Coriolanus was the last of Shakespeare's plays to be featured in the Royal Shakespeare Company's 2017 Rome Season. Having enjoyed the fantastic productions of Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra and Titus Andronicus, I looked forward to Coriolanus - a play I had previously been unfamiliar with. Here's my thoughts.
Shakespeare's Roman plays - Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, Titus Andronicus, and Coriolanus - are all tragedies, centring around betrayal, battles, and bloodshed. All see friends and allies turn to enemies, times of peace descend into war, and hope become lost in despair. Yet in my opinion, Coriolanus is the darkest of these plays, and in the RSC's 2017 production it was presented as such.
Set: 'Bowels of Ungrateful Rome'
In the RSC's Julius Caesar, Rome is a place where glory trips on the heels of glory; in Antony and Cleopatra, it is presented as a place of overwhelming might and discipline. Even when this discipline fails, as in Titus Andronicus, it remains a place of ceremony and fierce duty. Yet in Coriolanus, the RSC presented Rome as something much darker, and much more dangerous.
This is a Rome of concrete and steel, not marble or gold. Here, the great pillars of temples and basilicas are exchanged for huge metallic frames, which are fixed into place during scenes in the marketplace; elegant statues are obscured behind steel shutters, which snap up and down as the scene requires. Sometimes like an industrial shipping yard, where gangs confront each other and wage their wars; sometimes like a underground boxing ring, where caged opponents fight even to the death - this Rome is a place devoid of beauty or dignity. Even the statue of the Roman lady in Vigilia's chamber is broken and marred, enclosed in a gaudy glass box and illuminated in a cold white light.
Fighting is at the centre of this play. All of the Roman plays are militaristic to some extent: in Julius Caesar and Antony and Cleopatra, we see the events which build up to the outbreak of war; in Titus Andronicus, we see the aftermath of war, and the consequences of such a conquest. In Coriolanus, we are thrown head-first into a war of a colossal magnitude. The uniforms worn by the characters are not ceremonial but practical, and each has a sharpened machete fixed to their belt. The fight scenes are brutal and bloody, particularly that between Coriolanus (Sope Dirisu) and Tullus Aufidius (James Corrigan): both discard their weapons in favour of a bare-knuckle brawl, grappling at each others' necks and striking wherever they can land a blow.
Even when the war is won, the fighting does not cease. Coriolanus condemns the plebians of Rome for being discontented by peace and over-proud in war, but does not acknowledge that he is much the same in this respect. Returning proudly from the war against the Volsces, Coriolanus struggles to adapt to peacetime negotiations, and refuses to bow to Roman state ceremonies. He wars against these rituals and traditions, against the plebians and their spokespeople the tribunes, even against his own advisors and supporters. The metallic structures on stage look ever more like a cage, with Coriolanus being the trapped lion lashing out against everything and everyone. Even when wiped clean and changed out of his war-torn khakis, Coriolanus remains 'a thing of blood' - emotionally gravitating towards violence, vocally poised for the attack.
Sope Dirisu was a formidable Coriolanus, becoming tender only in the embrace of his fierce and resilient mother Volumnia (Hadyn Gwynne). James Corrigan delivered yet again in the role of envy-driven Aufidius, and Charles Aitken played a sensitive Cominius, brought to tears by Coriolanus's disregard for their former friendship. But the stand-out performances for me were delivered by Jackie Morrison and Martina Laird as tribunes Sicinius Velutus and Junius Brutus.
It was a stroke of brilliance to cast actresses in these roles. It was refreshing to see ladies in positions of power, especially in one of the Roman plays, where it is traditionally men who exude political prowess. But this wasn't simply an act of gender-blind casting: with the play being set in the 21st century, this production made a comment on how women in power are perceived today.
From their very first entrance, the ladies are ridiculed, undermined and underestimated. Menenius calls them 'ridiculous subjects', and insults their intelligence by claiming 'more of your conversation would infect my brain'. He belittles them, declaring they can only act with the support of others, and that they are simple, unimaginative, and 'too infant-like for doing much alone'. He poses deliberately confusing questions, then expands on them in all-too-familiar instances of mansplaining. During the meeting at the Capitol, the senators point the tribunes to their seats, push them about, and generally undermine their authority. As for Coriolanus, his hate is clearest of all: in a fit of rage, he assaults Sicinius by grabbing her by the throat. Such ridicule is written into the text, but by casting female actresses in the roles, the RSC's production sheds a light on the disrespect that all too many 21st century women face in the workplace.
Yet despite the mockery of their peers, these tribunes are sharp-minded, efficient and capable in their business: selflessly standing up for the rights of the people ('lay the fault on us', they encourage), and remaining confident in their own authority ('in the power of us the tribunes, we...banish him'). As Coriolanus's words and deeds become ever more brazen and insolent, Sicinius darts forward and uses her quick tongue to denounce his actions, while Brutus scoffs and shakes her head with disbelief. We, perhaps unsurprisingly, can empathize with these reactions to tyranny all too well.
Notable Scene: 'Thus Cut Off'
Many scenes in this production were notable: the fight between Coriolanus and Aufidius for its epic choreography; the 'ceremony of humility' in the marketplace for its moments of humour; and the scenes between Coriolanus and Volumnia for their tenderness. But for this review I have picked the final scene, where Coriolanus is strangled to death by Aufidius.
Shortly before this scene, Volumnia, Virgilia and young Martius return from Coriolanus's camp, having convinced the warrior to stand down his arms. They enter Rome in triumph - heralded by music, the throwing of red rose petals, and the presentation of a crown - but their return is bittersweet, for have not won back their son, husband, father. They walk over the rose petals, and reject the crown.
Declared a traitor by a heartsore Aufidius, Coriolanus is tackled and restrained by several Volsces. The red petals, still strewn about the stage floor, make up for the lack of blood, but this assassination is brutal enough: looping a length of chain about his prisoner's neck, Aufidius strangles Coriolanus to death. The men restraining Coriolanus, sensing the life leaving him, gradually let go; the last, looking at Aufidius in horror, watches as his leader pummels the life from his adversary. It is a horrifying spectacle: Coriolanus's death is lost amongst the scramble of bodies and Aufidius's enraged bellows. It seems to take an age for Aufidius to realise that Coriolanus is dead, lying lifeless across his knee. But it takes only a few moments for his anger to abate, and for him to grieve the adversary he admits to having always admired.
Like all of the Roman plays, the play ends in uncertainty. The tyrant is dead, but he leaves behind a vacuum that no one else seems to have the heart to fill, at least not yet. Yet the play ends a good deal lighter than it began: tyranny gives way to humility as Aufidius acknowledges his mistakes; riots give way to ceremony as Coriolanus is carried like a soldier from the stage. A new age has begun. Dignity has been reclaimed. This is reflected in the staging, too: in these final moments, the metal shutters rise away, and the characters - silhouetted - walk away into a warm, golden light.
Coriolanus is a play that is difficult to love. But as many reviews state, the resonances with our current world are undeniable. The RSC's production was well designed and powerfully performed - well worth seeing. It's Stratford-upon-Avon run is over, but you can still catch it at the Barbican Theatre in London from 6 - 18 November, 2017.
All photos by Helen Maybanks, copyright of RSC, found here (except for photo 3, found here).
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