Macbeth

I love Will Keen. i first really noticed him in a production of The Changeling here at the Barbican about four years ago, which was also a Cheek by Jowl production. I've pretty much been stalking him around the London stages ever since. and I love Macbeth, in the way you especially love a play you've been in (ok, it was at school, but still). As part of the Shakespeare-fest which i indulge in with my friend Rachel, Macbeth is always set to be a highlight. so Will Keen + Macbeth + Barbican + Cheek by Jowl seemed a shoo-in for a standing ovation. i had virtually kicked off my heels in preparation for a foot stomp. sadly, stomping out was more likely (though i restrained myself. just.)

I am rechristening this production Lady Macbeth because it's pared down (2hrs, no interval) to what is basically a two-hander, one that is scene stolen by a histrionic, hysterical, unhinged, neurotic, shaking, sweating, thoroughly distracting Lady Macbeth. Confusingly, she seems to come to her senses during the sleepwalking scene, where she convincingly wanders about visibly crumbling under the weight of guilt and general insanity. really, it's very odd.

Banquo feels a bit 'blink and you'll miss him', Macduff has a forbearing, powerful stage presence, granted, but it's something you feel he's had to grab through the language with both hands.

The indistinguishable chorus-like company meanwhile dash about with frantic, frenetic nervousness, delivering an isolated line and then running off in a blind panic. initially, i liked the almost balletic quality to the staging, but then it rapidly descended into being gratingly new age 'music and movement'. It fits with the post-apocalyptically stark landscape of the stage, which has industrial minimalism thing going on. very bleak and black - with no props (not even any daggers; the 'is this a dagger i see before me' line is a bit like - no more than anywhere else, luv). utterly bizarre.

What i did love, however, was the porter scene. usually i hate the light relief (bah humbug). but this porter was a gum-chewing, tartan miniskirt wearing, stiletto clad, electrified ginger haired floozy who ignored the intercom, had a unintelligibly thick Scottish accent and a whopping crush on Macduff. Rocking.