Duchess of Malfi (National)
Though written in 1613, The Duchess of Malfi is a very modern play. Webster must have been one of the first writers to recognise the power of psychological torment, and is certainly one of the first writers to comment so frankly on women’s sexuality – even if the Duchess is ultimately punished for her ‘crime’.
Yet Phyllida Lloyd‘s version – while occasionally touched with greatness – disappoints, mainly because Webster’s text has been so savagely hacked. Lovers of the macabre will miss the werewolf scene, for instance, while also absent are the Cardinal’s musings on hell-fire and the ravings of the mad (the last replaced by a scene of psychological torture à la Clockwork Orange).
The evening starts promisingly with Antonio winning the equestrian competition at which Will Keen‘s Ferdinand acts like a sleazy master of ceremonies. This establishes him early on as someone wanting control, someone who thrives on flattery and double-dealing and, crucially, someone already on the verge of madness. Unfortunately, there’s nothing slow or subtle about this Ferdinand’s mental decline. Keen’s over-the-top performance, all sideway glances and jerks, means that, when his mind is truly overturned by his sister’s death and his own guilt, it’s impossible to ascertain the extent of his madness.
There are other important omissions: we lose the scene where the Duchess is deprived of her estate. Now her “I am Duchess of Malfi still” loses its irony. Here, the line is muttered almost as an aside, as if she is trying to convince herself.
Fortunately, as compensation, we have an excellent performance by Janet McTeer in the title role. There’s a real passion in her scenes with Charles Edwards‘ Antonio – this is a couple I could really believe to be in love. And after her arrest, McTeer manages to look truly physically distraught, until her placid acceptance of death.
There’s also an excellently underplayed Bosola from Lorcan Cranitch. His is no pantomime villain, but rather someone of a disarming manner who wheedles his way into the Malfi household.
Omissions aside, this The Duchess of Malfi exhibits some other strange aspects. The last scenes are played out in front of a ghostly lady, bathed in a dim, yellow light – oddly supernatural for such a modernist take on the play. But perhaps the lighting flourish is indeed warranted here, for it’s McTeer’s performance which dominates and illuminates in this truncation of a classic that emphasises the horror but loses some of the poetry in the process.
