by In 2008, at the height of hysteria about the new Who, and overwhelmed by his success as the good Doctor, David Tennant delivered a Hamlet to the RSC that had you hanging on every word, soliloquised or otherwise.
Now with renewed enthusiasm for the nation’s favorite time traveler – fueled by Tennant’s brief return to the Tardis – he tackles another tragic Shakespearean role, and delivers a crowning triumph.
Where Hamlet is the debatable prince who agonizes over an act of selling merit, Macbeth is undoubtedly the trusted soldier, motivated by supernatural coaxing to assassinate his king, only to be arrested at that time by the mental rage of a stuck conscience. Usually, and sensibly, there are gaps between the stellar efforts of these leading parts, but the (sold out) Donmar production comes hard on the heels of Ralph Fiennes’ ‘storehouse’ touring version. It should be said that this account is personal and experimental, where his opponent is talented and more direct. Whisper it, though: this one has the exciting edge.
And the whisper is an integral part of the haunting spell of Max Webster’s intimate, monochrome, chilling revelation of a production. The up-and-coming West End director’s recent video, Life of Pi, had a successful video screening. Here, the technological marvel (courtesy of Gareth Fry) is binary sound, causing the audience to press the headphones as they settle down and resulting in a Macbeth of maximum imagination.
It might seem like we are in a souped-up radio drama; to that end, Tennant has already delivered the goods on Radio 4 last year. But the ‘broadcast’ here is of a different order of presence – words can be delivered as little more than a hush, and seem to attack us from all sides, also combining them with predetermined effects (the flap of the wings raven, say. ) and bits of Celtic music and song performed live. The musicians and other members of the cast are located mainly at the back, behind a raised wall of windows, creating a pervasive ghoulish presence.
Those who want to complain about actors being mic’d-up or lack of clarity in the verse, have their backs sharp here; you don’t miss anything, and the artefact helps with the innate need to disturb and shake us. At once there is a sense of detachment and an insurmountable connection – sometimes it is as if we are listening to him, but more than that, especially during the soliloquies, it is as if we are in Macbeth’s head and he ourselves in our heads.
The witches do not have a physical form in the early encounters but are just words that move through the misty ether. When Duncan is murdered, Lady M from Cush Jumbo stands and listens intently, her senses heightened – we hear every whimper and noise. When Banquo is murdered he confronts Macbeth at the feast, we only hear his groans. In our mind’s eye, from his shrieks, we picture the death of Macduff’s boy.
There is a sense of mental overload from the start as Tennant’s black-haired hero, with bloody hands and face, kneels on a plain white platform at a basin for washing (a foreshadowing of his later actions), fatigued after battle, to which the initial reports available into our earpieces instead of expressing them in the flesh.
There is nothing close to the cheeky desire that the actor, 52, often brings to the Bard; he has an angular assertiveness and develops a stronger air of fortitude when he has seized the idea of succession, and in the end achieves a wheelbarrowing. The idea that his lack of offspring is an incurable wound and the Achilles heel of his courage is brought home – we see him sitting proudly on one side of the stage, while Banquo Cal Macaninch weeps and chats with his boyfriend. In another telling moment, again, Jumbo – a distinctively English voice in a mostly Scottish company who is utterly wonderful, both thoughtful and heartless – is tearing up the air, as if she’s still chasing the child she lost, as she swayed in her desolate state.
None of this is taken lightly; it’s like discovering the play for the first time – the director’s concept does not hinder the fluency or spontaneity of the performances. For nearly two hours, you are held in the grip of the play until a monarch who is physically promiscuous and profusely bleeds Tennant, and alone, like a sacrificial victim; We look at the body, as we hear, through its dying senses, the final exchanges between the departed company – a risky theatrical act that feels dark, magical, also like real life.
Until the 10th of February donmarwarehouse.com
