15th
Seriously. I’ll never look at a jar of mustard the same way ever again, especially since Mr. Stewart accidentally dropped it on the floor during last night’s performance. Just seeing that yellow goo go splat across the gray dungeon-esque set made it difficult to sleep last night.
This was the first production of Macbeth I have ever seen that was truly, genuinely scary. It was also the first production that was easy for me to watch. Mr. Stewart made the whole production flow beautifully and it wasn’t until after I left the theater that I realized how freaked out I was. Mr. Goold’s staging is very smart and his design choices are solid and well-executed. There is a great deal of the showmanship necessary to an engaging Shakespeare production (the banquet scene in particular comes to mind, although I don’t want to spoil it for anyone else by describing it) and yet the showmanship is built on such a sturdy foundation that the audience doesn’t disconnect when the loud music stops or the lights are not longer flashing and we are left with just a spotlight and an actor. It is Mr. Stewart who carries this production, of course - he relegates even the simplest bit of stage business to the realm of the divine and I will never forget the smooth and intelligent motions of his hands as he slapped ham and cheese on bread to make a sandwich for Banquo’s murderers - but his charisma and buoyancy support the performances of everyone around him.
I also found myself struck by the similarities between Hamlet and Macbeth as deeply philosophical men who make radically different choices but ultimately end up the same. Both have similar “to be” monologues and ultimately conclude that “my thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth” and “from this moment the very firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand.” As the New York Times points out, Mr. Stewart’s portrays Macbeth a deeply introspective, almost dreamy man. His murderous bent and his psychotic break with reality come as a surprise to him in his lucid moments, and his realization that it all signifies nothing is the conclusion with which all ambitious men dodge and parry with the weapons of their achievement. His death, then, comes as a nihilistic surrender and not a valiant last stand. It’s a sensible and worthy intrepretation performed with unparalelled elegance.