Macbeth

Put him in a frock and let him play Gertrude. Or maybe Osric. But a fierce daggerman like Macbeth? Again John Bell's casting was a puzzle since the actor's disabilities were clear. He seemed jointless, all hinges and no locks, swivelling here and there with his right foot in and his left foot out, wiggling and jiggling—nothing would stay still.

Macduff looked okay—kilted up and Scotch as a caber. He was the most manly thing on stage besides Lady Macbeth, whose "screw your courage to the sticking place" was wasted on human jelly. The fact is that without the undaunted mettle of Lynda Cropper playing the dire dame, Sydney's Bell Shakespeare Company wouldn't have had a play at all. Ms Cropper was good, and if she had difficulty looking her husband in the eye we all knew why.

But as usual in any Bell production nowadays it sounded improvised, as if there were no tradition of spoken Shakespeare for a guide: modulation got small attention, and there were only two volume settings—soft and loud. "We fail?" and the defiance that follows should not burst hectoringly on one high level from Lady Macbeth. She may at first be incredulous. How could her husband consider such a thing? She may even be left momentarily without words. There are many ways of expressing shock without shouting. Then with rising force she can give him the verbal hiding we all enjoy. But it has to build.

Aside from Ms Cropper, and a bit of light stuff from David Hynes as the porter, only Macduff deserves mention. David Whitney not only wore a kilt, his red-faced Caledonian fury looked like a sporran in a fit. He bellowed, yet the bellowing did not obscure the words and was on the whole well managed. But the test for anyone playing Macduff is a single line: "He has no children." This Mr Whitney failed. There is no need for it to come out with a roar of rage. It can be done as if Malcolm had simply forgotten a salient fact. The words can be flat, quiet, fatalistic and resigned. Or choked out. Or gasped.

* * *

Mr Bell, the director, is getting older, and it is possible he is growing deaf. That is the conclusion to be drawn from the use of sound effects more appropriate on New Years' Eve. One clap of thunder would have been enough for the three witches, but Bell was determined to split the ears of the groundlings, throwing interminable gunfire and slaughter at us (Yes John, we know how you feel about war) until many in the audience were half stunned. We are told that one of the more elderly tottered out of the theatre and fell into Sydney Harbour. I'm not surprised.

August 2007