Often, we are told tales of devotion set in times we cannot visit, with people we do not understand, where love is delivered in cryptic iambic pentameter. However, Romeo and Juliet by Baked Shakespeare was a rebellious surprise and presents a much more relatable idea of love, where even Juliet can roll a blunt better than you. Their newest production is a much-needed reimagining, grounded in colloquial language, a local perspective, and clever roots in the importance of rehearsals. During the plot, the two lovers meet, get stoned, fall in love, get more stoned, marry, people are murdered, and just before dying, they take the last hit of a bong. All within a couple of hours. But it is the production’s attentive gestures towards subcultures, domestic themes, and honest dialogues that build meaning.

Juliette Rose-Innes, the director and impresario of this historically inflected play, has brought forward a double palimpsest whereby present cultural anecdotes are successfully merged with revised historical undertakings. In her words, “the desire to give them a good show, and keep on building our community” has been at the epicentre of their efforts over many years, where she cheekily explains that perhaps the weed isn’t the gateway drug in this instance, but instead a moment to exhale societal demands in theatre. 

Hosted at The Outlore Base, with its vast, expanding white walls that reach upward to contain the voices of those who inhabit the space and a genuine mission to redefine live performance, the venue encouraged an immersive community experience. Independent vendors encircled the stage, servicing whatever needs an audience member might have had. Whether you wanted your own supply of Mary Jane, a snack to gobble up because you underestimated how the munchies can chew a hole through your stomach, or perhaps a tattoo by local talent to mark the occasion? Even some of the costumes worn throughout the play’s lifespan were available for purchase, stressing how access and visibility can uplift local entrepreneurship. 

Upon entering, you are handed a token at the door and told to cast your vote to determine which two among the cast will indulge in getting baked on stage. Romeo, played by James Stoffberg, and Juliet, effortlessly depicted by Asanda Mngadi, were the audience’s choices. Who better than two lovers destined to die? Five paddles are given out to certain members of the audience before the start of the play. At a moment of their choosing, the owner of said paddle needs only to raise it into the air and shout aloud. Upon this, there is an enforced pause as two bongs gently glide onto the stage, and our lead actors must indulge for our entertainment. Stoffberg and Mngadi never hesitated. Instead, they accepted their fate and smoked to hear the heart flutter. 

As the play begins and the actors soliloquise their roles, the audience waits in anticipation, as only a select few know when judgment must be passed in the form of a paddle-carrying obligation. Stoffberg, Mngadi and the rest of the ensemble carried a modern disposition, not only in their attire but perhaps in their willingness to let go of the foppery associated with depicting institutionalism and its Westernised cultural canon. Mngadi certainly asserted how gendered casting can indeed be a folly mistake, as he carried the length of queer recognition with a corseted bosom. Whilst Stoffberg, in his patchy, cropped denim jacket, portrayed a historically macho character with a soft intent, highlighting a sensitivity to be found in the modern man. 

Benvolio, played by Caleb Swanepoel, held true to his character in a fashion that reflected a masculine understanding of friendship. A devoted and unchanging myrmidon who stood firm beside his lovestruck cousin. Swanepoel carried his role with a firm grip on who his character ought to be to stabilise a modern-day love story. Jason Bailey, who conquered the roles of Friar Laurence and Nurse, provided much-needed anecdotal humour to the bewildering production by breaking through the fourth wall in unexpected moments. Allowing us to squint through the cracks to find laughter. 

Once the exposition of the characters was complete and some time had been given to the seriousness of the dialogue, a paddle was raised by someone smirking. And, judgement had to be passed. The first bong hit, which I imagine really sets the tone for the actors, went smoothly; however, any notion of a historically accurate script went up in a plume of irony. Lady Capulet, Mercutio, Benvolio, Nurse and Friar Lawrence were all aware of how the Devil’s Lettuce makes a stage for improv. This shift in tempo and communal spontaneity, shared by the audience and cast, is why Baked Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is metatheatre. It is a self-aware production thriving on blank verse and audience participation. Rose-Innes explained quite sternly that whichever two of the cast become bait for eager paddles that evening, those who are sober of breath must “hold the structure of the show”. We see this in the tentative gestures given from sober members to those who may have inhaled too much, but also from the audience. Throughout the evening, the cast would break character, but not for lack of professionalism. Instead, sincere eyes bounced between members on stage, where those who were not blazed carried a genuine concern when a lapse in verse took place. Maybe it was the fact that despite the evening being one filled with laughter, three paddles had now been lifted, and the stakes were high. At one moment, Stoffberg began to shed a few tears on stage as he searched for words to finish Romeo’s prose. Yet, the audience fell silent, believing in how one can save themselves when suspended in a moment of hesitation and gratitude. He did. And we were all the more grateful for it. 

The intermission was a haze of those spluttering on the balcony as they coughed from getting too lit, and others who spoke about how the nonchalant dialogue made the production feel relatable in its informality. When asked about this informal effect, the director had this to say: “I think relatability is so important in theatre, especially to bring in audiences who may not be going to many shows. And Shakespeare was the most relatable guy! There’s a reason the world is still obsessed with his plays. But sometimes all the fun and humanness gets academicised out of his work. We’re literally just showing people what’s already there, in our own way”. 

The dramatic script cites lines such as “If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark,” spoken by Ella van der Riet-Field in her role as Mercutio, suggesting that to see love, we must be self-aware in our pursuit of another. Yet, her execution resonated with the absurdity of how bad our aim may be in the pursuit of love. When van der Riet-Field glares with an ensheathed cardboard prop pointed towards the crowd, the words “My naked weapon is out” peeping at the corners of her mouth, she revives a sense of humour left behind in dramatic situations that we often negate amid the seriousness of such theatrical settings. The preposterousness of the scene becomes oddly hilarious and yet more poignant. Both of these lines seemed more approachable because we were laughing. All thanks to the atmosphere Rose-Innes concocted at The Outlore Base. 

As the audience returned to their seats, bloodshot-eyed, we all prepared for what was to come. A few paddles remained, and we were eager to see how the stoned lovers were to die. We knew the story. But, something told us that the dead might giggle when propositioned with love, and Mngadi, our Juliet, and Stoffberg, our Romeo, woke the dead in their laughter, which we shared. Through this production, I was reminded of how metatheatre can sprout discourse; this play recognises subcultures by revelling in the process of representation itself. The performers achieve a layered multiplicity whereby varying perspectives are perceived at once. As the characters are canonised throughout the production, they are simultaneously producing a localized commentary that expedited relatability for us in our seats. The audience chirped in when an opportunity arose, some more than others, and we were invited to forgo our assumptions and be led into a world where subculture breeds its own space through Shakespeare’s score. Costume, plot, stage design, and audience participation formed a connected sense of spectatorship in which our eager consumption became active in its reinterpretation. By utilising recontextualisation as a strategy, the production becomes a symbolic labile tool for remixing themes, symbols, words and practices as a means to legitimise marginalised expression within the heart of Cape Town.  

“In terms of subculture, that just happens. We are a part of so many sects of subculture, and we infuse the show with so much of ourselves that it’s just sort of bound to happen. We also feel like whatever we do, it’s what Shakespeare would have wanted!” 

– Juliette Rose-Innes on the accidental formation of representation. 

After returning for the final evening of this outrageous production at The Outlore Base, I was curious to see how the play might change with different cast members servicing their lungs for our enjoyment. This night, a rather dishevelled Lady Capulet emerged as she attempted to console her daughter, Juliet, whilst hitting the bong alongside her. However, I wonder whether five paddles were indeed too many? Although van der Riet-Field steadied herself throughout the night, one long pause can often turn into an awkward stance where even Friar, Jason Bailey, struggled to save such an inefficacious moment from running longer than anticipated. We never made it to the fifth paddle on the opening night, and this made sense after trying to follow a joke on stage that is shared by two, not by you. 

Stoffberg, our reckless rapscallion, took his chance at sobriety on the final evening with a hearty intent, devising a moonstruck lover who carries the weight of the world with pursed lips teetering on a smile. I am glad to have seen a sober rendition of his role. For Rose-Innes, what came to matter most during this production is “seeing bonds form within the cast”, which was palpable when interactions mix on stage, and genuine care is left behind for us to bear witness to.

So, don’t sigh when you hear about a play where the cast of a Shakespearean tragedy decides to get stoned. The name “Baked Shakespeare”, with slang disguising something more, might draw hesitation, but the vulnerability within laughter can surprise you. Though powerful in image, my feelings of the play were that performance, cast, and ensemble proved to be the truest form of connection amidst the chaos of subcultures, present-day nuances, and tongue-in-cheek romances of modern times. And let that be known, that this theatre group will be a lingering wisp of creativity within our malleable communities in Cape Town.