NYC Immersion: Macbeth… Something Insipid This Way Comes
Students from Syracuse University’s Goldring Arts Journalism program recently travelled to New York City to experience the city’s art and culture and review a myriad of professional shows. This review is part of a collection from said immersion.
By Ellen E. Mintzer
Daniel Craig’s Macbeth struts and frets upon the stage during the climactic monologue that caps off his power-mad murder spree. But for a man tormented by guilt and spiraling into madness, his fretfulness is rather muted. In Sam Gold’s limited run of Macbeth at the Longacre Theatre, Craig’s performance as a dignitary who slaughters his king on the promise of a supernatural prophecy is at times gradual and layered, but that final speech is stiff and subdued. It’s a missed opportunity in a production full of missed marks.
The production intentionally shows the cracks in the theatrical facade – the actors visible backstage, the curtain halfway up during the opening speech – but it doesn’t look deliberate, just messy. It’s a muddle of mismatched extremes, the baroque and the sparse, the gory and the silly. Fog is generously deployed, yet the stage is a bare, scuffed black floor. The violence is explicit, amputated limbs and fountains of blood, yet the show begins with a dopey warm-up comic monologue where Michael Patrick Thornton (as himself?) explains the curse of the Scottish play to the audience like they’re tweens at their first Shakespeare.
Ruth Negga’s (Lady Macbeth) and Craig’s performances are uneven and their chemistry is minimal, but at least they seem comfortable with the language. Amber Grey’s Banquo and Maria Dizzia’s witch/Lady Macduff give game performances with flickers of magnetism, but the rest of the cast seems out of their depth. Asia Kate Dillon is a paper-flat Malcolm, memorable only for inertness. Ensemble members, dressed in casual street clothes, are amateurish and dull.
Negga’s charisma is luminous in the first act but dissipates by the second. After she reads a letter from Macbeth detailing the witches’ prophecy that he will become king, Negga eagerly calls on evil spirits to infuse her with darkness in service of the murderous scheme. She’s sinuous, writhing, titillated by the temptation of power. She purrs her way through entreaties to supernatural forces, captivated – and captivating – in the throes of seductive evil. It’s a high moment in a show with precious few. Negga is practically catatonic in act two, and her “out, damn spot” speech is criminally understated. She is clearly capable of giving a spellbinding performance, so Gold’s direction is likely to blame for her pulling back.
Gold’s gravest sin, though, lies in how he chooses to end the production. The second act is mercifully lacking the clownery of the first (that ridiculous opening speech, Paul Lazar’s jolly, empty-headed performance as King Duncan and the porter); despite the inconsistent acting, Gold allows the despair and darkness to build, bringing forth the emotional heft of the material.
But the final fight scene ends not with Macbeth’s death, but with the cast sitting on the stage and ladling out bowls of soup. They share a meal while ensemble member Bobbi MacKenzie sings an insipid original song by Gaelynn Lea about getting along, or something. It’s an infuriatingly absurd choice that undercuts the gravitas that Gold managed to conjure in the second act. The scene of misplaced levity recalls the misplaced pedestrian comedy of the first act. Let the darkness and tragedy of Macbeth speak for itself.