David Tennant is getting very favourable reviews for his portrayal of Berowne in Gregory Doran's production of Love's Labour's Lost. Performances are currently running alongside the RSC production of Hamlet at Stratford until 15th November. Some lovely images here for you courtesy of Ellie Kurtz/RSC and The Evening Standard and a number of reviews. Tickets are sold out but you may want to try and get returns.

The Independent said:

Jonathan Miller notoriously dismissed David Tennant as "the man from Doctor Who" and virtually accused the RSC of selling out to fame when they hired him to play Hamlet.

Miller was left looking foolish on several counts. Tennant's triumphant performance was (and still is) a reminder that this Dr Who is a classically trained actor with two previous seasons in Stratford under his belt. It also exposed the snobbery of supposing that fans of Doctor Who aren't the sort who could ever become fans of Shakespeare.

That fallacy seems even dafter in the light of this latest Tennant-related project – a high-spirited, thoughtful production of Love's Labour's Lost directed with fizz and finesse by Greg Doran. This historically earlier play is a delight, but linguistically it is one of the trickiest of the Bard's comic works.

Wonderfully funny at the fleet-footed wit, the physical clowning and the moment's of real intellectual depth, Tennant portrays Berowne, one of the three young lords who, with the King, take an oath that they will spend three years in study, while foreswearing the company of the opposite sex. Such high-minded abstinence is, of course, entirely against the spirit of comedy, and comeuppance arrives in the shape of the French princess and her ladies.

The Guardian

But Tennant, more than any other actor in this production, shows a capacity to handle Shakespeare's language with sensitivity. At times he falls too easily into the current Stratford habit of joshing the audience and playing off front-row spectators.

But you could hear a pin drop during Berowne's great paean to passion and the power of love over academic study. When Tennant tells us that "Love's feeling is more soft and sensible than are the tender horns of cockled snails", it is with the breathless urgency of a man who sees the image he is describing. And when, at the last, Berowne is enjoined by his lover to spend a year visiting the speechless sick, Tennant displays real shock at the idea one can "move wild laughter in the throat of death". It is a performance that confirms Tennant's Shakespearean status.

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