Class Act Theatre’s Final Frontier: The Tempest

In a bittersweet farewell, Class Act Theatre’s final production, The Tempest, reimagines Shakespeare’s swan song as a sci-fi odyssey. Set on a desolate asteroid in deep space, this inventive take on The Tempest blends the Bard’s language with the aesthetics of Star Trek. What follows is a colourful and vibrant portrayal of the classic themes of power and forgiveness delivered with heart and grit by a committed ensemble.

The premise is delightfully absurd: a spaceship from the planet Milan crash-lands on an asteroid, where the crew encounters a bitter Prospero (the rightful Duke Duchess of Milan), a rebellious C3PO-style android Ariel, and a haphazard alien Caliban (notably played by the Director with one day’s notice due to actor illness – no mean feat).

As with any Shakesperean epic, a quick peruse of the Wikipedia summary is key. Lady Prospero is still brooding over being usurped by her brother Antonia. 12 years later,  Prospero conjures a tempest to crash a passing spaceship with Antonio, Alonso of Naples, Alonso’s son Ferdinand, and others. With Ariel’s help, Prospero manufactures a wedding between her daughter, Miranda, and Ferdinand; foils a plot by a bumbling set of drunken crew mates to kill Prospero and take over the android; and hypnotises a duplicitous (and sassy) set of nobles from killing the King.

While there are moments where the show tips into parody, this is balanced by the cast’s unwavering dedication to the text. The production and costume design were modest but effective, with clever use of lighting and sound to evoke each ensemble’s travel across the android. A number of VT and music inclusions detracted from the otherwise stoic and pensive production and could afford to be revised. Overall, the cast’s commitment to the language—never shying away from its complexity—elevates this show beyond moments of novelty.

After thirty years of enriching local stages, Class Act Theatre bows out with a production that is both a tribute to Shakespeare and a testament to the enduring power of community theatre. It’s a strange, starry send-off—and one that reminds us to “Live long and Prospero.”