Fear and loathing in Scotland
SHAKESPEARE’S Globe is decked out like an inner circle of hell for the Bard’s Scottish tragedy ‘where nothing is but what is not’. Unfortunately, Ciaran Bagnall’s design put me more in mind of a branch of Ann Summers.
Yes, Iqbal Khan’s swaggeringly outré production starring Ray Fearon and Tara Fitzgerald as Lord and Lady Macbeth strikes an unexpectedly camp note amid the gloom. Of histrionics they know no fear.
The ornate Elizabethan stage has been fitted with a corsetry of black ironworks, with red velvet curtains beyond. For accessories, we’ve got amputated body parts and black silk sheets.
Inexplicably, the three witches who normally orchestrate our hero’s descent into madness appear instead as four enchantresses. Not speaking themselves, they mesmerise Macbeth with Hammer Horror dolls and address him through wailing dirges sung by Melanie Pappenheim.
The idea is to suggest a supernatural realm, but with satanic chant and kettledrums late on it’s perilously portentous. But that doesn’t knock Fearon off his stride.
His Macbeth is more warrior than worrier — which is at least half the battle for the hallucinating butcher. But Fearon also hangs a millstone of meaning on Shakespeare’s every word, sometimes causing the sense of his lines to sink entirely.
On the upside, he is more than a match for Tara Fitzgerald as his purring, sybaritic, extravagantly deranged missus, who tears herself apart with wayward glee. Levels of foreboding are almost unprecedented, but there are joyous moments, too, most notably from amputee actress Nadia Albina as the raucous Porter. Veering freely off message, her caustic riffing — including a dissing of Donald Trump — brings the crowd alive.
Meanwhile, Jermaine Dominique’s Banquo is a more subtle revelation, making a good and thoughtful companion to Macbeth, rather than the usual orotund side-kick.
The wide-open spaces of the Globe hold no secrets and spring fewer surprises, making it an enemy of the spookiness the production seems to crave. And there are moments when rambling, ponderous delivery almost halts the action. But thanks to the saucy, gothic kitsch, it’s still a rudely enjoyable romp.