30 April 2025
I’m dubbing this production of Titus Andronicus ‘The Stratford Chainsaw Massacre’ because of its most intense scene of stage blood letting.
As Titus, Simon Russell Beale, his hand, strapped high above his head to an overhead electric winch, chooses to sacrifice his hand to a chainsaw-wielding butcher in a bid to save the life of his sons (falsely) accused of murdering the Holy Roman Emperor’s brother. His sacrifice, played out like a torture scene from a Quentin Tarrantino gangster film, with highly effective strobe lighting, ear-shredding sound effects and a red hose liberally spraying a cascading river of blood across the off-white stage, proves entirely in vain when his hand is duly returned in a plastic bag along with the severed heads of his two sons. It also leaves the actor drenched head to foot in crimson and with his shock white beard now completely bloodied, like a demonic evil Santa in a Festive slasher movie. It’s quite a showstopping tableaux.
Throw in the double rape of his young daughter, who has her tongue cut out and both hands severed to prevent her identifying her attackers, assorted other murders, cannibalism and disemboweling, and you can see how the death and gore count in Titus Andronicus is legendary and unmatched in Shakespeare’s cannon. Even the death of a humble fly gets an extended scene to itself and brings much needed laughter among the chills.
Titus Andronicus was written in bloodier times when theatregoers were used to seeing public hangings, executions and mutilations as free street entertainment. Shakespeare, setting his story in the morally corrupt and evil Roman empire was giving his audience what they craved and it proved box office gold – one of his biggest hits in his lifetime. You can imagine the groundings baying for blood and cheering every gory dispatch.
But is the RSC’s current staging of this epic bloodfest that sees the Swan Theatre turned into a huge industrial-scale human abattoir, a stomach-churning orgy of crimson horror that would induce illness and hyperventilating or more giggle-inducing Kate Bush Hammer Horror?
I have to say my anxiety level was genuinely dialed up high when greeted by a large jet black blanket on my seat to drape over me to protect myself from what was ahead. It should be noted that the national critics were kept well away from the front two rows gore zone! But the blanket would ultimately only be used to warm up my limbs in the freezer-like temperature of the theatre.
The central casting proved a challenge for me. When you think of a Roman general returning victorious to Rome from yet another long and arduous war I think of rippling muscles, toga wearing Pedro Pascal as General Acasaius in Gladiator 2. Here we get Mr Russell Beale in grey business suit, city braces and heavy overcoat looking every inch the suburban bank manager coming home from a conference in Harrogate. One of my favourite actors, Mr Beale has been the first to admit in interviews that he’s not classic casting for any alpha male role and he doesn’t pull it off here. More canny politician than battle hardened warrior, it is only when his world collapses into an orgy of blood letting and his confidence and bravado visibily shrink in Act 2, that he plays Titus waspish, camp even, and the SRB we know, expect and frankly love shines.
Ned Costello (Bassianus) with his flinty looks and withering put downs of his brother Saturnius, shines comet-bright in the opening scene as they both make a play to the Senate to be the next Emperor, but his murder that begins the legendary killing spree is too swift in the evening. A clear cast of an actor making their mark in a minor role then disappearing into the ensemble. Surely greater parts in the Shakespeare cannon must follow at the RSC for this exciting young actor with a dangerous, thrilling mercurial edge to his performances (no one who saw his astonishing Offie Award-winning Lead Performance in a Play in Philip Ridley’s Leaves of Glass at the Park Theatre will ever forget it).
Joshua James (Saturninus) is a wonderfully camp and totally spiteful Emperor, and Letty Thomas as the raped and mutilated Lavinia, delivers a pitiable portrayal that evokes real horror and revulsion and ultimately breaks our heart. But it is Natey Jones (as the Moor Aaron orchestrating most of the deaths and wielding the aforementioned chainsaw) who brings real depth to a deliciously villainous part, displaying a softer, nobler side when presented with his tiny newborn love child.
The costuming (designed by Joanna Scotch) is frankly rather bizarre. Titus and his warriors are initially dressed as middle management in grey suits and overcoats and their prisoners, the Moors, in blue overalls in a nod to Guantanamo Bay prisoners. Later, the ensemble wear rather fetching tight body hugging suits with cross straps that accentuate the pectorals and posterior. These I absolutely loved but they did make the cast look like a cross between cat burglars and renegades from the Marvel universe.
Much of the grisliest action produced prolonged laughter throughout the theatre – I’m not sure that was the playwright’s intent. A night more of tease than genuine terror.
