Conceptually for The Winter’s Tale, what else could be more representative of this transatlantic project than Mendes relocating Sicilia and Bohemia to England and the US in the 18th century? In the hands of the Oscar-winning director, the re-imagined locations manage to stave off tackiness. King Leontes’s English-Sicilian court is crippled by jealousy, uncontrollable rage and claustrophobic tragedy. There, time freezes in mourning. America/Bohemia is, by contrast, the land of joy, simplicity and immense opportunities that come in the form of a lost female baby with a head of gold. Cowboys and farm girls dance their day away in the great outdoors.

Without a doubt, it is Simon Russell Beale that delivers the star performance. Beale personates Leontes with a mighty interpretation that has long been lacking in the character. He not only brilliantly embodies the fits and the rage that jealousy entails but is almost apologetic of his own vice. From the start, there is a sense of incompatibility—a short, stout, and aged king versus a tall, slender, young, and beautiful queen—whilst Hermione’s bond with Leontes appears social rather than sexual. Rebecca Hall’s free-spirited and passionate Hermione seems to be better off with Josh Hamilton’s gay Polixenes rather than with Beale’s introverted Leontes. Alienated by his young queen whose head rests on Polixenes’s firm and youthful chest and whose hands gently caress the Bohemian king, Leontes is vulnerable—doomed by his own sense of insecurity and inferiority. The dimmed blue light while Beale delivers his soliloquy well confirms this moment of self-ostracism, of fear that he could lose all. Beale explains jealousy as reactionary—a protective father who strives to keep his family together.

Ironically, Hall’s queen is not entirely faultless, but she proves her innocence with a dramatic tearful breakdown. As for Leontes, by refusing to listen to his courtiers—by the likes of Sinead Cusack’s motherly Paulina and Dakin Matthews’ dutiful Antigonus—and Apollo’s oracle—the latter comes in form of a quill that writes by itself—he lets his ego get the best of him. Et voila! The tragedy is done.

Love—or the thought of losing it—is the driving force of the production. Sadly, there remains the unevenness in interpretation in the way-too-merry second half. Leading the troops is Ethan Hawke's abrasively funny shape-shifting Autolycus. The only criticism would be that if Mendes could not take Leontes for granted, he could definitely have done more to stop his American rodeos from becoming mere representatives of the ‘American dream’.

While I decide whether or not I’m in a giving mood, here are the publicly available facts. Tunnel 228 is a free but limited capacity art-exhibition-cum-theatrical-installation, the result of a collaboration between Punchdrunk, the Old and Young Vic theatres and a selection of contemporary artists. Booking had been open, but kept hush-hush, for four days when The London Paper gave the game away, prompting the remaining slots to book up in a matter of hours.

While I disagree with Matt Trueman’s suggestion that the freesheet’s article invited undeserving participants to the event, for three reasons – a) it smacks uncomfortably of elitism and arbitrary judgments of ‘worthiness’ to experience art; b) the article was an innocuous one on page six that would most likely only have appealed to Punchdrunk fans anyway; and c) his notional ‘deserving’ fans had a four-day headstart – he does make one vital point. Tunnel 228 isn’t meant to be found (i.e. stumbled upon at random); you’re meant to find it (i.e. actively seek it out).

The booking site, disguised behind a tacky frontpage advertising a rail cleaning service, is difficult to find unless you know you’re looking for something (if not exactly what that something will turn out to be). The entrance to the venue is nearly impossible to locate unless you’ve found the website.

Even once you’re inside, there’s no guidance to be had from the stewards: they’re mute unless they’re telling you what you aren’t allowed to do. The onus is on you; on your self-motivated voyage of discovery. Will you attempt to figure out the origin and purpose of the Rube Goldberg machine? Hunt down the man immortalised in mural form on various walls? Seek out all Slinkachu’s miniature dioramas? Or just make it your mission to explore every corner – even the ones you’re not sure you’re allowed in?

That’s all I’m giving you in the way of hints. You’ll thank me if, as Old Vic Artistic Director Kevin hopes, the tunnel reopens in the autumn, and you can experience the thrill of discovery unspoiled.