux's 50th anniversary revival nonetheless does the text's unbridled energy proud.
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