Brooks Reeves (Robin Starveling), Michael Broadhurst* (Francis Flute), Paul Melendy* (Nick Bottom), Karen MacDonald* (Petra Quince), Alex Leondedis (Snug), and John Kuntz* (Snout). Photo Credit: Nile Scott Studios.

Presented by Commonwealth Shakespeare Company
By William Shakespeare
Directed by Steven Maler
Choreography by John Lam
Featuring: De’Lon Grant, Nora Eschenheimer, Nick Cearley, Paul Melendy, Meghan Carey, Annika Burley, Jaime José Hernandez, Jack Greenberg

July 22 – August 9, 2026
Commonwealth Shakespeare Company
Free on the Boston Common

Critique by Maegan Clearwood

BOSTON — I have been a Shakespeare on the Common groundling since moving to Boston four years ago. Summer after summer, I am drawn to the romanticism of outdoor theater: the quieting transformation from dawn to dusk, the unpredictable interference of the natural world, the crowd of Bostonians from so many walks of life, all gathered on the Commons for an evening of free art.

This year, with Commonwealth Shakespeare Company’s 30th-anniversary production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I was struck by how many elements the production team had to work against. There’s the weather, of course, but also the sky-high steel scaffolding that they erect each year, presumably to rig intricate lighting systems and build tall enough platforms so that far-away spectators can see (inadvertently causing some sight line issues if you are seated closer up front). The result has impressive engineering but is distinctly un-whimsical, so the team is faced with a challenge: how do we bring the lush, dreamy woods of Shakespeare’s romances to life against a backdrop of harsh, metal lines?

This year, CSC artistic director Steven Maler leaned into the industrial backdrop by translating the magical forest into a techno, 90’s-inspired nightclub dreamscape, featuring a multistory light-up heart (scenic design by Amy Rubin). It reminded me of CSC’s production of A Winter’s Tale from only two summers back, which went in a similarly psychedelic pastoral direction, so I’m curious to see other inspirations in future productions.

Novel or not, the nightclub setting is a playful departure from the unforgiving, hierarchical court of Athens, which opens the production in somber greyscale. The multistory scaffolding is used to full effect, with fairies and lovers frequently tumbling from one tier to the next. The standout set piece is a ball pit which, despite trapping the actors in the downstage-right corner for a frustratingly long time, serves as a veritable playground for silly performance choices. 

Sometimes, this silliness is played up at the expense of clear storytelling. This is particularly the case with the Rude Mechanicals, each of whom has an accent or quirk that overshadows their heartfelt, underdog artistic pursuits. Paul Melendy’s Bottom is particularly unfocused, taking a character who usually serves as the heart of the play and turning him into little more than a laughingstock who communicates through comedic bits.

The lovers, meanwhile, do a commendable job of keeping the production grounded in an emotional reality, despite the strangeness of their surroundings. Annika Burley and Meghan Carey as Helena and Hermia are particularly endearing: Their Act Three spat is a highlight, a feat of physical comedy that is driven from visceral heartbreak and desperation. 

The fairies bring the techno rave world to life with light-up capes, neon wigs, and fuzzy hats (costumes by Brooke Stanton and Rachel Padula-Shufelt). Nick Cearley is an energetic, at times menacing Puck, giggling to himself as he flits from one unsuspecting mortal to the next. Nora Eschenheimer stands out as a commanding Titania, whose bedazzled gown and hedonistic desires never take away from her otherworldly regality. Her fairy attendants are equally vibrant and pleasure-seeking, but their ensemble scenes would have benefitted from more ambitious techno choreography (John Lam). 

On our walk back to the train, my friends and I fell into a lively conversation about what it means to pull aesthetic inspiration from nightclub culture, which is indebted to queer, Black, and Latin roots. There were some hints at queerness in the forest, particularly with Puck, whose strappy silver costume nodded to kink subculture, but it’s otherwise lacking. While I wouldn’t go so far as to call the production culturally appropriative, there was a missed opportunity to run away to the woods and discover a fuller spectrum of joyous, neon-colored love.

Still, I count myself lucky to live in a city where Shakespeare on such a massive scale is offered free to the public, one midsummer after the next. 

If you enjoyed this article, please consider making a donation. Every cent earned goes towards the upkeep and continuation of the New England Theatre Geek.