Theatre review: 'Lily James's Juliet saves the night'

Telly hunk Richard Madden is a disappointing Romeo in Kenneth Branagh's Romeo and Juliet, but Lily "War and Peace" James delivers the Shakespearean goods

Thank the Bard above for Lily James. You've heard of a damsel in distress. Well, James is the damsel riding to the rescue of a West End production in distress. Romeo and Juliet was supposed to be the big, sexy, surefire winner of Kenneth Branagh's year-long season at the Garrick, pairing the head-turning, fast-rising 27-year-old actress with Scottish heart-throb Richard Madden, 29.

As beautiful as a Botticelli painting, James has captivated millions as the spirited Lady Rose in Downton Abbey, and gleamed brightly too as the vivacious Natasha, heroine of the BBC's recent War and Peace adaptation. As handsome as a Michelangelo statue, Madden is best-known for having played the butch Robb Stark in Game of Thrones and stripped-off for the role of hunky gamekeeper Mellors in Lady Chatterley's Lover.

Together, they were Ella and Prince "Kit" for Branagh's sugary, money-spinning Disney version of Cinderella last year. So is this reunion a casting marriage made in Heaven? It sure sounded that way. Throw Derek Jacobi and Meera Syal into the mix, and what could possibly go awry?

A basic sense of the play mattering, is what. Co-directors Branagh and Rob Ashford set the scene nicely enough: we're transported to a fair Verona that owes much to La Dolce Vita. A monumental piazza - courtesy of designer Christopher Oram - greets the eye: imposing marble pillars, walls and steps, a warm Italianate light pouring in; during the interval, church bells ring out.

There's a lot of collective weeping and wailing to establish the ominous mood, but also a swiftly counterpoised gaiety and coutured sophistication. Little cups of espresso are quaffed at cafe tables, and the early fight scene between Capulets and Montagues is brought to a halt by the gunshot of a prince who looks like a smart Carabinieri officer. So far, so chic.

There's no getting away from it, though: Madden's hero is maddeningly ordinary. He qualifies as an alpha Romeo in appearance, tanned in his white shirt, with T-shirt beneath, and black jeans (later on, a suit and tie). But where's the hormonal passion, the angst, the volatility - and, more importantly, a way with the verse that answers its soaring poetry? Like a dutiful batsman, he keeps hitting the lines with a polite, dull thud without scoring any sixes.

Sir Derek shows everyone how it's done, bringing thoughtful, teasing emphasis to Mercutio's "Queen Mab" speech - but what, actually, is he doing here? He's generations older than his pal Romeo, this refined gent who minces into view, in mock attitude of an old groover, silver-topped cane (sheathing a sword) a-twirl. He might have stepped out of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and there's little sense of a life cruelly cut short when he hobbles off, bleeding to death.

Meera Syal is there to inject some gabbling and bawdy comedy as the Nurse, but struggles to locate the right vein. You feel the creative team were more interested in the picturesque over-view than detailed character-work; often the (trimmed) text is accompanied by stirring recorded strings, as if the sound system has suffered interference from a pirate classical station.

Step forth James. A terrific Desdemona up in Sheffield a few years ago, she delivers the Shakespearean goods, as alluring in her nightie as a latterday Sophia Loren, even if she could afford to lose some of her bosom-heaving, eyelash-fluttering tremulousness. She copes gamely with a bizarre, interpolated jazz-song and an underwhelming balcony scene that places her barely off the ground at all. She possesses the right, credible mixture of infatuation and impulsiveness and, later on, dread as she sups the friar's potion. She makes, nay saves, the night.