Jamie Lloyd has previously directed
Cyrano De Bergerac without making
his entire cast speak in Gascon accents, and
The Duchess Of Malfi with nary a
trace of Campanian Italian. Why, then, is his
Macbeth awash with rolling R’s and
thick-as-thistles Caledonian burrs? He wants, apparently, to make the
play relevant for the Scotland of today. He sets it, however, the day
after tomorrow, in a post-apocalyptic land riven by fogs and rains in
which everyone dresses like a bunch of Mad Macs. There has been
flippant speculation that such a staging will be disadvantageous to
Alex Salmond’s campaign towards next year’s Scottish independence
referendum. On the contrary, I think Lloyd’s vision is likely to be
resented as a biased portrait imposed from south of the border; it
surely cannot help but advance the separatist cause, because it is
simply too implausibly determined to seem Scottish.
The lead actor can be heard often making more effort to play the accent
than the lines. This is surprising, since James McAvoy was raised in a
working-class area of Glasgow, but there it is. His facial and gestural
performance is rich, but he so vigorously imposes Scottish cadence
patterns in his speech that the result is a flattening of affect long
before the bloody Thane’s final-act disillusionment; by that stage he
is dragging out his lines unconscionably. McAvoy uses the smiles and
laughs which are his long suit, but deploys them to the opposite end
from their more usual charm: here they indicate sardonicism and often a
touch of hysteria. It is a clever touch, but too unvarying. Stronger
performances, because more authentic, come from Forbes Masson as Banquo
and Jamie Ballard, unable or unwilling to get too Scots as Macduff and
all the better for it. Claire Foy’s youthful Lady Macbeth is also a
fine creation, although she tails off rather once her character
realises just what all this plotting and wickedness has let her in for.
The unfriendly Trafalgar 1 space has been mitigated slightly by
extending the stage and introducing some audience seating on it.
Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel that this is the single gravest
misstep of Lloyd’s directing career so far. It is too easy to describe
a production of
Macbeth as
“full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”, but on occasion it is the
most succinct and apposite option.
Written for the Financial
Times.