You know you’re not in for a conventional approach to the Scottish Tragedy when the “Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow” speech opens proceedings. It’s then quickly apparent that there is no real supernatural element either, as the lines of the three witches are shared between one actress, Malcolm and someone else. So far, so intriguing. Surely, you feel, we will soon realise where we are, who these characters are, what they’re hopes and aspirations are – you know, the stuff of lucid, watchable drama.
Nope. Challoner Theatre Company have made the assumption that everyone in the audience will know the original Macbeth, and therefore be able to marvel at the ingenuity of this cut and paste version. Wrong. I do know the original very well, but I have absolutely no idea what was going on at all. Where is Duncan, the king? Does Macbeth kill him to become king – we don’t see the scene. Any way, King of what, or where – judging by the costumes and hairstyles a rather dull episode of The Sweeney: “Shut it, Macduff, you slag”. How does his wife know he’s been promised the kingship – we never see her getting the news. Why is Banquo impersonating Edward Fox? Where is his son? Why cut some of the greatest writing for the theatre in any language ever but retain almost in its entirety the tedious scene between Macduff and Malcolm? Why is the famous dagger Macbeth imagines handed to him by another actor and then toyed with. In answer to the question “Is this a dagger I see before me?” I wanted to shout “yes, you thick Thane”. The subsequent speech, one of the most brilliant in the entire canon, was rendered absolutely nonsensical.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m no purist. I saw a wonderful 45 minute Othello done by kids earlier this week. It too was cut and changed about, but it made sense. This, on the other hand, is the most pretentious rubbish and unintentionally hilarious. Shakespeare never actually called the supernatural hags who get his play going witches. They are either the weird sisters or the weird women. Here we have only one, and when she is referred to as the weird woman it makes her sound like the dotty neighbour who lives down the street or a renegade for Blackadder: “there be two things ye should know about the weird woman, first, that she is weird…. etc etc”.
It’s all a terrible shame, because some of these guys can act. John Flower is pretty truthful, but he is hampered by the style of the production which renders soliloquy impossible. Rather than address the audience he stares shiftily at the floor when he speaks.
Plus points…. er, the stage fighting is very good. And it’s short. And it closes on the 13th. The production’s great idea, that we should wonder who actually killed Duncan to become king, is lost in confusion and up-its-own-kilt cleverness. Suffice is to say there’s a surprise ending. But whoever dunnit, there’s only one victim, and I can still hear him spinning in his Warwickshire grave.
[Robin T. Barton]
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