Macbeth

by William Shakespeare

seen at the Barbican Theatre on 6 October 2017

This is a revival of Yukio Ninagawa's famous 1980 production of Macbeth, first seen in Britain in 1987. Last year Ninagawa died at the age of 80, still working on this and other productions (many of them Shakespearean), and this revival is touring as a tribute and memorial to him by his company. It features Masachika Ishimura as Macbeth and Yuko Tanaka as Lady Macbeth, with Kasunaga Tsuji as Banquo, Kwia Oishi as Macduff and Tetsuro Sagawa as Duncan, and a large supporting cast. The production, with a set designed by Kappa Senoh, was given in Japanese with English surtitles (naturally, and abbreviated Shakespearean text, though the spoken words were more extensive than the text provided).

The immediate impression on entering the auditorium is shaped by the presence of large paper screens across the stage surrounded by a frame resembling gilded lacquer. A bell begins to toll as the lights dim, and two bent figures make their way onto the stage to bow to the screens then pull further back two hinged doors which might be imagined to close the box entirely if they stretched across the stage (they are never fully shut). So much, so Japanese - but the next music is, improbably, the Sanctus from Fauré's Requiem, which is used throughout to accompany or indicate the more supernatural parts of the play (the witches), and also Macbeth's increasingly isolated position. In a play usually associated with brutal and violent selfishness, it is a surprising choice, as this music is generally associated with serenity and beauty. So, also, later on, the strains of Barber's Adagio are unexpected, and Lady Macbeth plays a haunting melody on the cello after ruminating on her husband's moral squeamishness and before the messenger interrupts to tell her of Duncan's imminent arrival. The peculiar intertwining of violence and beauty in the Japanese aesthetic is just one of the intriguing threads in the production as a whole.

The military and masculine temper of the play is well served by the large cast, who provide a court seething with energy controlled by respect for authority and ritualised gestures of approbation and obedience. The samurai style familiar perhaps from Kurasawa films such as Kagemusha or Ranitself an interpretation of King Lear) looks just as impressive on stage, while the physical symbols of kingship can be both worn by the king, or displayed on a throne as a mute focus of authority. It is all very splendid even as it is slightly alienating.

The use of the stage space is highly skilled and effective. The witches, male actors in the full Kabuki style with elaborate costumes, dead white make-up and fantastically swooping voices, are often seen through the screens which become almost transparent when backlit; and some of the ritualised fight scenes are also presented this way. But most often, the screens are pulled open  to reveal a symmetrical space with rostrums at the back, which with the minimum of fuss can be a dining hall, a courtyard, or an open field. (When Macbeth and Banquo are met by the messengers conferring on Macbeth the thanedom of Cawdor, they are riding horses.) On formal occasions, the courtiers are often symmetrically placed, but the space allows for many fluid and urgent movements in the more intimate scenes.

The delivery is often impassioned and urgent, though of course the nuances of the language are unfamiliar to me, so that I may have mistaken the tone. Significantly bad news is often delivered with what to Western ears seems an overly melodramatic wail, but this appears to be a dramatic convention; more significant is the harshness of much of the delivery reflecting the anger of the characters and the increasing peril they are in. But Macduff's horror and grief at the news of the killing of his family was poignant - both Malcolm and Ross (the bearer of the news) discreetly turned their backs on Macduff's suffering. Interestingly, Macbeth's vocal reaction to the death of his wife was quite similar in the midst of his generally nihilistic despair and intransigence, which complicated the usual picture of him as by then irremediably selfish.

This was a sumptuous and full-blooded production whose theatrical conventions are different from those usually seen in Britain- the sword fighting was predictably almost balletic, and the violence stylised rather than bloody - but it served the relentless rush of events covered by the play very well, and it was an important thing to see.