On the steps of a brutalist castle – no blasted heath in sight, a woman approaches. Because we know this show is of Macbeth, if not actually Shakespeare’s tragedy, we intuit she is one of the witches – a weird sister. In this new version, she is the narrator. She welcomes us as seekers of misery. Takes us to task for wanting blood and death and despair.
She begins
to recite the speech of the bloody soldier who Duncan and Malcolm meet at the
start of the classic play, but as he wrests it away from her and the other weird
sisters approach, we are dropped into the prophecy from Scene III. Macbeth
shall be king hereafter.
It's a deft
set-up for the tone of Zinnie Harris’ text; a winking, nudging precis of Macbeth,
with a central question – why do we watch this play over and over again?
But every
production of the Scottish play is different. On stage and on screen. Directors
and actors grapple with what Shakespeare wrote, trying to uncover the mysteries
of these complex characters and their relationships to power and each other.
I studied
Macbeth in high school and I’ve seen the show on stage a couple of times – and two
very different films in the last decade. But I’ve seen more Hamlets strut and fret
their hour upon the stage. This one isn’t exactly the most common of comfort
foods.
But it does
contain one of Shakespeare’s most complex leading female characters in the form
of Lady Macbeth and she’s always worth studying and reimagining. If a new
production is announced, my first question is who is playing her over him.
Harris’
play is billed as the story from Lady M’s point of view. It’s a little more
than that. It recasts the weird sisters in a different light – they're less weird, at least. And we get to know Lady Macduff better than we
ever have before, too.
Why do we
watch this play about the suffering and death of women over and over again? It’s
a worthwhile question, to be fair, but is there an interesting answer to be
had? Or, if not answers, are the audience suitably implicated in the voyeurism and
pleasure of this act of enjoying the torment of these women? Not really.
For all of
the witch’s warning of no pyrotechnics, director Matt Lutton’s production –
which opened last week at the Malthouse – takes place on an often-turning and
ever-changing set. The design by Dann Barber is clever, showing us different
spaces in the castle, over and over, redressed by some nimble stage managers
out the back.
Barber’s
costume designs seem suitable for a period production of Shakespeare’s work,
but here they play like a bit of a parody of what the audience
expects. Jethro Woodward’s sound design is effectively creepy in a place that looks
and feels haunted, but maybe it isn’t? Maybe it’s just the birds that flock
nearby. Amelia Lever-Davidson’s lighting plays with shadows in a noirish way
and there are tableaux created by these craftsmen that reminded me of Joel Coen’s
2021 film.
But the
script is thin. It slides between the text of the original and Harris’ own
concoctions. Her dialogue is sometimes reminiscent of Shakespeare, but she shies
away from that mostly – and eventually the characters talk like modern
creations.
Some of the
most iconic monologues are tossed off like they aren’t important; Lady Macbeth’s
“unsex me here” comes off as rumination or an incomplete thought. I wondered if
Harris thought this damning piece of characterisation was best shuffled past –
a comment on the manipulative, power hungry M being categorised as unwoman. But
the intention was difficult to parse.
There’s
some commentary about how women can’t be seen as powerful, as well. When
everything starts to become too much for Macbeth, he retreats and his wife is
literally the power of the throne. But her right-hand men start to call her by
her husband’s name. As if they can only see him. It’s an interesting idea, but
the end-game of that confusion is listening to Macbeth recount the “out damn
spot” monologue and it felt so unearned.
Natasha
Herbert’s recurring witch narrator is a blast. Jessica Clarke’s Lady Macduff
has a lot of fun with the twisted dramatics of her off-the-page relations with
Banquo. Johnny Carr gets to find some interesting layers to play with his
Macbeth-but-not-Macbeth character, but some other well-respected actors seem wasted
in their small roles.
Plugging
the show as from Lady Macbeth’s point-of-view is a bit reductive, though. It’s
about all the women. And how badly-done-by they are by the Western theatrical
canon. Bojana Novakovic even gets to tear down the fourth wall and take the
leading lady into the audience and rant about the state of theatre. But by
then, the show is full of sound and fury signifying one single thing.
And it’s not enough. Macbeth (An Undoing) undoes itself.
- Keith Gow, Theatre First
The play runs until July 28
Photo: Jeff Busby
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