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Author
William Shakespeare
Director
John Caird
Macbeth
Simon Russell
Beale
Lady Macbeth
Emma Fielding
Malcolm
Tom Burke
Macduff
Paul Higgins
Witch
Hilary Sesta
Witch
Jane Thorne
Witch
Janet Whiteside
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Almeida
Theatre
21 January 2005 |
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Most
Macbeths leave the impression
that elevation is thrust upon
an unthinking general whose
strategy and nerve are managed
by his wife. One remarkable
aspect of this remarkable
production is that this need
not be the case; and this
is not because Emma Fielding's
Lady Macbeth lacks anything,
but because Simon Russell
Beale's is so strong, magnetic
and fearsomely compelling.
This is a magnificently intelligent,
thought-through Macbeth
with not a second unconsidered.
Right from the start, for
instance, the almost pantomime
witches are transformed back
to their intended status as
'weird-sisters'. They float
on in more scenes than Shakespeare
indicates. They are a kind
of Delphic chorus, commenting
, predicting, manipulating
and observing. Their presence
suggests less sooth-sayers,
than Greek Fates or Wagnerian
Norns. Played by Ann Firbank,
Jane Thorne and Janet Whiteside
they chant their 'Double,
double, toil and troubleÖ"
with a quiet, intense demeanour,
like a recipe more than an
incantation. They almost sing,
and their speaking of the
verse is the most even and
consonant of the evening,
which marks them out from
the more fragmented style
of the Macbeths. It's a telling
contrast.
It's hard to single out all
the excellent performances
that are in this production,
but a few stay in the memory.
Silas Carson's elegant, handsome
Banquo is not only the epitome
of what a hero should look
like, and be represented as,
but is the perfect foil for
Simon Russell Beale's much
squatter Macbeth. On the surface,
Banquo should not only be
the father of kings but king
himself. Yet, he is not, because
his swaggering hero-figure
is no match for the wily Macbeth.
Here mind rules muscle, and
Simon Russell Beale's Macbeth
is one who wins his battles
on unspoken strategy and ambition
not on superficial charisma.
On stage, this was a gripping
combination of personae.
William Gaunt's Duncan was
bluff, regal and short-lived,
but Gaunt was disconcertingly
brought back almost immediately
after his murder as Old Siward.
Discounting economics, I assumed
this was to make a point about
no physical murder being a
real death for his murderers.
Victims survive to haunt their
murderers. In this Duncan
as Siward parallels Banquo's
return to Macbeth at the dinner-table.
I did not find this Shakespearean
aberration (Duncan and Siward
being doubled) worked as well
as the much more telling appearance
of Macbeth as one of Banquo's
murderers. Now, not just the
instigator of murder but its
witness, it gave all the more
reason for Banquo to haunt
him later.
John Rogan's Porter and Doctor
are also well placed in the
drama. His lyrical delivery
and elderly, stiff deportment
epitomised in each part the
'wise old bird' and in the
case of the porter a sense
that great and terrible deeds
can only be done by 'great'
men; others just suffer the
consequences. John Rogan captures
perceptive endurance magnificently.
His delivery of his lines
also countermands Simon Russell
Beale's much more angular
speaking.
Emma Fielding's Lady Macbeth
was as compellingly Gothic
as it should be. From her
first reading of her husband's
letter, to her planning of
Duncan's murder to her final
guilt-ridden sleep-walking,
and hand-cleansing nightmares
she exudes power and its unseen
consequences. Guilty she may
be, but her final scene where
no Arabian perfume can "sweeten
this little hand" is
moving. At the heart of Macbeth,
perhaps even of all Shakespeare's
wicked characters, is the
sense that no-one is above
human understanding if not
sympathy. We ought to feel
her nightmares are no less
than she deserves, but, instead,
we feel in Emma Fielding's
gripping performance an uneasy
sense that even the usurping
Queen does not quite deserve
such inner hell.
Nothing in the play, however,
matches Simon Russell Beale's
magnificent performance. Physically
he is, perhaps, an unlikely
hero; one that has to persuade
you in the theatre he could
be king. But in performance
he turns this to superb advantage.
He leans forward to listen
and plot; he uses his size
to cajole and command, and
eventually sitting on the
throne he is as magnificent
as the troubed Philip II in
Don Carlos or Boris Godunov.
The musical parallels are
apt, as Beale's real power
lies in the way he speaks
his lines. At first I thought
I would be annoyed by the
way he perverts Shakespeare's
rhythms and flow. His is a
slow-speaking performance,
full of pauses and careful
placing. He breaks up lines,
metre and sequential thoughts.
But as the play unfolds it
is precisely this fragmentaton
which gathers power and makes
his Macbeth the tragic figure
Shakespeare clearly conceived
him to be. Shakespeare makes
Macbeth a powerful king, albeit
a usurper; and, like his wife
Macbeth is troubled by the
consequences of his acts.
His murder of Banquo is paid
for by his being haunted.
Lessing complained that the
ghosts in Voltaire's Semiramis
were just stage-devices suitable
only for ridicule; Shakespeare's
ghosts are psychological projections.
Hamlet's father only speaks
to him, Caesar only appears
to Brutus. Like them, visitations
are only personal as Macbeth
alone can see the ghost of
Banquo. A piece of what Voltaire
thought a piece of impossible
belief-suspension is turned
to a great dramatic revelation.
And the revelation does not
stop there, as in this production
Banquo returns at other times,
just to watch the unfolding
drama. Like a chess-board,
the weird-sisters, Banquo,
even Duncan remain beside
the board to watch the game
played out.
Building a part symphonically,
as it were, pays off in the
end. Beale is unsurpassed
in his final scenes. Now king,
now wearing his crown, now
sitting on his throne he is
as incredulous of the phantastic
prophecies of Birnam,Dunsinane
and womanless birth as any
rabbit in the headlights.
In his moment of greatest
confidence he is undermined.
"I have almost forgot
the taste of fears...I have
supp'd full of horrors; /
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous
thoughts,/ Cannot once start
me." Hardly has he uttered
these defiant words than news
of his wife's death are brought
to him. His sleep-walking
spouse whose candle, in this
production, has seemingly
inconsequentially been left
on the stage (a stage filled
with candles and half-lights)
is now personified in this
little object. "Tomorrow,
and to-morrow, and to-morrow,"
Beale addresses the cast and,
through them, the audience,
as though making a generalised
statement. But, in a revealing
moment he casts his eyes down
towards the candle, and in
his most-quoted, most universalised
speech, he thinks only of
his wife. "Out, out brief
candle." This is a deeply
moving theatrical moment,
not only because of the intrinsic
merit and fame of the lines,
but because Beale manages
by his look, stance and slow,
thoughtful delivery to persuade
you he is not quoting but
uttering his own thoughts.
Kings, and their like, in
Shakespeare think and speak
in this way, and Beale's presentation
of a king almost moves beyond
make-believe to reality. This
is the mark of a great actor
at his finest: the crown of
a great production.
Roderick Swanston |
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