Condensing the text to a taut and muscular 70 minutes, and focusing solely on the titular Macbeths, both of whom played by women (excellent young women, it has to be said, with the impressive Charlene Boyd as the fiend-like queen and the terrific Lucianne McEvoy as the dead butcher), director Dominic Hill and dramaturg Frances Poet’s restaging of their 2017 production for the Citz is a bold experiment which for the most part works.

But much like the blood-smeared Tracey Emin-like bed which  forms the simple centrepiece of the set and under a series of dingy lighting states by Stuart Jenkins resembles an unkempt student flat, the domestic and contemporary tone drains the tragedy of scale, grandeur and depth.

A flaw exacerbated by the back-to-back monologues and heated duologues which as the play unfolds grow more hysterical than philosophical. Think quarrelsome flatmates than murderous monarchs. Similarly, some of the the gaps between scenes are painfully long. And the sexual chemistry is strangely subdued.

However, with some ingenious splicing of the text together with a jarring score by Matthew Whiteside, the inventive utilisation of radio updates and taped recordings, and two excellent performances by Boyd and McEvoy who command the language with confidence, this stripped-back production makes for an engaging if not electric evening which, though bold, never quite manages to shake off its experimental shackles.

Peter Callaghan
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