While the action of Macbeth explicitly springs out of three witches' supernatural prophecies, Andrew Hilton's production engages at a resolutely psychological level. Though this play is about man, not just in contrast to child, or woman, but also - especially - in contrast to the inhuman; the inhuman here is not supernatural, but pathological. Hilton explores the depths of which kinds of relations and motivations we can understand, and where our comprehension runs out we find a butcher rather than magic.
      Tellingly, the witches are played by the lead ladies; their chanting noises more hysterical than demonic. Lady Macbeth wears a mourning gown, and standing at the edge of the low wooden stage are a covered cot and rocking horse, making literal the recurring metaphor of the Macbeth's metaphysical sterility. Each murder is precipitated by a sexual encounter between husband and wife, violence seeming to take the place of sexual climax in the dynamic of their relationship. From these domestic details to Macbeth's short stature, his megalomaniac tendencies; psychological explanations proliferate. Hilton constantly reminds us that the unfolding action is implicit in the very humanity of its protagonists. 
      The story is well known. Macbeth is told by three weird sisters that he will one day be King - and he becomes equivocally obsessed with achieving and sustaining that end. Spurred on by the taunts of his wife, her challenges to his virility, he embarks on a series of murders first to establish himself on the throne and then to protect himself from discovery or overthrow. But having no heir, he is suddenly captivated by a sense of his mortality. Mirrors are held up reflecting lines and lines of kings, a future he plays no part in. His struggle to wipe out possible successors takes on the significance of a try for procreation or eternal life, he seems to want to catch his own shadow as it falls across the back of the stage. And when - inevitably - the futility of his situation becomes certain, he wants the whole world to fall with him. 
      One aspect of what should make Macbeth fascinating and finally tragic, as opposed to a mere 'butcher', is the combination of his vaulting ambition with his lucid recognition of the terribleness of his crimes. This dimension is not especially conveyed. Instead, in Zoe Aldrich's incredible performance as Lady Macbeth, the interest of this production becomes absolutely dominated by the relationship between the King and Queen. The violent chemistry of the Macbeths' collusion, and its tenderness, relegates their crimes to mere by-products. Though they have none of the panache, they suggest something of a prototype Bonnie and Clyde. The pair are perhaps recently wed, she is perhaps ill with grief over the death of her newborn, or - as it sometimes seems - he is tortured by some other burden; what kinds of explanations can we allow, or condone? The persuasiveness of their relationship sustains these speculations. In their nightclothes, trembling together outside Duncan's bed chamber, enthralled by the murder they have just committed; we are struck not so much by their famous ambition as by the isolating thrill of mutual conspiracy, the recklessness of their love. 
      Michael Smith as the MacDuffs' child shines out in symbolic antithesis to the Macbeths' bloody murders. His precocious chatter, his brave childish manner, his clear uncomplicated defiance when the contract killers come for him and his mother, throw the Macbeths' barrenness into sharp relief. Other exceptional moments are provided by the hit men (contemporary chancers or wily gypsies), by Macduff's speech upon hearing of his family's fate, and Macbeth's bloody head in a sheet thudding on the floor. Elizabeth Purnell's cello and violin score, by turns folky or dischordant, sometimes quietly melodic, also lifts some unremarkable scenes beyond the ordinary. The set and props are simple, beautiful and functionally conceived. Colours and patterns are constrained. The aesthetic has the elongated low lines of 1920s German architecture. The witches' costumes are like something out of a Robert Weine film. 
      What is missing from this production is however a sense of Macbeth's greatness. This may be partly due to the lack of awe of those around him, and is of course partly in the plot. But perhaps the very naturalistic emphasis of the production, explicitly replacing metaphysical with merely psychological forces, is what most undermines the achievement of tragedy. Gyuri Sarossy fails to embody sufficient force or charisma to sustain interest after his wife's death.
Naomi Goulder