The only point at which I demurred at the wisdoms contained in Judi Dench's excellent book on Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent was her scoffing dismissal of the idea (posited by her interlocutor, Brendan O'Hea) that Helena, the heroine of All's Well that Ends Well, is "a bit of a stalker". "Don't be ridiculous. People are duplicitous. But that's what human life is about."

Dench could cite reputable opinion, Coleridge included, in defence of this determined figure, who has eyes only for Bertram, son of the Countess of Roussillon, gets herself hitched to him by regal command (having miraculously cured the dying French King of a fistula) and then ensnares him after he does a runner to the wars in Italy; she consummates the marriage by substituting herself for another woman in the bedroom (the so-called 'bed trick').

But even the most generous understanding of a cunning woman motivated by passion and a critical reading of Bertram as a callous, as well as callow, youth still leaves one with the queasy sense of coercion; isn't that title loaded with irony? And can we shrug off the thought that Shakespeare (who, at 18, married a woman eight years his senior after getting her pregnant) had a personal investment in a tragicomic tale of compelled wedlock?

Chelsea Walker's intimate, candlelit production in the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse doesn't force our sympathies in either of the pair's direction but even so, it makes it plain how uncomfortable Kit Young's artless Bertram is made to feel and how artful Ruby Bentall's Helen can be - the opening scene showing her tactically, theatrically lachrymose. More than this, though, Walker dares to thrust the disdainful Bertram's caustically witty pal Parolles centre-stage and makes it clear - with caresses and a kiss - that the pair are seized by the love that dare not speak its name.

This intensifies the play's emotional charge of unrequited devotion: the Act IV subterfuge, whereby Parolles is ambushed by his own side, reveals his cowardice and forsakes Bertram, becomes a biting scene of humiliation and alienation that combines homophobia with self-betrayal. The shift in focus plays to the strengths of rising star William Robinson (superb as Nero in a 2022 London revival of Britannicus), who has an ability to fascinate and a facility for language that's as sharp as his cheek-bones.

Arresting as they both are, Bentall and Young struggle to make the same impact; she by turns ardent and anguished, he cocksure and crestfallen. But isn't that partly Shakespeare's deficiency? For a drama about a man whose heart isn't in it, he doesn't always seem to have his heart in it himself - the language knotty to a puzzling degree, the action plotty but jolting. Less recourse to shouting for violent, or comic, effect would be welcome (take note, especially, the otherwise commendable Siobhan Richmond and Richard Katz as the Countess and King of France). A peculiar evening, all told - rewarding in its odd way for the committed but not quite essential.

Until Jan 4. Tickets: shakespearesglobe.com