On the day that a serial killer received the longest sentence ever handed out by a Scottish court, Gemma Kerr brought her take on that country's most famous murderer, Macbeth, to London. Played as a promenade in the familiar surroundings of Clapham Common and then outside and inside the castle-like edifice of the Clapham Omnibus in modern dress, it's impossible not to reflect on the psychology of Macbeth and his wife and its timeless warning.
Great change is, of course, a time of great opportunity, so when Scotland defeats its enemies, the victors (naturally) expect the spoils. But Macbeth is not happy with a seat behind the throne - his ambition is for the crown - but it's only when his wife goads him to regicide (with the three witches' prophecies running through his mind) that ambition is given wings. However, his play for the kingship, though initially successful, turns into a game of "double-or-quits" and, as Lady Macbeth notoriously attempts to wash away the blood from her hands, Macbeth goes for broke believing himself protected by the Witches' foretelling that he would not fall to a man borne of woman. Inevitably, the final reckoning is closer than he expects.
What we lose in audibility (South London's traffic waits for no-one, king or otherwise), we gain in the sheer pleasure of hearing Shakespeare's words thrown into the cold Autumn air. This is the history of English theatre brought (literally) to its people, the rhythms and cadences of the poetry slotting between Little Waitrose and the Common's paddling pool, itself turned into the Witches' fiery lair. The relocation indoors is mediated by Lady Macbeth herself, atop a fire escape beckoning us inside the world of mad ambition she is constructing for her husband to execute.
Gregory Finnegan's Macbeth is, for the most part, a cool and calculating presence even as the madness overtakes him, his vision of Banquo's Ghost at the feast having an inevitability about it, so far from reality has his mind strayed inwardly while he retains an outwardly plausible demeanour. We know what bubbles below the surface, but we understand why his compatriots fail to see it until it's much too late. Jennifer Jackson's Lady M is at her best on that fire escape, physically above us, but psycholigically plumbing the depths of human nature, for which she pays her terrible price. I also enjoyed Samuel Collings' Banquo, the sidekick whose heirs will occupy thrones for generations to come, dead but still corporeal enough to occupy Macbeth's seat.
It's worth a look at a plot synopsis before striding out with your fellow members of the audience because, as so often with Shakespeare, it's quite hard to work out who's who at times in the political turmoil. It's also worth digging out some robust footwear and a warm coat too as the South-East of England needs little encouragement to feel like Scotland at this time of year. If you do so, you'll be rewarded by a production that places madness right here, right now through those beautiful, terrifying words.
Macbeth continues at the Clapham Omnibus until 29 November.
Photo - Tom Parker
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