Review: Twelfth Night, Mix Tape

Gentle breath of yours my sailsMust fill, or else my project fails,Which was to please...The Tempest, ShakespeareIt begins, as all imagination does, in darkness and silence. A door opens at the back of the stage, and we hear footsteps; a single wavering torchlight lights a patch of colour here, an object there. In the middle of the space is a giant pile of clothes, maybe three metres high,