Director Darko Tresnjak’s set for Titus Andronicus has a boldly white marble effect with occasional highlights of striking blood red, all suggesting both a butcher’s slab and a cruel and bloodthirsty Roman culture. Four statues atop a column each depict tortured agony so the striking set suggests both imperial power and the cruelty of this same power. Itai Irdal’s lighting creates a playing field of aggressive brightness or occasionally a revealing darkness that one’s subconscious fears. It’s a very violent play and the poetry of the language, the obvious ironies, the inevitable understatements, the casualness about pain all featured in this setting will soon send the impact of the play even more over the top.
Tresnjak’s production bursts oratorical in voice from square one and also, almost instantly, turns bloody. Titus will show no mercy to captive Tamora’s son and, as he is speared, blood bursts upward. Not long after we have throat-cutting, biting, more spearing, stabs in the gut, the cutting off of one’s hand. Also, after sexually suggestive playing around by Tamora’s crude sons and some orgy, we have offstage rape of Lavinia, the cutting off of her hands, the removal of her tongue, and more stabbings. And we’re not done yet since there’s an amputated hand left on the floor where a dog has a taste of it and the heads of the two same sons impaled high for all to see. If anyone is hungry, there’s a dinner of two pasties, each made from the bodies of Tamora’s sons, which she unknowingly nibbles with pleasure. Yes, she heaves vomit all over the stage when she finds out.
In all this, it’s a pleasure to hear John Vickery’s resonant and sculpted voice whose musical tone, dips and shadings, mastery of innuendo, and hurled phrases make everything he says a gourmet meal for the ear. I’m glad he this year has a sustained starring role so we can hear more of him. Claire Lautier’s Tamora speaks with a pointed and almost elegant prissiness, with an undercurrent of venom and manipulation. She is chilling when vengeful, enraged, conniving and predatory and she seems to articulate even her spit. Dion Johnston’s Aaron is a tender dad when with his babe, but otherwise he’s a man of slimy gusto who relishes intrigue, all the suffering he inflicts or supports, and killing with indifference to his victims. As Saturninus, Sean Arbuckle is envious, spiteful, somewhat gooey in haughtiness, and nasty when he laughs. His presence suggests a rotting of human values.
One more thing, the usher told me that she has seen the whole of act I only once in eight tries. Why? Each other time she had to help a nauseated and upset member of the audience to the lobby during the performance.