Showing posts with label James McArdle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James McArdle. Show all posts

Friday, 8 October 2021

The Tragedy of Macbeth

by William Shakespeare

seen at the Almeida Theatre on 7 October 2021

Yaël Farber directs James McArdle in the title role and Saoirse Ronan as Lady Macbeth in a compelling production of one of Shakespeare's more difficult plays to stage. The potent brew of notorious witches, prophecies that come true because they are known about, and others that come true with cruel twists, combined with violent action and unsympathetic protagonists all too often leads to overblown or unbalanced results on stage. Here at the Almeida the pitfalls are avoided, and the director has made some interesting adjustments to the text to create a stark vision of inexorable catastrophe.

What to do with the language? The Scottish court spoke with Scottish accents: only the witches, Lady Macduff and the children did not. This worked surprisingly well once the ear had adjusted to it; Shakespearean cadences resonate just as easily in these voices as in 'received pronunciation'.

What to do with the witches? The presumed mindset of the original audience is no longer available to us, and indeed these witches in particular with their incantatory rhymes have become so stereotypical that they can seem like a joke. Farber has renamed them 'Wyrd Sisters' (having noticed that they are named 'Weird Sisters' in the folio cast list), and the programme notes draw attention to the many manifestations of three women guarding, creating or spinning Fate (Anglo-Saxon 'wyrd') in European myths. Thus there are no old crones cackling over a disgusting cauldron. Instead three enigmatic women, almost serene in their dispassionate presence, may be seen not only when they appear to Macbeth and Banquo, and later to Macbeth alone; they are also visible as silent observers of the outworking of Fate at many other moments during the play - possibly at all moments, though there is a good deal of mist billowing about which makes the back wall of the stage invisible at times.

What to do with the violent action? Macbeth is a bloody play, with unpleasant murders both off and on stage. There were two perspex screens often moved about the stage demarcating inner and outer spaces (part of a brilliant set design by Soutra Gilmour). A director might easily have splashed them copiously with blood starting with the execution of the rebel Thane of Cawdor near the beginning of the play; the murder of Duncan might even have been mimed behind a screen with further opportunity for spraying blood. In this production matters were more restrained, and all the more disquieting for that. At the opening tableau the whole cast gathered on stage to a persistent thrum of a low musical note above which a single cello line wavered. An attendant woman brought on a wheelbarrow full of boots and upended it, then carefully placed them at the front of the stage. A soldier washed himself from a bucket, but what he daubed over himself was blood, since a blood-soaked messenger brings the news of victory to Duncan. Similarly, bloodstains were always restricted only to the bodies of actors - either Macbeth and Lady Macbeth after the murder of Duncan, or Banquo when he appears as a ghost - and not used at all elsewhere, even during the on-stage murders. This made the deaths of Lady Macduff  and her two sons all the more chilling, especially as one child was dragged screaming from a hiding place and the lady herself was ultimately dispatched in a tub of water.

What to do with the disintegration of Lady Macbeth towards the end of the play? Lady Macbeth is a driving force in the first half of the play, but increasingly cut off from her husband's plans and inner torment once he has become king. Then, at the end, there is the famous sleepwalking scene, with little to prepare us for it. Farber has created a daring visualisation of  the trauma precipitating this downfall. She has Lady Macbeth bring the advice to Lady Macduff that she should flee with her children, and then still be present to witness the murders. It is preposterous on a realistic level, but psychologically extremely acute, and Saoirse Ronan utterly convinces in showing the trembling panic of an unwilling witness to such babarity. Naked ambition in the abstract, so forcefully embraced by this woman at the beginning of this play, here confronts the horror of its consequences on real lives, and the strain is too much: a brilliant stroke.

What to do about Macbeth? Make him passionate, ambitious, uncertain about murder at the beginning but plausibly easy with the idea as his obsessions take control, completely unaware of the irony (and foolishness) in his determination to connive at the fulfilment of prophecy when it is to his advantage but to attempt to outwit it when it is detrimental. Make the famous lines of despair at the news of his wife's death deeply felt, not just cynical world-weariness. Give the part to James McArdle who conveys initial doubts over murdering Duncan, horror at the deed, abject terror at the appearance of Banquo's ghost and steely resolve to fight to the last, with equal skill and authority.

What do do about the Porter defusing the tension of the murder scene with long disquisitions about equivocation, a subject of no interest to a modern audience? Dispense with him completely, along with the more lurid witches' hocus pocus. In fact a number of other scenes were streamlined or omitted, making for sharper emphasis and an unremitting atmosphere of tension. I am not sure, but I think I even missed the explicit instruction for soldiers to disguise their numbers by cutting branches from the trees at Birnam Wood (a vital point in destabilising Macbeth's self-assurance, which was cunningly foreshadowed by the procession of Banquo's heirs presented to an anguished Macbeh during his final encounter with the Wyrd Sisters). There was no evocation of the holy stability of the English realm under Edward the Confessor to contrast with the dire state of Scotland or the peculiar defensiveness of prince Malcolm when Macduff confronts him. 

There was no final speech by the new king after the death of the tyrant Macbeth. Instead, the surviving cast gathered again in almost the same positions as at the beginning; the wheelbarrow of boots appeared, and one of the three Wyrd Sisters pronouned once more the opening question: 'When shall we three meet again?'. Malcolm was in the spotlight rather than Duncan, but Fate, evidently, is cyclical.

Tuesday, 8 August 2017

Angels in America Part Two: Perestroika

by Tony Kushner

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 7 August 2017

Marianne Elliott directs this revival of Tony Kushner's sprawling two part epic subtitled 'A Gay Fantasia on National Themes'. The second part takes up where the first part finished, with the marriage of Joe (Russell Tovey) and Harper Pitt (Denise Gough) in tatters, Prior Walter (Andrew Garfield) trying to fathom whether the Angel's visitation is real or a hallucination, Lewis (James McArdle) his ex-lover) and Joe Pitt tentatively exploring the possibilities of a relationship, and Roy Cohn (Nathan Lane) approaching death. The nurse Belize (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett) provides a strange link between all these characters.

The quality of the production that I praised in the review of Part One (in May) is easily matched in Part Two, as the themes of love, loss, betrayal and fear of death are further elaborated and examined. The disparate elements of angelic powerlessness, encroaching illness, the breakdown of personal relationships, and despair at political negligence and injustice, and the glimmers of hope in the face of it all, are woven into a compelling tapestry, and once again the skill and commitment of the cast prevent the whole fantasy from unravelling into bombastic talk.

Friday, 19 May 2017

Angels in America Part One: Millennium Approaches

by Tony Kushner

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 18 May 2017

Marianne Elliott directs this revival of Tony Kushner's sprawling two part epic subtitled 'A Gay Fantasia on National Themes'. In 1992 I saw the first production (by Declan Donnellan) of this first part in 1992 in the National's smallest auditorium, then named the Cottesloe (now the Dorfman); it was fascinating to see it reimagined for the larger and more conventional proscenium stage of the Lyttleton. The grandeur and expansiveness of the conception was easier to appreciate, but perhaps some of the raw intensity was dissipated.

The play is wide-ranging and ambitious - a fantasia indeed as it follows several major characters facing (or evading) the AIDS crisis of the 1980s and their own personal struggles with loyalty, love and honesty. The cast is uniformly excellent, fully committed to the extravagances of the text and thus able to hold the audience's attention during the long speeches while being equally compelling in the tense and often agonising personal encounters that drive the action. The design (sets by Ian MacNeil and lighting by Paule Constable) marvellously reflects the disparate spaces in which the scenes take place - offices, apartments, parks, streets and a hospital ward - all managed on three independent evolves across the width of the stage.

Andrew Garfield gives an astonishing performance as Prior Walter, the young gay man facing the onset of AIDS and the cruel failure of his lover Louis (an excellent James McArdle) to stay with him as his condition worsens. Not only is he wounded emotionally by Louis's departure, he is also terrified of the illness and fearful of his grasp on sanity as strange visions afflict him. Garfield's portrayal of this central character is utterly compelling, his physical mannerisms imbuing an initially camp hand-wringing with increasingly expressive desperation, and his vocal range encompassing mounting hysteria with absolute conviction. 

James McArdle renders Louis's selfishness and introspection in bravura passages of talk, almost completely unaware of the offence and pain he might be causing, and digging himself deeper into guilt and self-recrimination as he tries to account for himself and explain his world view. Such a person could be just obtuse but somehow one senses the pain and confusion.

The only historical character presented on stage is the odious Roy Cohn, played by Nathan Lane, a man obsessed by power and influence, shamelessly predatory and manipulative. It's a dazzling display of brazen self-confidence, mesmerising and horrific to watch as Cohn refuses to accept that he has AIDS or that he is homosexual, all the time wheeling and dealing to preserve his position as a formidable lawyer. The haplessly conflicted Joe Pitt (an anguished Russell Tovey) is fatefully within Cohn's orbit, trying to adhere to his ethical upbringing as a Mormon in this professional cesspool while at the same time realising that his marriage to Harper is doomed as an attempt to mask or overcome his own sexual orientation. The marriage is not only a sham for him, but it has also driven his wife (Denise Gough) to a distracted reliance on Valium.

These deeply personal conflicts and traumas are treated with a theatrical flair that allows characters who never meet in 'real' life - such as Harper and Prior - to encounter one another in dreams, while Roy Cohn in the extremity of his illness has a conversation with Ethel Rosenberg, who was executed over thirty years before as a result of his vindictive prosecution in a celebrated treason trial. Somehow Ethel calls the ambulance for Cohn - how could this possibly be happening? - and yet in the world of this play we accept the situation as a meaningful part of the fantasia. 

Unfortunately for me, the box office was so overwhelmed by demand for tickets that I have to wait until August to see Part Two. An Angel has crashed into Prior's life but I have weeks to wait to find out what happens next (I did not see the original production of the second part).


Wednesday, 17 August 2016

Young Chekhov

Platonov, Ivanov and The Seagull reversioned by David Hare

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 13 August 2016

Anton Chekhov's three early plays - the first of which was not performed in his lifetime - were presented last year at the Chichester Festival as a unified insight into the dramatist's development. Most of the original cast have been reassembled to present the plays in London this summer. The three plays were directed by Jonathan Kent and the sets - variations on Russian country estates - were designed by Tom Pye.

In many ways the best way to appreciate this ambitious undertaking is to see all three plays on the same day. Patterns and themes emerge - there are references to Hamlet in each play; there is a significant part for a doctor in each play, though the three doctors are utterly different in style and personality; there is an idealistic but frustrated young man in each, colliding with an idealistic and frustrated young woman with painful consequences; surrounding the main characters are an assortment of hangers-on, older but not necessarily wiser relatives who are part of a wider and often stifling society. But the fascination of all this is that though the situations may appear similar in bald summary, the tone of each play, and the way the characters interact (or fail to interact) in each, makes for a wide and rich spectrum of human behaviour. Chekhov is revealed to be the master of social comedy and romantic melodrama just as much as his more well-known bittersweet examination of thwarted idealism and crippling ennui.