Skip to main content

Macbeth

Royal Highland Centre, Edinburgh

Four stars

 

The battle looks far from won as audiences enter this epic staging of Shakespeare’s Scottish play. Walking through a battle-scarred landscape of burnt out cars and the debris of war, the sounds of jet planes and helicopters swoop overhead. Set designer Frankie Bradshaw’s evocative installation is quite a curtain raiser for what follows in the more formal interior where the show takes place.

 

There are the Witches for starters. The three young women who greet Ralph Fiennes’ camouflage clad Macbeth as he and Banquo are finishing their tour of duty appear like some New Age ragamuffin girl gang. As they promise Macbeth the world, the die is cast on the catastrophic power grab to come. Played by Lucy Mangan, Danielle Fiamanya and Lola Shalam, it is they who pull the strings here. In many ways in Simon Godwin’s production of Emily Burns’ adaptation, it is their play.

 

The royal clique the trio manipulate into self destruction are a back stabbing sociopathic establishment who would stamp each other into the ground if they thought they could take charge. Think Succession in a war zone. Macbeth and Indira Varma’s scheming Lady M are the worst of the lot. No wonder they lose the plot once Keith Fleming’s King Duncan is bumped off. At one point Macbeth paws his partner in crime, as if a suppressed and brutal machismo had been unleashed. Later, as Fiennes sits hunched in a chair with whisky in hand while he recounts Macbeth’s ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow…’ speech, he invests the doomed king with a manic edge.

 

Presented by the Wessex Grove company and Edinburgh Fringe stalwarts Underbelly with a host of partners in association with the Washington DC based Shakespeare Theatre Company,this is a hugely ambitious production. By the end, with his co-conspirator dead and his court in ruins, Macbeth is in agony, lashing out through the pain before his inevitable demise. As a new regime is ushered in, the Witches pause for breath, biding their time before their next insurrection in a boldly realised affair.

The Herald, January 19th, 2024

ends

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Losing Touch With My Mind - Psychedelia in Britain 1986-1990

DISC 1 1. THE STONE ROSES   -  Don’t Stop 2. SPACEMEN 3   -  Losing Touch With My Mind (Demo) 3. THE MODERN ART   -  Mind Train 4. 14 ICED BEARS   -  Mother Sleep 5. RED CHAIR FADEAWAY  -  Myra 6. BIFF BANG POW!   -  Five Minutes In The Life Of Greenwood Goulding 7. THE STAIRS  -  I Remember A Day 8. THE PRISONERS  -  In From The Cold 9. THE TELESCOPES   -  Everso 10. THE SEERS   -  Psych Out 11. MAGIC MUSHROOM BAND  -  You Can Be My L-S-D 12. THE HONEY SMUGGLERS  - Smokey Ice-Cream 13. THE MOONFLOWERS  -  We Dig Your Earth 14. THE SUGAR BATTLE   -  Colliding Minds 15. GOL GAPPAS   -  Albert Parker 16. PAUL ROLAND  -  In The Opium Den 17. THE THANES  -  Days Go Slowly By 18. THEE HYPNOTICS   -  Justice In Freedom (12" Version) ...

Edinburgh Rocks – The Capital's Music Scene in the 1950s and Early 1960s

Edinburgh has always been a vintage city. Yet, for youngsters growing up in the shadow of World War Two as well as a pervading air of tight-lipped Calvinism, they were dreich times indeed. The founding of the Edinburgh International Festival in 1947 and the subsequent Fringe it spawned may have livened up the city for a couple of weeks in August as long as you were fans of theatre, opera and classical music, but the pubs still shut early, and on Sundays weren't open at all. But Edinburgh too has always had a flipside beyond such official channels, and, in a twitch-hipped expression of the sort of cultural duality Robert Louis Stevenson recognised in his novel, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, a vibrant dance-hall scene grew up across the city. Audiences flocked to emporiums such as the Cavendish in Tollcross, the Eldorado in Leith, The Plaza in Morningside and, most glamorous of all due to its revolving stage, the Palais in Fountainbridge. Here the likes of Joe Loss and Ted Heath broug...

Carla Lane – The Liver Birds, Mersey Beat and Counter Cultural Performance Poetry

Last week's sad passing of TV sit-com writer Carla Lane aged 87 marks another nail in the coffin of what many regard as a golden era of TV comedy. It was an era rooted in overly-bright living room sets where everyday plays for today were acted out in front of a live audience in a way that happens differently today. If Lane had been starting out now, chances are that the middlebrow melancholy of Butterflies, in which over four series between 1978 and 1983, Wendy Craig's suburban housewife Ria flirted with the idea of committing adultery with successful businessman Leonard, would have been filmed without a laughter track and billed as a dramady. Lane's finest half-hour highlighted a confused, quietly desperate and utterly British response to the new freedoms afforded women over the previous decade as they trickled down the class system in the most genteel of ways. This may have been drawn from Lane's own not-quite free-spirited quest for adventure as she moved through h...