Every generation finds a new lens through which to view Much Ado About Nothing, but rarely do we see a transformation as complete as the one we’re discussing today. By trading the hills of Sicily for the shadows of a Prohibition-era speakeasy, our guest has unearthed new layers of queer affection, aristocratic rebellion, and post-war liberation within a 400-year-old text.
She has served as the production's dramaturg, script architect, and leading lady. We’re sitting down with Maira Vandiver to talk about the 'blithe mischief' of 1921 Brooklyn and the art of playing a Beatrice who truly has 'a star danced' under her feet.
Shakespeare’s Messina is often a sun-drenched Sicilian estate. Why was 1921 Brooklyn—specifically a subterranean speakeasy—the perfect 'pressure cooker' for this story’s blend of wit and danger?
As illegal bootleg liquor operations, speakeasies come with an air of danger preloaded. Post-war New York saw an explosion of intellectual and artistic thought in the greater zeitgeist (i.e., the Harlem Renaissance), and these new ideas and modes of expression were largely being circulated at after-hours clubs like Messina, hidden from the law. Add some bootleg gin into the mix and aristocrats with too much time on their hands, and something’s bound to explode.
As the person who edited the script, what was the most difficult cut you had to make to ensure the rhythm of the Jazz Age took precedence over Elizabethan pacing?
Any and all of the verse form speeches that were pared down. I got lucky in that Much Ado is mainly in prose, which is far more rhythmically adaptable than verse from an acting perspective. Some of Leonata’s sections in 4.1 devastated me to cut, but their length and intense emotional honesty don’t read as well in a 1920s context.
1921 was a period of massive social shifting. How did your research into post-war liberation and the underground queer scene of the 20s reshape the stakes of the Hero/Claudio plot?
My most impactful gender swap was actually Borachio, who in our version has become Borachia. Hero, therefore, is accused of cheating on Claudio with a woman instead of a man. This obviously introduces a whole new angle of stigma and dogmatic shame—infidelity is one thing, but Claudio’s perceived emasculation through lesbian infidelity in the wider framework of militaristic homosociality is another.
Beatrice is famously 'born in a merry hour.' How does her legendary wit change when she’s armed with a martini and the cynical edge of a woman living through the Prohibition era?
Beatrice thrives on the kind of Parisian, salon-style intellectualism that was floating around at the time. The raucous lure and taboo nature of lowering inhibitions, the self-expression that emerges from that, and the bold new explorations in art, music and theatre all guide her development and form the context for her freedom of expression and sometimes sardonic tendencies. The overturning of social norms and renewed interest in erudite pursuits of the 1920s couldn’t be better suited for her wit.
In the original, the men return from a vague Italian skirmish. In your version, they return from the trenches of WWI. How does that trauma heighten the need for the 'raucous misbehaviour' we see in the speakeasy?
It adds a layer of avoidance rather than simply pleasure-seeking. The men don’t just need to let loose, but are subconsciously clawing for an escape from years of brutal conflict and repression. We see the consequences of their experiences, trauma, and avoidance play out at the bar, on the stage, and at the tables of this club, but we don’t see what they are hiding from themselves.
How does the transition from soldiers returning from the Great War to revelers in a speakeasy change the chemistry between you and Benedick?
Benedick and Beatrice have a messy backstory in the text (“…Indeed, my lord, he lent [his heart to] me awhile, and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one. Marry, once before he won it of me with false dice…”). With already latent tension and new permission for leisure and flirtation, I think both their conflict and attraction are inevitable. They’re the ultimate enemies/exes to lovers.
You’ve highlighted 'queer affection' as a pillar of this production. How does playing Beatrice within this specific social framework change her resistance to marriage?
This version of Beatrice is a genderqueer (I use this term loosely—she would not have had the language) individual whose real barrier to emotional vulnerability is her fear of being perceived in totality. This is obviously not an unfounded fear—crossdressing and gender play were punishable by law—but she also uses that fear to discount the possibility of experiencing any sort of healthy marriage. Also, I think she just really does dislike the majority of male behaviour patterns in such an inflexibly patriarchal society and can only see herself being with a woman long term (unless a man were to become socially aware of said patriarchal society…hint hint…).
We know Beatrice is a master of the 'sting.' In this world of jazz and liberation, where does her armor crack? What makes this Beatrice cry?
Beatrice finds herself and shines in the nightlife, where she can exist in a space of deviance and androgyny and be admired for it. The dull thud of reality comes in the light of day when she has to confront the reality of being seen as a woman and everything that comes with it (“Oh god that I were a man…”).
How do you turn off the 'Dramaturg' brain and the 'Writer' brain once you step onto the stage as an actor, or do those roles inform your performance in real-time?
That’s the easy part. I’m an actor first, and this level of familiarity with the text and era all becomes great background work for the main event. As much as I love the intricate detail of adaptation and translation, once it comes to getting the story on its feet I’ll only take what serves me and leave the rest.
Shakespearean wit is famously fast. How did you balance the original Elizabethan 'burns' with the snappy, rhythmic slang of the 1920s?
Beatrice and Benedick’s “stichomythia” is already delightfully snappy and needed very little alteration. Some of their longer bits I cut down to make more rapid fire, but it’s remained largely unchanged.
With the focus on 'queer affection,' did you find yourself subtly shifting the pronouns or the subtext of the original text to better fit this 1921 Brooklyn underground?
Yes, 100%! A lot of the jokes about how Beatrice and Benedick are disdainful of the opposite sex land differently, as well as comments on Beatrice’s ‘oddity’, Don Jon’s hatred of Claudio reads more as ill-repressed sexual attraction, and of course, Beatrice’s “Oh god that I were a man” speech becomes poignant in a whole new light.
What would be Beatrice’s 'go-to' drink order at the Messina speakeasy?
Absinthe.
If Beatrice and Benedick were a 1920s celebrity couple, who would they be?
Not necessarily celebrities, but they should be—Claude Cahun and Marcel Moore. Do yourself a favour and spend an afternoon looking at Cahun’s photography. (I’ll attach one of her most famous images, which is a pillar of my Beatrice inspiration.)
What’s one 1920s fashion staple you’re obsessed with for this character?
Celestial motifs! “…But then there was a star danced, and under that was I born…”
What would you hope an audience member takes away from seeing the play?
That identity and affection are infinitely more complex than we think, queerness is an intersectional and political act, and when all seems lost, sometimes the best course of action is to throw a debaucherous party about it.
Much Ado About Nothing runs at Arches Lane Theatre in London from 31st March until 4th April 2026. Tickets are available from https://www.archeslanetheatre.com/muchadoaboutnothingshakespeare
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