![]() ![]() Their Oberon, all in blue from hairline to hemline, was stiff and unimposing. Looking back, the entire effect was very well done, but at the time, overfull of coursework on medieval texts and a deep disdain for the Victorians, I was livid. The college production had made liberal use of an airbrush, and the fairies emerged onto the stage in gossamer and pastels, looking like the flowers they wear as their namesakes. But at the end of the day, every time, my feelings about the production hinge on the choices it makes about the fairies. At the slightest provocation I’ll go on about staging and delivery – the mistreatment of Hippolyta, the relative likeability of the lovers, the decisions to elide or lean into Shakespeare’s ribald humor. What I know is that I have spent a large portion of my life watching different versions, weighing them against each other and against some prime version that exists only in my head. At this point, if someone told me that I’d been watching Midsummer since I was an overserious child checking VHS out from the library, I would probably believe them. I don’t remember when I first read the play, or what version I saw first. More specifically, I was excited to see their Puck. It wasn’t just passing the time – already, by then, I had a deep love for the play and I was excited to see a new version. I remember that I was visiting a friend, and while she was busy one evening I took myself to her college’s production. The first version of A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream that really made me angry – or, at least, the first one I remember – was from my undergrad.
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