Review: Synetic’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream Sleeps on Shakespeare at Olney
The magic of this production is in the small beats that are as fleeting as the pixie dust Puck sprinkles on the lovers.
By D.R. Lewis
July 28, 2025
This review originally appeared in Washington City Paper.
Does story or text make a William Shakespeare play? The Bard, who borrowed liberally from history, literature, and mythology to concoct his plots, would’ve probably said the latter, so it makes sense that the playbill for Synetic Theater’s wordless remounting of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, running at Olney Theatre Center through Aug. 10, is void of his name. But Ben Cunis and Paata Tsikurishvili’s movement-centered adaptation—set to an ethereal electronic score by Konstantine Lortkipanidze—has all the makings of the Midsummer you already know, and if you’re really jonesing for a line or two, you can probably fill in the blanks yourself.
It’s wedding day in Athens for Theseus (Chris Galindo) and Hippolyta (Kim-Anh Aslanian), but a different betrothal sets the wheels of the play in motion when a forlorn Lysander (Tony Amante) makes a last-chance bid for the hand of his love, Hermia (Irinka Kavsadze), who is already promised to Demetrius (Jacob Thompson). Forbidden to marry, they flee to the woods, where equally lusty and mischievous fairies Oberon (Philip Fletcher) and Titania (Rachael Small) reign supreme. As jealousies fester and passions flare, devious sprite Puck (Stella Bunch, outstanding) intervenes, mangling connections and sending mortals and magicals into a frenzy of love, until all return to their proper place and the company joins together to enjoy an evening of theater, naturally.
This Midsummer is at least the sixth iteration Synetic has staged, according to the theater’s website, and remains an exceptionally precise production in rich jewel tones (the set is by Phil Charlwood and Anastasia Rurikov Simes, who also designed the beautiful costumes) and moody hues (lighting design by Andrew F. Griffin). Choreographer Irina Tsikurishvili’s dance sequences run the gamut from ballet to ballroom, spliced with ultra-acrobatic fight scenes arranged by Vato Tsikurishvili. The sheer athleticism required of this Midsummer, and delivered easily by the company who are equally emotive, is itself a feat beyond the challenge of staging such a full story without the text to bolster it.
Even so, there’s an odd phenomenon that occurs when a work of such whimsy is met with the kind of precision required of such a staging. Whereas speech would otherwise be the meter to which the performance keeps time, the performers here must sync themselves to something inorganic and recorded. The illusion of spontaneity that is central to theater as a form, and is foundational to Midsummer as a story, is simply not possible in this setting; among other things, it would pose a safety risk for the kinds of stunts that make the case for this type of movement-based production. While the music and choreography certainly suit the spectacle of the show and often facilitate moving sequences, it’s hard to shake the dissonance nevertheless. The lovers still shuffle quickly through emotions and each other, but invariably hit their mark; the happenstance of Puck’s misguided interventions seem less like magic, and more like fate. This would be easier to digest in a straightforward ballet setting, where the dance and musical scoring are uninterrupted, but in melding movement and music with extended pantomime sequences, it seems a bit strained and off balance.
That imbalance is exacerbated by clowning sequences that, while delightful, overstay their welcome. Impresario Quince (Vato Tsikurishvili again, terrific) and his ragtag acting troupe fumble through two rehearsals for the final play-within-a-play that doubles here as the curtain call. They fall down, take turns donning a daffy wig, and showcase their full arsenal of facial expressions (sweet as pie to tough as leather, far more than all them Barrymores put together). But if Shakespeare intended these asides as short reprieves from the folly of the lovers and fairies, director Paata Tsikurishvili holds on to them as fertile ground for showcasing the kind of physical theater Synetic is known for and doesn’t let go easily. Too much of a good thing—and Irakli Kavsadze’s turn as randy actor-turned-donkey Bottom is a great thing—is still too much.
But that hiccup in pacing is not enough to spoil what is an otherwise engaging and unique experience. It’s not even in those moments of pantomime that the director’s skill, or the capacity of this brand of physical theater to delight and provoke, are most obvious or moving. Rather, the magic is in the small beats that are as fleeting as the pixie dust Puck sprinkles on the lovers: the slow reveal of a whiskey bottle to illustrate Hermia’s reluctance to marry Demetrius; Demetrius’ restoration of Helena’s (Camille Pivetta) fallen bra strap to demonstrate his disinterest in her; the rotation of an oversize leaf blanketing a sleeping Lysander to hide an erection and deepen the palpable sexuality driving each of the young lovers. In a traditional staging, those moments would have likely passed unnoticed under the weight of Shakspeare’s verse, but here they are unforgettable. They hearken back to a time before amplification, before the stories we share were cemented on paper. Despite the lights and the recording and the accouterments of modern stagecraft, there are echoes of something ancient in this kind of staging, too rare in what we see on most stages today. Even through the silliness, it feels unshakably sacred. With only their bodies, a handful of props, and an ever-shifting proximity to each other, the people in Midsummer are both text and the subtext; they are everything, and that is enough.
Synetic Theater’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, adapted by Ben Cunis and Paata Tsikurishvili and directed by Tsikurishvili, runs through Aug. 10 at Olney Theatre Center. olneytheatre.org. $41–$101.
Stella Bunch (Puck) and fairies in Synetic Theater's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" at Olney Theatre Center. Photo Credit: Sarah Straub.