Phyllida Lloyd’s Julius
Caesar at the Donmar is a daring, radical reinterpretation of Shakespeare’s
work, not least for its all-female cast.
The setting, however, is a single sex prison that shuns all femininity
for butch masculinity. Well suited to
the Donmar, the set is stark, bare and metallic, with CCTV cameras and pacing wardens
overhead suggesting the exterior business of the prison, whilst the largely monochromatic costumes include stylised military overcoats. And some cast members come from the Clean
Break Theatre Company of young-offenders, providing authenticity. Clearly women can be tough too.
The production throws us headlong into prison life, Lloyd
employing clever directorial touches and playing with the concept. Characters moodily stalk with toy guns; Roman
chariots are swapped for food trolleys; prophecies are read from trashy
magazines; and battle scenes are accompanied by live thrash metal, offering a
symbolic raw power. Caesar’s assassination
is particularly well executed – bleach forced down his (her?) throat whilst
sat amongst the audience, causing us (as in any public fiasco) to strain to
see, many forced to observe on the TV monitors as another character films the
proceedings live. Mark Antony’s famous “friends,
Romans, countrymen” speech is also well delivered by Cush Jumbo, who conducts the ensemble in their punctuating oohs, aahs and grunts.
Julius Caesar is
essentially a power play between the central quartet of characters – Brutus,
Cassius, Mark Antony and Caesar. This
production may not be overtly political in its agenda, but it's far
from simply gossiping women. Structured
as a play-within-a-play, the prison context serves to highlight the futility of
the characters’ lust for power – they are prisoners after all. Yet here there is another jostle for power,
that between the play and the concept, which threatens to overthrow the
drama. Rather than allow the audience to
follow the plot, our attention is often drawn to the creative aspects of the
production, the surface dressing. Tannoy
interruptions come from the prison wardens, which only distract from the core
narrative.
Though the production is far from transparent, the acting
is superb throughout. As a whole, the
cast speak Shakespeare’s verse with clarity and intelligence, but it's the
key protagonists who excel. Frances Barber’s
Caesar perhaps relies too heavily on shouting, but as death comes to the tyrannical leader, she writhes and screeches like a monstrous, feline
creature. The deep-voiced Jenny Jules
and engaging Cush Jumbo wonderfully portray Cassius and Mark Antony
respectively. At the centre of it all
is Harriet Walters’ androgynous Brutus: all slicked back hair, glass cutting
cheekbones and a moody demeanour that encapsulates the conflicted character. These stellar performances ensure the drama
always remains compelling and intense amongst a surrounding concept that
confounds as much as it delights.
4/5