Shakespeare purists can be a bit of a nightmare. They want the doublets, the hose, and the stiff declamation of iambic pentameter that sounds more like a lecture than a heartbeat. But then 2016 happened. Specifically, Russell T. Davies happened.
When the BBC announced A Midsummer Night's Dream 2016 as part of the Shakespeare 400 celebrations, people expected a nice, safe television movie. They got a dystopian, technicolor, genre-bending riot instead. It wasn't just another adaptation. It was a statement. Davies, the man who famously resurrected Doctor Who, took the Athenian woods and turned them into a space where magic and fascism collided. It’s weird. It’s loud. Honestly, it’s probably the most fun you’ll ever have watching the Bard.
The World-Building of a Fascist Athens
Most versions of this play start in a vague, "olde worlde" Greece. Not this one. The 2016 production opens in a chilling, militarized state. Theseus isn't just a Duke; he’s a dictator. He wears a sharp, modern uniform that screams authoritarianism. This matters. It sets a high-stakes tone. When Hermia is told she has to marry Demetrius or die, it doesn't feel like an ancient, dusty law. It feels like a contemporary human rights violation.
John Hannah plays Theseus with a cold, simmering menace. It’s a far cry from his more comedic roles. He’s terrifying. Beside him, Eleanor Matsuura’s Hippolyta is literally a prisoner of war, kept in a Hannibal Lecter-style muzzle. It’s dark stuff for a "comedy," but that’s the brilliance of it. By making the court so oppressive, the escape into the woods feels like a genuine relief. It’s a transition from black-and-white tyranny into a world of liquid color and chaos.
The contrast is everything. You have this gray, industrial Athens where everyone marches in step. Then, suddenly, the forest. But it’s not a forest of trees and squirrels. It’s a ruined, magical ecosystem where nature is reclaiming old human architecture. It looks like a dream because it was filmed largely on sets that feel slightly "off" in the best way possible.
Russell T. Davies and the Queer Magic of the Woods
If you know Davies’ work, you know he doesn't do "subtle" when it comes to breaking boundaries. He leans in. Hard. In A Midsummer Night's Dream 2016, the fairy world is explicitly queer and incredibly diverse.
Take the relationship between Titania and Oberon. Usually, they just bicker. Here, Maxine Peake and Nonso Anozie bring a massive, cosmic weight to their spat. Titania isn't just a fairy queen; she’s a force of nature. When she falls in love with Bottom (played by the legendary Matt Lucas), it’s played for laughs, sure, but there’s a genuine, trippy sensuality to it that most BBC productions shy away from.
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The big talking point? The ending.
Davies changed the script. He added a kiss between Titania and Hippolyta. He also suggested a romance between Theseus and... well, let’s just say the lines of desire were blurred. Purists hated it. They claimed it "ruined" the play. But Shakespeare’s comedies were always about the fluidity of identity and the madness of love. All Davies did was update the visual language for a modern audience. It worked because it felt earned. It felt like the characters were finally free of the rigid rules of the Athenian court.
The Casting Masterclass
Let’s talk about the Mechanicals. Usually, the "play within a play" at the end is the part where everyone checks their phones. Not here.
Matt Lucas as Bottom is a stroke of genius. He’s vain, loud, and strangely lovable. But the real MVP might be Bernard Cribbins as Snout. Seeing a veteran of British television bring such warmth to a minor role is a treat. The chemistry between this group of amateur actors feels real. They aren't just caricatures; they’re working-class guys trying to do something beautiful in a world that treats them like dirt.
Then you have Puck. Hiran Abeysekera plays him not as a cute sprite, but as a dangerous, unpredictable creature. He’s physically incredible—leaping, crawling, and vibrating with energy. He’s the engine of the movie. Without a strong Puck, the whole thing falls apart. He keeps the pacing brisk, which is necessary because the movie clocks in at a tight 90 minutes. It flies by.
Visual Effects and the "Doctor Who" Aesthetic
There is a specific look to mid-2010s BBC fantasy. It’s a mix of high-end prosthetic work and slightly dodgy CGI that somehow works perfectly for a fairy tale.
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The fairies in this production don't have wings. They have glowy bits and strange, textured skin. They look like they belong in a bioluminescent rainforest. This visual choice separates the film from the "Tinkerbell" aesthetic that usually plagues Shakespeare. It feels grounded in a weird science-fiction reality.
The cinematography by Sam Care uses a lot of deep blues and vibrant pinks. It’s a saturated palette. It’s designed to pop on a TV screen, which is likely why it’s a favorite for Google Discover even years later. It looks great in a thumbnail. But beyond the marketing, the lighting helps tell the story. The court is lit with harsh, flat fluorescent lights. The woods are lit with what feels like starlight and magic. You don't need the dialogue to tell you where the "good" world is. You can see it.
Why the 2016 Adaptation Matters Now
We’re living in an era of "prestige" Shakespeare. Movies like Joel Coen’s The Tragedy of Macbeth are stunning, but they can be a bit cold. They feel like museum pieces.
A Midsummer Night's Dream 2016 is the opposite. It’s messy. It’s populist. It’s a reminder that Shakespeare was written for the masses, not for academics. It deals with themes that are still screamingly relevant:
- The tension between authoritarian governments and individual freedom.
- The fluid nature of gender and sexual identity.
- The way art (the Mechanicals’ play) can bridge the gap between the powerful and the powerless.
A lot of people think Shakespeare is "boring" because they were forced to read it in a classroom. If you show them this version, they change their minds. It’s got a giant donkey man, a magical civil war, and a rave at the end. What’s not to love?
A Few Things That Might Annoy You
Nothing is perfect. If you’re a scholar, the cuts to the text might hurt. They trimmed a lot to fit the 90-minute runtime. Some of the verse speaking is a bit rushed, lost under the weight of the heavy musical score by Murray Gold (another Doctor Who veteran). Gold’s music is sweeping and cinematic, but sometimes it fights the actors for dominance.
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Also, the CGI for the "energy blasts" used by the fairies is very much of its time. It’s a bit "superhero movie." If you want your Shakespeare to feel organic and earthy, this isn't the version for you. This is Shakespeare for the Marvel generation.
How to Experience it Today
If you’re looking to watch it, it’s often available on BBC iPlayer in the UK or through various streaming rentals like Amazon and Apple in the US. It’s a staple for drama teachers for a reason—it keeps kids awake.
But don't just watch it for the "education." Watch it for the sequence where Titania’s bower is revealed. It’s a masterpiece of production design. Watch it for the final dance. Watch it because it’s one of the few times a director has been brave enough to make the ending of a Shakespeare comedy actually feel like a celebration of love in all its forms, rather than just a tidy wrapping up of plot points.
Actionable Steps for the Shakespeare Curious
If this version sparked an interest, don't stop here. The 2016 production is a gateway drug.
- Compare the Bottoms: Watch the 1999 film version with Kevin Kline to see a completely different, more melancholic take on the character.
- Check the Text: Read the final scene of the play. See how much Davies changed and decide for yourself if it was a "betrayal" or an "evolution."
- Follow the Director: If you liked the "vibe," check out Russell T. Davies’ other work like Years and Years. You’ll see the same fascination with how ordinary people survive in crumbling, authoritarian societies.
- Host a Double Feature: Pair this with the 1935 Max Reinhardt version. It’s old, black and white, and features a young Mickey Rooney as Puck. Seeing how the "special effects" evolved over 80 years is wild.
The 2016 BBC adaptation proved that you can't kill these stories. You can only dress them up in new clothes and hope they still dance. This one doesn't just dance—it raves. It’s a vibrant, essential piece of modern television that reminds us why we’re still talking about a playwright who’s been dead for four centuries. It took a classic and made it feel dangerous again. That's the real magic.