Cheek by Jowl’s production of Macbeth focuses on the eponymous Lord and Lady almost to the exclusion of other characters. Indeed, most of the thanes (Ross, Lennox, Angus etc.) are indistinguishable, simply belonging to the same ensemble / chorus of young men who create the world surrounding the main characters. The design, too, is bare, with the set consisting of oversized wooden crates lining each side of the stage, evocative, at various points, of the castle and Birnam Wood, or simply generating an overbearing claustrophobia by virtue of their height and presence. Props are entirely absent (except in the Porter’s scene), meaning letters, daggers, food and deaths being mimed (often rather enthusiastically – there is some danger of straying into Marcel Marceau territory).
Thus, the production becomes, to a large extent, a dissection of the Macbeths themselves – their fantasies, their nightmares, their marriage – and Will Keene and Anastasia Hille offer forensically detailed portraits of the murtherous couple. As Lady Macbeth, Hille is unusually touching – central to her performance is the love she bears her husband and the devastating effect of his gradual distancing from her as he retreats ever further inside his own mind. While never straightforwardly charismatic, Keene lends Macbeth an intensity which makes him a natural leader of men, particularly in a military context, but also fuels his descent into madness. The same manic energy which, coupled with his ambition, elevates him to the rank of King, reduces him to a quivering wreck in the presence of supernatural apparitions.
David Collings offers a contemplative take on Duncan and Kelly Hotten gives us a vivid porter – all flaming red hair, mini-skirt and Glaswegian brogue – but it is as an ensemble piece that the production is most distinctive. There are two main forces at play, dramatically speaking: the Macbeths and the ensemble. When the latter has purpose and unity, the production is at its best. The witches and apparitions are particularly compelling: silhouettes of the entire cast can be made out through a fog behind Macbeth (and Banquo, in the first witches' scene); the lines are spoken by the two female cast members and echoed in whispers by a host of male voices; Macbeth (and Banquo) speak their lines straight out, placing their necromantic tormentors somewhere in the audience. The effect is (pun intended) bewitching, and impressive in the way it thrusts imaginative engagement upon the audience as a requisite to appreciating the piece. Combined with the Spartan aesthetic, it also puts the audience in the same position as Macbeth in trying to separate truth from illusion: since nothing is physically present on stage, apart from the actors, there is no immediate way of telling what is real and what is not.
However, the ensemble is not always such a potent force, which is where the production fails to deliver on its promise. All through Act V, the male chorus (or “thanes” as they are collectively referred to in the programme) stand around on stage doing not very much. As a fluid, abstract unit, they might have been able to pull it off, but they have too particular an appearance: with their meticulously gelled hair, black combats and boots, and designer belt buckles they suggest something between boy band members and über fashion-conscious Hitler Youth. Indeed, throughout the first few scenes I imagined this look was going to be used as part an exploration of fascism, but the production never delivers an overtly political interpretation. The result is that the chorus provides a distraction as much as it provides the texture of the universe which the Macbeths inhabit.
Part of the problem must be that ensembles are something of a lost art in the UK. A couple of months ago, visiting Munich, I shocked a German friend of mine when I admitted I could only think of one semi-permanent acting ensemble in England which is attached to a theatre – the RSC. “They don’t even have an ensemble at the National Theatre?” he asked. “Not even at the National.” Off the top of his head, he was able to name four permanent ensembles in Munich alone. I know that Cheek by Jowl is just as much as an international company as it is a British one, with many of their productions starting off in France and then touring the entire world, but they still change casts for every production and rehearse for just six weeks – a very British way of working. True, the cast continue to receive direction throughout the run (a large number of British directors give notes until the very last performance), but this is hardly a substitute for building up a body of work, as a company, over a number of months or years.
The underworked ensemble is, for me, where Cheek by Jowl’s Macbeth stops short of becoming an unstoppable force; it remains an intelligent, well-acted production, but without the sinew to completely bowl an audience over.
