Duke of York’s Theatre, London, Saturday 13th July, 2019
Duncan Macmillan’s new adaptation of Henrik Ibsen’s 1886 play is flooded with pertinence. Never mind nineteenth century Norway, many of the lines come across as direct commentary on the state of our nation today, eliciting wry laughter from the audience. Ibsen-Macmillan make satirical quips, mainly through the mouthpiece of Kroll, a conservative, while sending up that character too. The public, we are told, vote for feelings not for facts – which accounts for the current mess we’re mired in.
As with all Ibsen, it’s the characters’ personal problems that bring about their downfall. Dark events in their past always surface and take their toll. In this one, it’s a year since the suicide (by drowning) of John Rosmer’s wife. Rae Smith’s elegant, stately set bears the marks of flood damage caused by her body clogging the watermill, the stains as much as a spectre as the memory of the act itself. Proceedings are beautifully lit by Neil Austin, with daylight starkly streaming through the windows, and lamplight dimly glowing on the murky ancestral portraits that glare down on events.
Tom Burke strikes a plaintive note as widower John Rosmer. Having lost his faith, he is torn between opposing factions in the upcoming general election, both of which see his pastorhood (if that’s a word) as a vindication of their stance… Burke shows strength in his grief, even if his Hamlet-like indecisiveness causes him to waiver and dither. Rosmer is clearly in the thrall of his late wife’s best mate and erstwhile nurse, Rebecca West, a thoroughly modern young woman, clawing her way up from nothing and asserting both her independence and her will. As Rebecca, Hayley Atwell is a Marvel (pun intended). The former Agent Carter from the Captain America films gives a sparky performance – we like her immediately, and when the Truth comes to light, and she makes impassioned defences of her questionable actions, we admire her, even if we don’t agree with her. It’s easy to see how Rosmer is enchanted.
Giles Terera is nothing short of superb as sardonic Governor Kroll. Assured to the point of smarminess, he makes witty observations that mask his ruthlessness and objectionable politics. There is sterling support from Lucy Briers as housekeeper Mrs Helseth, and Peter Wight puts in a memorable turn as bedraggled radical Ulrik Brendel, more like a homeless Michael Foot than a Jeremy Corbyn. Finally, Jake Fairdbrother’s tabloid newspaper editor Peter Mortensgaard makes a brief but effective appearance. The play has no love for newspaper owners nor those who believe what they read in the papers – again, the prescience of the piece is uncanny. Or perhaps it’s just dismaying to note that society has not moved on in a century, people have not improved – and it’s the same the whole world over.
A stunning production with more laughs than you might expect, culminating in personal tragedy, the net having tightened around the characters until they feel they have no other option. The final moment is brilliantly realised. Perhaps director Ian Rickson is also addressing global issues here. Unless we radically change our ways, we will very soon find ourselves in deep water.
Hayley Atwell and Tom Burke (Photo: Johan Persson)
Leave a comment | tags: Duke of York's Theatre, Duncan Macmillan, Giles Terera, Hayley Atwell, Henrik Ibsen, Ian Rickson, Jake Fairbrother, London, Lucy Briers, Neil Austin, Peter Wight, Rae Smith, review, Rosmersholm, Tom Burke | posted in Review, Theatre Review
Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton, Tuesday 12th March, 2019
I have lost count of the number of productions of the Scottish Play I have seen over the years; I have yet to see one that gets everything absolutely right. This touring version of the acclaimed National Theatre production doesn’t, I’m afraid, do it for me either.
Set ‘now’ but ‘after a civil war’, the action takes place in a dingy world of camouflage gear and the kind of clothing that gives the cast the appearance of an urban dance troupe that has fallen on hard times. I’m all for diversity in casting, but I can do without Diversity as an aesthetic. I half-expected Ashley Banquo to come on and flip Fleance over the heads of the group. Said Fleance is gender-swapped and dressed like a young rapper. Nuff said.
Rae Smith’s set includes a large ramp, like a broken footbridge, which is initially put to good use but is then side-lined in favour of plastic chairs and beat-up sofas. There are also tall poles, like bedraggled palm trees, up and down which the Three Witches clamber and slide like post-apocalyptic circus performers – I could have done with more of this kind of thing, and a bit less of their booming, echoey voices, which go against their other ethereal qualities.
Michael Nardone’s Macbeth is all right to listen to, but we don’t get the impression of a great warrior gone bad – especially not when he’s being duct-taped into his armour. Kirsty Besterman’s Lady Macbeth’s first appearance, in khaki vest, has the look of a military physical trainer, which she trades up for some garish gowns, at odds with the rest of the design. Besterman brings intensity though and her sleepwalking scene is rather good.
Instead of crowns, the ruling monarch sports a blood-red suit, and so Duncan (Tom Mannion – effortless in his nobility) looks like a lounge singer. When Macbeth later dons the trousers, it brings to mind the “I am in blood stepped in so far” line, which makes sense of Moritz Junge’s costume choice at last.
I can’t take to Joseph Brown’s Malcolm in the slightest but I do like Deka Walmsley’s bawdy Geordie Porter, Patrick Robinson’s Banquo, and above all Rachel Sanders’s Ross – these three seem to get the most out of the language, while coping with director Rufus Norris’s decisions, some of which make Shakespeare sound ironic: “This castle hath a pleasant seat” (it doesn’t; it looks like half a portacabin) and “Never shake thy gory locks at me” (Banquo’s pate is as bald as a Malteser)…
There is some effectively dissonant original music by Orlando Gough, and Paul Arditti’s sound design adds to the eeriness – until it becomes intrusive – while Paul Pyant’s lighting is suitably dramatic. But the action doesn’t grip me, the tragedy of a great man brought low by his ambition and supernatural interference doesn’t’ come across.
Ditch the camouflage get-up and the urban combat gear. Let’s have a Game of Thrones version. That would be relatable to the Youth too.
Ramping up the action: the cast of Macbeth
Leave a comment | tags: Deka Walmsley, Grand Theatre Wolverhampton, Joseph Brown, Kirsty Besterman, Macbeth, Michael Nardone, Moritz Junge, National Theatre, Orlando Gough, Patrick Robinson, Paul Arditti, Paul Pyant, Rachel Sanders, Rae Smith, Rufus Norris, Tom Mannion, William Shakespeare | posted in Review, Shakespeare, Theatre Review