I fell particularly in love with Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" when I saw it performed in Central Park in New York City — a perfect setting, long ago, outdoors on a summer night, with a bemused William Hurt as a commanding Oberon.
I loved the play not for its thin various plotlines, but for the metaphysical confrontation at its center. Two quarreling couples and a ragtag theater group wander separately into a forest near Athens where they fall into the clutches of the magical beings who live in wild nature: fairies, sprites, indeterminate magical troublemakers and vengeful rulers of the spirit world, whose various dramas parallel those of the mortals they observe. The play exists where the two realms meet, though the harried souls who populate both worlds are so lost in their private agonies and yearnings that they barely care to register the alternate worlds that exist nearby.
The pranks and romantic mishaps are light touches upon the possibilities Shakespeare's great engine of juxtaposition provides. "Midsummer Night's Dream" succeeds not so much for the play it actually is as for the suggestion of all the plays that could take place in this magical forest where mortals and spirits intersect. The key character is Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, who flits from story to story and laughs about what fools these mortals be. The play's most sublime scene offers the possibility that a hapless but vain local garment worker might find himself suddenly bearing a donkey's head and making love to the great Fairy Queen herself in a comfortable flower petal bed while being tended to by winged forest creatures named Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Mustardseed and Moth.