Titus Andronicus (Globe)
There are probably only two ways to play Titus Andronicus. There’s the horror pic approach, revelling in the murder, mayhem and gore or one can send it up. Lucy Bailey’s stylish production at the Globe comes down on the side of levity, rejoicing in the black humour of the piece, while not losing sight of the poetry.
The story of how the eponymous Titus’ sacrifice of the son of the queen of the Goths has tragic consequences for his family rarely rises above the mundane, but written on the cusp of Shakespeare’s transformation from poet to playwright, the verse occasionally sparkles, even if the plot doesn’t.
Bailey doesn’t get to grips with the some of the play’s central mysteries. Why does Saturninus so readily believe that Titus’ sons were guilty of the murder of his brother when only the day before they risked their lives defending him? Why does it take so long for Titus to ask his daughter why she had been mutilated and who did it? Or, the biggest mystery of all, where does Douglas Hodge’s Titus get his extraordinary accent from?
He enters triumphant, emerging from the Globe crowd, declaiming his victory in an American twang – sounding not unlike Dubya proclaiming victory over the Iraqis – but the transatlantic tones soon disappear in his rage, replaced by a sort of Cockney wide-boy patter. The Bush references do make some sort of sense: the Goths talk of Titus’ illogical piety and the conflict between them and the Romans is seen as some sort of ideological war, although this theme gets lost in the general bloodbath.
This is not a play full of rib-ticklers although Bailey wrests as much humour as she can from it. When Lucius and Titus both offer their hands in sacrifice, they indulge in a frantic, macabre game of paper-scissor-stone; when shooting arrows in the air to appeal to the gods, Titus effects a frantic mime show of holding the bow with his foot; and, finally, in the play’s denouement, he appears in the guise of the sort of mad chef who wouldn’t even pass muster on a Channel 4 cookery programme.
Accent aside, Hodge’s is a nicely judged performance, treading the narrow line between vengeance and madness. Patrick Moy’s effete Saturninus pays more than lip-service to Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus from the film Gladiator – he even appears to have had the same hairdresser – but his weakness offers an effective contrast to Titus’ brute strength.
The Goths are a motley bunch: there’s more back-combing, face paint and tartan than in an evening of Spandau Ballet tribute bands. But Shaun Parkes’ Aaron, Shakespeare’s most villainous villain, shines. He speaks the text beautifully and reflects the sardonic, mocking humour of the character.
William Dudley’s black-themed set (including the first Globe roof) adds an imposing grandeur to the action, well supported by Django Bates’ music. But despite the best endeavours of these, the actors and the director, Titus Andronicus is never going to be more than a curiosity, a museum piece to get taken down from the shelf and dusted off only occasionally.
– Maxwell Cooter
