ROSHNI RAY reviews Lyndsey Turner’s recent production of Coriolanus.
“What is the city but the people?”
– Sicinius, Act 3 Scene 1
Harris with her genocidal “brat” propaganda, Trump with trangender alien claims, and Vance with baffling remarks about “childless cat ladies” and “post-menopausal females”—an American political scene akin to an absurd comedy of errors is nothing new. Yet, somehow, these public figures still appeal to certain, malleable, demographics, willing to vote based on “vibes” alone. Approval ratings keep swinging, opinions keep changing, and this has everything to do with populism—a force that thrives on emotional appeals, and a stark division between “us” and “them”.
Populism can be both a powerful political mechanism and a minacious tool, as brilliantly expressed in Lyndsey Turner’s new production of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus. The play is far from the most beloved amongst Shakespeare’s oeuvre; whether this lends itself to its hubristic, unlikable protagonist, or its fickle portrayal of the masses is debatable. Coriolanus is a sanctimonious soldier who refuses to play the political game. He does not wish to march to the beat of someone else’s drum and give into the populist agendas of Rome. His stubbornness leads to his downfall and he is eventually exiled from his beloved homeland. He meets a tragic end, unable to reconcile his ambition with his sense of honour.
There is no denying the play’s enduring relevance. It holds up a mirror to contemporary audiences, giving them food for thought about the force of public opinion and the uneasy balance of power between “patricians” and “plebeians”. The modern-style costuming reminds us of 21st century politics, with the characters dressed in double breasted suits and bowties. When the antagonistic sentiment swells to a climax, the play lays bare how quickly unity can dissolve into chaos, pushing audiences to confront the consequences of a hero’s uncompromising pride.
The characters in Coriolanus range from disagreeable to diplomatic, and some turn from enemies to allies, only to finally betray each other. Caius Marcius Coriolanus (David Oyelowo) is a famous Roman general who holds the poor in contempt for their lack of military service. His mother, Volumnia, played by the show-stopping Pamela Nomvete, is a dominating woman, who coerces her loved ones to get what she wants. Burning with an insatiable desire to defeat Marcius in battle, the proud and commanding Aufidius (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith) seethes with determination. At the height of tension, you can see veins pulsing on their foreheads, their voices echoing across the theatre with a force that lingered in the air, sending chills down the spine of each audience member.
By the Bard’s standards, Marcius is an opaque and tight-lipped character. Though, despite rarely pausing to soliloquize, as is expected from most Shakespearean characters, Oyelowo reveals the character’s interiority in his physical embodiment of the wrathful tyrant. The combat between Aufidius and Marcius amid the Volscian assault stands out as one of the production’s finest moments. Far from a conventional fight sequence, it features meticulously choreographed movements performed in slow motion, accompanied by dynamic lighting shifts, emulating crackling lighting and thunder. Choreographer Sam Lyon-Behan, whose inventive style lent the scene a rare cinematic quality, managed to transform the characters’ physical bravado into a striking spectacle.
However, there are times when exchanges between characters feel distant. This is particularly tangible in Menenius Agrippa’s (Peter Forbes) lack of urgency to mitigate the chaos of the fight. His ineffective response only serves to increase the mayhem caused by the plebeians and by Coriolanus’ refusal to partake in the political game.
The scene in which Volumnia begs Coriolanus to stop his crusade lacked the play’s usual gripping quality. The second half of the play is expected to partly focus on Coriolanus’ complicated relationship with his mother, but this dynamic failed to come through in the production due to a lack of rapport—the overpowering individual presence of the actors eclipsed the collective mental turmoil of the characters. The result was a scene that felt rather emotionally distant, lacking the prominence necessary to leave a lasting impression.
The most compelling aspect of this production was undoubtedly Es Devlin’s set design. Rome is depicted as a museum, symbolic of the characters’ collective desire to be remembered for their trials and rebellions. They wish to create stories that will be recounted by future generations, but are stuck in the past, trapped in a society rife with inequality and social unrest. The towering marble blocks of the museum repeatedly rise and fall, as if larger than life, accentuating the majesty of the Roman interiors.
The play reaches its climax as the populist tribunes condemn the protagonist as a traitor, and he is banished from Rome. We then conclude on a powerful image of the deceased Coriolanus centre-stage, his son silently exiting the museum. This closing moment offers a poignant commentary on the ways in which history immortalises divisive figures, and who gets to decide what the concepts of heroism and infamy really mean. The play, though imperfect at times, is redeemed by its strikingly regal set design and unique take on an age-old tale. In reflecting the contemporary world with profound insight and artistry, Coriolanus serves as a stirring reminder of the enduring significance of Shakespeare’s work.
Featured image courtesy of Misan Harriman.
