I have been fortunate enough in life so far to have only experienced the gruelling tragedies of life through artistic means rather than personal. And who does tragedy like Shakespeare? The absolute vivaciousness, the raw power of Romeo and Juliet has not tired through age, or worn away or frayed at the edges with the innumerable times the words have been learnt and digested and repeated. Shakespeare’s characters manage to epitomise something of the essence of humanity. In all of its awful, its tragic and its hilarious glory.

For the most part, there was a brilliant chemistry between the actors in this Tomahawk production. Of particular note and causing the most uproar in the audience with their comedic sparring were Mercutio and Benvolio, played by Craig Findley and Zakkai Goriely respectively. A wonderful drunk scene catching the pair singing and stumbling around the Veronese streets early in the morning was followed by that head jarring wake up call we all know and love - the morning after the night before (one slightly updated with the addition of Beroca - I wonder what the Shakespearian equivalent was?) The chemistry between this pair perhaps upstaged that of Romeo and Juliet (Billy Morton and Chloe Orrock) who, despite extensive snogging and excellent acting, never quite achieved the sexual chemistry that I imagine Shakespeare had intended. Though bearing in mind the children in the audience, this was possibly a good thing.

Although Shakespeare’s words are enough in themselves it was the physicality of the actors that made this play fly. We got music (Francisco Vera), dance, a hilariously decrepit nurse (Barbara Denton) and a multitude of fight scenes; the tight choreography and stage direction leaving not a moment that the audience was not entertained. Ever more, as our language moves further from Shakespeare’s, it can be these gestural aspects that allows these plays to resonate in our present day.

The courtyard provided an atmospheric setting for the proceedings. An outdoor setting on an evening that got progressively colder and more likely to rain mirrored well the impending doom in the plot.

One last important thing to mention is the excellent hospitality of the Oxford Castle staff. Thanks to all of you, you made it a wonderful night!

For the best part of July Tomahawk Theatre's Romeo and Juliet is occupying the courtyard of Oxford Castle, a huge acting space hemmed in on three sides by the grassy motte of 1071, the original wall-tower and the severe stone additions of the 1850s; and how appropriate that the latter was until 1993 used as a prison. For the play shows us a battle between the responsibilities and actions demanded by social institutions – in this case the Prince of Verona's law and order policy and the overwhelming requirement by the city-state's prominent families for their younger generation to toe the line in matters of factional allegiance and marriage - and those demanded by the private desires of the individual. So when our star-crossed lovers met and embraced, the audience could not but note that these massive stone structures were frowning down upon them, seeking to crush their vitality and freedom, reducing them to pawns in the money-and-prestige market.

Director Alex Nicholls has sought to play up the political metaphor of the basic situation by draping a couple of Nazi Party banners on the stone walls and at the white, balustraded dais that forms the entirety of the set, and by kitting out Juliet's suitor Paris (Frazz Jarvis, making the most of a small role) in jackboots and military uniform. Mr Nicholls has also turned the Prince and his spoken exhortations into diktats floating across the evening air in the form of cleverly-distorted and sinister tannoy announcements. A clever idea, although the other fascist references are perhaps not quite pressed home.

Mr Nicholls stages the ball scene with grace, and throughout the actors were encouraged to employ constant movement. covering every square centimetre of the gaping yard, and I thought the transition from the first's half's mix of horseplay and adolescent love to anger and tragedy after the interval was well handled. It's a pity, though, that the setting of the culminating scenes of disastrous misunderstanding and death of Act V within the balustrades of the dais didn't quite make the desired impact; the actors seemed a long way from the audience, the enveloping woodwork concealed the action, and there was a bit of an audibility problem.

Chloe Orrock's Juliet spoke feelingly about her paramour when he was absent, but her representation of passion when they were together was joust a touch tepid, and I thought her way with the Shakespearean blank verse was a shade over-deliberate. Consequently, despite the best efforts of Remi King's Romeo, in frock coat and striped trousers, to stoke up the fires of true love via his rhythmical delivery of the verse, the scenes between the young lovers spluttered rather than crackled. That Mr King had plenty to give was shown by his activity in the street and ball scenes with his Montague companions or the opposing faction, and in the vehemence of his soliloquies he was eminently credible.

Tybalt in a Henley blazer and bow tie was played by Billy Morton as a generalised hothead, almost a yob, but this Prince of Cats perhaps lacked that element of wickedness that might distinguish him from his rivals on the street. But the performance of the night came from Ivo Gruev's Mercutio. This was a man possessed, a coruscating ball of energy and swagger as he roamed the playing area, now joking and declaiming, now wheedling, now threatening. Whether it was by chance or design that seemingly dozens of his young students were in the audience, but there they were, and didn't he just seize the opportunity to amaze them with his quicksilver antics; so while he was on stage the first half atmosphere was electric as the young audience hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. Terrific!

Colin Burnie was excellent in his dual role of Lord Capulet and Friar Laurence. As the former, he went from reasonable parent to a picture of fury as he ranted at his daughter, the focus of his concern switching on a sixpence from her welfare to the much more important matter of his own sense of masculine honour. As the good Friar he was a fount of common sense. In other productions I've seen the Nurse has been a cackling mother hen whereas Polly Mountain's much more interesting reading of her was as a comforting bulwark against the forces of authority.

Our audience of c.165, overwhelmingly of the age group of Romeo and Juliet, sat intent as the sun went down over the motte, the floodlights came on and the shadows lengthened. It was a joy to see so many young people packed in, and Shakespeare here was speaking directly to every one of them over a distance of some 420 years. Tomahawk Theatre with its energy and verve has made this connection sizzle and deserves to play to full houses in the month to come.