Review: Measure for Measure, Donmar Warehouse

While others strive for power, one Duke appears to be giving it away. Relinquishing his judicial power and assigning it to his deputy, he dons a monk's habit and steps back, to see what will unfold in his absence...

What does unfold is a staging of Measure for Measure quite unlike any that has been envisaged before. Though it is performed far less frequently than some of Shakespeare's other plays, Measure showcases an array of human vices which have become ever more important to address. Abuse of power, blackmail and hypocrisy, gender inequality and sexual violation - one instance of many in which a 16th century playwright appears to be speaking directly to us in the 21st century.

In a bold retelling, this production stages Measure for Measure twice. The version in the first half, albeit highly abridged, follows the traditional story, with the actors in 16th-century costume. The stage is fairly bare, but what props, lighting, and music do embellish it evoke the period in which the play is set. We spin through the traditional arc, with a silver-tongued Angelo (Jack Lowden) manipulating the steadfastly devout Isabel (Hayley Atwell), for his own sexual fulfillment. Any doubts over the casting - that Lowden seems too gentle for cruel Angelo, Atwell too fierce for wavering Isabel - is remedied in their very first scenes, and solidified not long after. Angelo's lustful groping in their early encounter, and Isabel's journey from desperation to graceful mercy towards the end, are performed with a raw emotion that becomes the driving force for the play.

This driving force is needed too, as just before the interval, the production hits the reset button and the play begins over again. Towards the end of the first half, a bleak resolution to the story's problems is reached. The 'honest' Duke (Nicholas Burns) is revealed to be lusting after Isabel just as Angelo did - a traumatic repetition which sees Isabel left with no other option than to hurl an agonized scream into her pursuer's face.

The stage goes dark, and the music thunders in. When the lights come back up, the characters are where we left them, but the Duke now wears a formal office suit, and begins once again by relinquishing his power. Yet it is Isabel, now in a dress with a file and phone in hand, who is offered the role of deputy in this 21st-century retelling.

Although this switch in gender roles highlights the progression society has made in advancing women to positions of authority, we are nevertheless poised to see her authority be undermined. Indeed, when Isabel condemns Claudio (Sule Rimi) to death, both he and Provost (Adam McNamara) burst into incredulous laughter. Though her sexual pursuit is carried out behind closed doors, the final act where her sins are revealed see Isabel shamed for her sexuality, something not seen with Angelo in the first half. An incriminating audio recording, captured on a mobile phone, of her climaxing is used to humiliate Isabel - making her plea for a swift execution more loaded with meaning. Where in the first half, Angelo is forced into marrying an eager Mariana (Helena Wilson), Isabel is marched away to marry Frederick (Ben Allen), a stony-faced groom whose very first words to his soon-to-be wife are 'Don't speak, Isabel'. Though Isabel's actions were not appropriate, we do feel a pang of concern for the outcome of this orchestrated marriage. 

In the second half it is Angelo, brother to Claudio, who enrols himself into a religious group, turning in his phone, keys, and cigarettes in exchange for a grey tracksuit. At first, this appears to be more a prison than a convent, but perhaps that's the point - highlighting how we are conditioned to think men would only abstain from sex if forced against their will. Here, Angelo is just as devout as Isabel was in the first half, yet even in his new community he is the object of lusting gazes and wandering hands. Their positions exchanged, neither Isabel's authority nor Angelo's chastity are respected.

In this 21st-century version, the ensuing exchanges between the two are just as cruel and piteous as before, perhaps seeming more shocking because the gender dynamic is not one we are used to seeing. To see a young, gentle man cringe away from a woman's uninvited touch, anxiously snapping an elastic band around his wrist, is made more uncomfortable because, though it does happen in real life, it is rarely addressed so openly in media representations. The very real possibility of a sexual assault against a man is constantly overlooked, so when Isabel poses 'Who will believe you, Angelo?', he is revealed to be as voiceless as a woman might be in this situation. Lowden's versatility is on full display during these scenes - there is nothing of the domineering deputy in the man who trembles despairingly through Isabel's assault.

What struck me the most, however, was the way in which the audience reacted to these scenes of male fragility. While Angelo's assault of Isabel in the first half was met with horrified silence, the reverse in the second half provoked awkward laughter. Childish tittering arose at every moment where, when a woman was the victim, the seriousness of the situation would be respected: when Claudio scoffs at Angelo's aversion to submitting to Isabel; when Frederick weeps as he nurses a broken heart; when the Duke's embrace of Angelo escalates to lustful kissing. For me, such moments were painful to watch, and carried the same weight as those in the first half. Angelo's happiness on seeing Claudio alive is taken advantage of by the Duke, who attempts to pull the young man aside. Angelo pushes back, retreating with a sobbing Claudio to the back wall of the stage. He does not scream, as Isabel did - but the way in which he glares up at the Duke, his wrists in cuffs, leaves us with a resounding message about how trapped men can feel when it comes to speaking out about sexual assault. 

The play ends with Atwell, reprising her role of Isabel from the first half, stepping out before the Duke - right on the spot where she let out her primal scream. Amongst all the 21st-century clothing, her nun's habit stands incongruous. If we are expecting a resolution to the first half's abrupt end, we are to be left without closure. Rather than concluding with the traditional story's arc, the productions hits reset and the play starts again, with Isabel asking the Duke: 'I come to know your pleasure'.

This cycle of resetting and restarting - of switching, between 16th- and 21st-century, male and female, deputy and novice - brings to the fore the production's main theme: the endless struggle for power, authority and sexual dominion which has plagued humanity since its birth. Matters such as these never find closure; sadly, neither do many of the people who have experienced and survived sexual assault, whether female or male. The cycle, it seems, can be everlasting. This production of Measure for Measure stands as an almighty plea for it to stop.


Measure for Measure runs at the Donmar Warehouse, London, until 1 December 2018. Tickets can be bought here.

Photo credit:
All production photos by Manuel Harlan, found here,
with the exception of photo four, of Jack Lowden and Sule Rimi as Angelo and Claudio, found here.