AFTER one or two recent unhappy experiences, a sense not un-akin to dread steals over me when Shakespeare is on the menu. And seeing a neon sign as part of the set as I went into Malvern Theatre, I nearly turned tail there and then.

Luckily, I didn't. This Taming of the Shrew is a delight, snappy, stylish, funny and simply, very professional all round. It comes, fresh as a breath of the briny, from Plymouth, The Theatre Royal's reputation goes before it.

It seems sad to have to say it, but in the light of two other recent Shakespeare productions, I have to: "I hear what you're saying". Director Mark Rosenblatt has drilled into his cast, a first-rate one, respect for the words. They are spoken clearly, there is space around them. How simple, but what a treat.

The Taming presents much opportunity for buffoonery, seized with relish by some directors in the past. Here, the cast rollick with discretion.

The playing is such that we respond personally to the characters. Ross Kemp's Petruchio struts his stuff as Petruchio must, but underneath he is, indeed, a gentleman of Verona.

I fell for Nichola McAuliffe at first appearance, yes, even in toreador pants. I don't think that influences my high regard for her Kate. A little too gentle, perhaps? No, that is the impression left by her exquisite acquiescence in the climatic speech. "Fye, Fye unknit that threat'ning unkind brow". I did.

Taming of the Shrew plays at Malvern's Festival Theatre until Saturday.

Henry Ford