Romeo and Juliet. It’s hard to believe that until director Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 movie, the title roles in Romeo and Juliet were done on stage and on film by mature actors. When the star-crossed lovers are played by age-appropriate performers, as in the Syracuse Shakespeare Festival’s current production at Syracuse University’s Warehouse Theater, 350 W. Fayette St., youthful idealism and raging hormones shade every word.

This effort, featuring appealing youngsters Jeremy Wallace as Romeo and Jo D’Aloisio as Juliet, displays the considerable joys and occasional shortcomings of community-theater Shakespeare. Director Debbie Pearson has her work cut out for her with a large cast that ranges in both age and skills.

The incandescent D’Aloisio, with her clean diction and careful concentration, instinctively connects with the material. As her ardent lover, Wallace may not have an ear for the subtleties of the poetry, but his earnestness carries the day. Together they turn Romeo and Juliet into types we see in high schools all the time. He’s a puppy dog of a kid with a varsity letter and more ardor than intelligence who falls for the glowing, graceful young woman, who—miracle of miracles—reciprocates. In high school life, they live happily ever after—at least until the prom. With a little bit of luck things turn out better for them than for Shakespeare’s iconic teen lovers.

A cast standout is Katie Gibson as the nurse, whose voice and demeanor make us wonder what Katharine Hepburn would have done with the role if she had stepped off her pedestal. Gibson handles the nurse’s nattering comedy with aplomb. There’s a real rapport between her and D’Aloisio; their scenes together have an emotional trueness rare for the community stage.

Adding narrative clarity, Bob Reid gives us an old Capulet who’s much more than a cardboard cutout of the feud-weary father. Although Matt Nilsen as Romeo’s friend Benvolio warms up the more natural rhythms of the verse as the play proceeds, the age difference between him and Wallace’s Romeo is alarming. Rangy Ryan Maness endows Mercutio with an easy grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye, giving an enthusiastic rendering of the Queen Mab speech. By the time of the climatic fight, which is handled well, Mercutio has grown into a sympathetic and believable character. Collin Babcock is a glowering Tybalt, whose very presence exudes the malice of a schoolyard bully.

Without a doubt, the Warehouse Theater imposes considerable limitations. In the tiny narrow space, a group of more than three people becomes a crowd scene. The platform stage is not high enough to provide good sight lines from much of the seating. From the middle of the audience, it seems like scenes played close to the floor are taking place in a pit.

Although it is famously proclaimed as “Two hours traffic on our stage” in the prologue, this nearly uncut version of Romeo and Juliet is considerably longer. This allows for deeper character development, and some interesting details emerge, such as the revelation of the nurse’s first name (Angelica). Still, the show, which clocks in at more than three hours, could do with some trimming.

As to be expected in a community production, there’s great variation in the quality of the performances and the technical acumen in this Romeo and Juliet. What doesn’t waver is the Syracuse Shakespeare Festival’s commitment to the play, and the company’s enthusiasm brings a sweetness to the entire endeavor.

Syracuse Shakespeare Festival scores a real triumph with its casting of two age-appropriate actors in "Romeo and Juliet," Jo D'Aloisio as Juliet, and Jeremy Wallace as Romeo.

I saw the show at Wednesday's rehearsal, and scene after scene with these two youngsters, ably directed by Deborah Pearson, illuminated the play's power and radiance.

In real life, says producer Ronald Bell, both D'Aloisio and Wallace are in high school. Onstage, we see them as 13 or so, somewhere around ninth grade.

D'Aloisio's Juliet, not long out of childhood, is graceful, sunny, spirited and sweet. Romeo is immature, but he's savvy and a good kid. He knows exactly how immature he is, and he knows where he fits in among older cousins and pals like Benvolio (richly portrayed by Matt Nilsen) and Mercutio (Ryan Maness, who catches Mercutio's essence as a wild soul but often loses words by roaring them).

The chance meeting of Romeo and Juliet makes both youngsters simply happy in a way they'd never guessed possible. Nothing showy here: Juliet's smile deepens, and Romeo -- for example, in the marketplace scene -- becomes filled with relaxed purpose and clarity.

As destiny closes in on the two, they both realize that they have to act totally on their own. Since both actors build their roles from the inside, the moves are persuasive.

Just before Juliet takes the sleeping potion, for example, she gives vent to the horrors that are filling her mind. I happened to be sitting three feet away from D'Aloisio at this point, and the whole passage (which easily turns into shrieky melodrama) was realistic and without any feeling of fictionality.

Not all the actors are that skilled. The Festival is community theater, and part of its work is to provide a training ground for beginning actors. There are some stiff line readings and awkward pacings, but minor actors handle their assignments with good stage presence.

Considering the demands of the entire play, it would have made sense to reduce script length, cutting, for example, some of the quibbling jokes and longer speeches.

The principal actors turn in accomplished performances. The pivotal role of the Nurse needs an especially strong actress, and Katie Gibson gives the Nurse a blend of gusto, looniness and ribaldry along with sheer love of Juliet.

In Bob Reid's nuanced handling, Juliet's father is no cartoon, but a talky patriarch whose ego persuades him that everything -- including his daughter's death -- is about him. Appropriately, his wife, Lady Capulet (Kathleen Egloff), conveys worlds of resignation, resolve and grief with very few lines.

Collin Babcock plays a sullen, hate-filled Tybalt, always looking for a fight. Samuel Tamburo's Prince of Verona is a weary politician who wishes his people would learn to behave themselves. Friar Lawrence (John Gross) is an intelligent and compassionate cleric, but Gross sometimes lets the focus trail off toward the end of his lines.

Costumes are Elizabethan, and the simple setting focuses on Juliet's ivy-covered balcony. The stage at Warehouse Theatre is more than a little constricting, but Pearson's staging makes shifting relationships clear.

Let’s face it: No one’s ever going to put this work on the list of Shakespeare’s great comedies. Still, apart from the requisite head-scratching required by the Bard’s grammar, there’s not much deep thought to be wasted at this year’s free Shakespeare-in-the-Park program, the sixth annual summertime treat presented by the Syracuse Shakespeare Festival. If the weather cooperates, the crowds happily sprawled across the huge lawn at Thornden Park’s amphitheater are at liberty to enjoy Shakespeare as the host of a big family party.

Director Jamie Bruno has appropriately staged what is arguably the silliest of Shakespeare’s plays as a sort of Three Stooges extravaganza, shamelessly stealing moves from the playbook of Curly, Larry and Moe, with a little bit of Shemp thrown in for good luck. And why not? Shakespeare did a hefty bit of stealing himself, lifting the plot of The Comedy of Errors from a couple of Roman plays. In turn, Errors has inspired a number of other shows, among them The Boys From Syracuse with its lovely Rodgers and Hart score and badly dated book, and the hip-hop musical The Bomb-itty of Errors, mounted last spring by Syracuse Stage.

Like many of the Bard’s comedies, The Comedy of Errors begins with a shipwreck. Two sets of infant twins, the sons of the merchant Egeon and the sons of his slave, are separated in the confusion. Egeon rescues one of his boys, named Antipholus, and the slave child Dromio, taking them home to that other Syracuse—the one in Sicily. The other two, also named Antipholus and Dromio, end up in Ephesus, where they grow up, somehow maintaining the master-slave relationship. When the Syracusans show up in Ephesus searching for their long-lost siblings, they run afoul of the good citizens of that city—among them the other Antipholus’ formidable wife, Adriana, and her sister Luciana.

At Thornden Park, the pre-show activities take on a Renaissance faire ambience, with actors wandering about the green enthusiastically working the audience. Once on stage, the cast throws itself into the play with wild abandon. Even when jokes occasionally fall flat, the comic bits are executed with such gusto that all is quickly forgiven. Throw around enough pratfalls, nose-twisting and ear-pulling, and some of it is bound to stick.

The Antipholi are not the most likable of Shakespeare’s heroes; they’re just too ready to beat a slave or visit a courtesan. Basil Allen (as the Syracusan) and Gabriel Infantino (from Ephesus) do their best to make each Antipholus sympathetic. Pulling off the neatest trick of the show, they actually manage to look and act like twins, moving easily between wounded confusion and easy caddishness.

As presented here, the Dromios are two sides of a coin. In what is a literal running gag, Matt Nilsen’s Dromio of Syracuse spends most of his time speeding across the stage and across the grass. When he stops to catch a breath and land some of the production’s best gags, he still manages a sunny smile. As the grumpier Dromio of Ephesus, J. Brazill specializes in the irritated slow burn. Threatened with mayhem by his boss, he’s not so much fearful of his master’s wrath as resentful of the effort he has to make to avoid it.

Karis Wiggins’ Adriana is a wife in comic crisis. Understanding that this is not a role calling for subtlety, Wiggins squeals in frustration, her hands moving like an eggbeater, as she pouts, stamps, snorts and sighs with such exquisite histrionics that she makes us wonder what kind of hilarious hell this Punch-and-Judy marriage must be. She’s ably set up by Rachelle Clavin as a comely Luciana, although not enough is made of Antipholus of Syracuse’s seemingly incestuous advances to her.

The indefatigable Binaifer Dabu makes the best possible sense of her wacky conjurer Dr. Pinch, which is to say no sense at all. She’s a delightful barrel of laughs for her five minutes on stage, reminding us that Errors should be truly freewheeling fun detached from any redeeming logic. As the hapless merchant Egeon, Paul Gundersen does yeoman work in the long opening monologue that lays out the sad situation, making the plot clear enough for even the many children in attendance. Alan Stillman also gives able support as the goldsmith Angelo.

Abetted by Karel Blakeley’s simple set of tie-dyed sheets stretched over scaffolds, director Bruno makes good use of the amphitheater’s huge stage, which has proved problematic in previous summers. No problems this year, however. Judging from the gleeful reactions from Thornden Park’s lawn chair-picnic basket bunch, the Shakespeare-in-the-Park production of The Comedy of Errors proves that this dog-days program has the makings of an enduring Syracuse (not the one in Sicily) tradition.

With perhaps the Syracuse Shakespeare Festival's strongest Shakespeare-in-the-Park cast ever, the current production of "The Comedy of Errors," seen at Wednesday's dress rehearsal, is a hearty, easy-going delight.

Under Jamie Bruno's direction, the acting styles are big but effortless, riding in grand style through the play's abundant humor -- perfect for the reaches of Thornden Park Amphitheatre. It's a big help that the Festival's sound system picks up voices with nuance and richness.

Barbara Toman's costume designs are colorful, and don't interfere with rough-and-tumble comedy.

Karel Blakeley's set creates the bright buildings of a seaport town -- all substantial, but just fanciful enough to match the disorienting events that are about to strike a town with long-settled ways.

Tony Bersani as a rigorous but compassionate Duke of Ephesus, and Paul Gunderson as helpless old Egeon, command the first scene, doing superb work with characters often scanted. Gunderson is the Syracusan searching for his family, but sentenced to death for landing in Ephesus, a hostile city.

Shakespeare sets up a far-fetched but effective framework for his farce. Unknown to Egeon, his sons, both named Antipholus, are now in Ephesus at the same time without knowing it. So are their servants, both named Dromio. So just a few criss-crossings of identity are enough to set up tsunami waves that shake the whole town.

Far from being a silly exercise in plot twists, "Comedy" is one of the most poignant of farces, and the actors clearly know how to reach for deep emotions. Adriana (Karis Wiggins) truly loves her errant husband, Antipholus Ephesus (Gabriel Infantino), and she and her sister Luciana (Rachelle Clavin) argue about what to do.

In one powerful scene, Adriana pours her heart out as she beseeches her husband to help her save their marriage. Of course, it's the wrong man. "I know you not," says a flummoxed Antipholus Syracuse (Basil Allen).

Bruno gets a lot of funny shtick going, but unfortunately chooses to burden several of the most moving scenes with idle shtick that distracts actors and audience from key lines. Adriana and Luciana's first sisterly argument, for example, cuts deep, but Bruno has the two women talk while they scuffle pointlessly over an outsized joint of meat.

As the two Dromios, Matt Nilsen (Syracuse) and J. Brazill (Ephesus) ably carry much of the really funny slapstick humor. Other fine performers include Binaifer Dabu (a wacky Dr. Pinch, and later Emilia), Lisa Rood (pouty, mercenary Courtesan), Alan Stillman (Angelo the Goldsmith) and Grace Wagner (Balthasar).