Review: MACBETH, Lyric Hammersmith

A prophecy muddles the brain of a brave general and kick-starts the upheaval of a divided nation. Consumed by his personal ambition and the absolute devotion to his wife, Macbeth murders and betrays his way to the top. But fate has a different plan. Riddled with terror and paranoia, our tragic antihero instigates a bloodbath before he falls. It should be an epic investigation of family and power, but, directed by Richard Twyman for English Touring Theatre, it’s nothing but a train-wreck. 

The production checks off each convention you might think belongs to non-Jamie Lloyd contemporary theatre one after the other. Swanky set? Tick. Random handheld microphone that’s used once? Tick. Eccentric spin on a classic protagonist? Tick. One excellent visual display that re-establishes a recurring allegory? Tick. A strong female character we forget about halfway through? Tick. Live feeds and projections? Tick. That one actor who incorporates BSL in their practice? Tick. Sudden meta-break for no reason at all? Tick. It’s exhausting. It becomes a masterclass in how not to build a new take on Macbeth.

The first scene introduces the potential of a sophisticated vision: Lady Macbeth is mournfully disposing of baby clothes when her husband leaves her a voice message to tell her about his encounter with the three sisters. A small spotlight illuminates the tiniest of urns next to a teddy. Will this Macbeth be a family drama? Or will it be about national identity due to the assignment of accents? It's very little of both.

Alex Austin seems to have been given a lot of contradicting misdirections, so he plays Macbeth as an opportunistic kingsman, an annoying and insecure man with girly-pop tendencies. Nothing sticks: not his wife’s emotional manipulation, not his paranoid arrogance nor his bratty outbursts nor his petulance, not even the sobriety of a grieving father. Soliloquising his intentions into the void while his comrades praise his bravery, his feats don’t match his bearings. Austin is also at the centre of the most baffling instance in Twyman’s direction.

Macbeth has just been crowned, the banquet is being set up, and the fourth wall is torn down. Austin addresses the audience directly, breaking the pretence and commenting on the events of the night, asking if we’re having a good time. Then, he invites two members of the public to sit at his table before he’s haunted by a dead Banquo. Perhaps Twyman was trying his hand at toying with dissonance, but there's no rhyme or reason to it. He tries to be kooky and cool, but end up with a series of inconsistent stylistic choices and a show that’s tonally all over the place - to the point where we laugh when Macbeth is killed.

A few excellent performances get lost in the weakness of the outcome. Gabriel Akuwudike projects sheer power as a reserved and pensive Banquo while Ammar Haj Ahmad is a charismatic Macduff. Lois Chimimba and Bianca Stephens could have been the real deal as a profound Lady Macbeth and the tarot-reading, witchy Lady Macduff, while Bella Aubin is an intriguing gender-bent Malcolm. It’s a pity that the company was severely let down by the shortcomings of the production. There’s plenty of compelling points in their ensemble, but the direction is so erratic that not even they manage to save such a weak concept.

Designer Basia Binkowska builds the downstairs area of a swanky mansion. An enclosure houses a bath (yes, Macbeth rinses off in his white boxer briefs, why wouldn't he?), a fridge, and a kitchen. This stainless-steel-and-translucent-shower-curtain of it all is very Dexterian and clashes harshly with the rich wood and warmer tones of the rest. It’s an interesting visual juxtaposition, but it is, once more, not exploited to its full capacity. A system of CCTV sometimes streams moments that are harder to see, introducing yet again another element that stays on the surface, as there isn’t much of a thematic line that stresses surveillance or espionage.

An ulterior shame is that the dramaturgy stripped the script of the beauty of its language entirely, taking one too many shortcuts, potentially in a bid for accessibility. They rush through most of the juicy bits and linger on the more comic escapades, throwing off the balance. There’s no tension, no climb in the atmosphere. The supernatural elements are entrusted to Lady Macduff and the shuffling of her tarot deck while ghostly figures haunt Macbeth from afar. A dearth of chemistry within the cast reinforces the blandness of the project as a whole.

Ultimately, this is a terrible misfire. In an attempt to make a unique Macbeth, Twyman loses touch with the original material and what it signifies. He tried to be quirky for the sake of it rather than exploiting the idiosyncrasies that are already in the story. Something wicked this way has come, and not in a good way.

Macbeth runs at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre until 29 March.

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