MACBETH SLEEP NO MORE: The Ode, A Review
The deep-pitted excitement of going to the theatre has never left me. It is cold this Wednesday night and I hurry against the final drabs of rush hour traffic into the dark evening and towards the beacon of light the Grand Opera House acts as in the middle of Great Victoria Street. There are few artforms that provoke from me the emotional response of a stage production and I often leave them fizzing with observation, bubbling over in conversation with whoever will listen. On this particular evening, I was so caught up in discussing the finery I had just witnessed I barely noticed my open backpack leaving a small Hansel and Gretel-esque trail of pen nibs and small change as I exited. You could blame this act of scattered brain on my cluttered personality or, you could heighten this act into something more grandiose and say my mind was distracted with a tale of Scottish tragedy portrayed with beauty and elegance from a cast who swoll to fill the boots of the characters they were playing. The choice is simple, the truth perhaps more muddied, but to that I simply say, What Would Shakespeare Write?
MACBETH: Sleep No More, is a production yet again showing the National Theatre at its finest. This self-proclaimed and rightly so theatre company has homed Olivier Award nominated and winning productions and actors, and is seeped with such a care of detail that it seems near impossible that they manage to produce near 30 plays annually at this level of profession. It is interesting and inspiring for such a large stage company take control of the hot topics of the day within theatre and portray a cast of Macbeth with natural accents; it is a testament that this production did not feel far away from its Scottish roots despite under half the cast speaking in the notable Scots growl. As I sit waiting for the play to begin, my eye falls around the room and I cannot help but note the vast number of GCSE English and Drama students in the audience and it warms my mind to know that the version what they may very well see as a dusty play from their classroom be conjured into a haunting and provoking reality before their very eyes.
The story remains much the same as always despite being set in a hypothetical post-civil war modern day; Macbeth’s descent into slow madness depicted gorgeously viscerally by Michael Nardone who has roots in the RSC. Shakespeare, timeless as ever, lends himself well to combat trousers, camo jackets and glittery ball gowns. What struck me most was perhaps the tenderness incorporated into the marriage of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth who embrace passionately onstage numerous times and remain drawn together even within the large party scenes. It is the first time I have seen Lady Macbeth’s death revealed onstage as Macbeth sobs into the bloodied, lifeless body of his “true love” and it is apparent when his mind lies as his final gesture before his decapitation at the hand of MacDuff is a reaching towards the ghost of his wife. The isolation of the separate madnesses of the Macbeths is shown through their lack of interaction in the second half of the play; where they start to digress into themselves and lose touch with the very reality around them (“how now, how now” “out damned spot”).
Kirsty Besterman’s performance as one of the most notorious women in theatre is more vacillant than most depictions as she reels through emotions like an old film tape even before her guilt consciousness drags her from sanity. The famous “unsex me now” soliloquy takes place in a small corner of the stage under orange lamp-light - yet it is obviously purposeful and the raising of her affection and emotional cries are no different from those of her husband who sobs numerous times throughout - upon murdering Duncan and being haunted by the ghosts of his murdered friend Banquo and Lady MacDuff. Lady Macbeth’s costumes sparkle - her notable bright green coat foils King Duncan’s red suit as she begins her treachery and her death robes of an off-white nightgown shows the downward path her character takes - losing her mirth and her tang to the crimes of the blood which stains her hands.
The performances of supporting characters helped carry this production from strength to strength and Patrick Robinson portrays his Banquo as heart warming and playful and his death chills to the very front rows of the audience as his stoic green lit ghost silently stumbles after his murdering friend. Lisa Zahra’s Lady MacDuff who only exists onstage twice throughout the play also acts as a standout, kind and firm and motherly, the way Lady Macbeth is not. As one is “unsexed” having plucked her nipple from her infant’s lips and carries empty baby garments, the other, stolen of her offspring carries them with her even as a ghost as a constant protector of her lot. The use of staging and choreography is something I am hardly qualified to judge - I sat in awe as scenes slipped seamlessly from one to another with the simple movement of ramps, walls and tables, changing entire settings with a simple flick of the lights. The atmospheric dry ice and acrobatics of the witches portrayed as non-descript indigenous peoples created airs of ancient world magic even within the modern setting. There was a haunting in their echoing and a grace which perfectly contrasted the stumbling blindness of the ambitious Macbeth.
“Sleep is for the innocent” spoke the guilty Macbeth and as I left the theatre, the story of this particular Scottish tragedy resounding in my eyes and ears, I couldn’t help but wonder if my brain could rest after seeing such brilliance onstage, for o view such tragedy with all its dramatic irony feels a crime. What struck again as I exited was the amount of pupils who had begun their viewing by sniggering at some of Shakespeare’s choice phrasing or the devotion to art held by the witches and the party-going characters were discussing the play in earnest; “I enjoyed it even though I couldn’t get through reading it” and “it just..makes sense onstage doesn’t it”. What once was Greek makes sense shown plain - I speak a common truth when I say Shakespeare yet again has outlived us all with his genius and the National Theatre can run only with the steps he provided.
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