One of Shakespeare’s earliest hits, Titus Andronicus holds a strange place in the Bard’s canon. Its authorship is a matter of some debate; perhaps he wrote it all, or some of it, or it was based on something written by the likes of Kyd or Marlowe. Unusually for Shakespeare, it’s a Roman tragedy but not based on historical characters – indeed Ovid’s Metamorphoses appears to have been one of the prime sources that inspired its writing. It was probably conceived as a crowd-pleaser, because revenge comedies were all the rage in 1588. But tastes change, and for the last three centuries it’s been seen as rather unworthy of Shakespeare’s pen.

Perhaps it’s because we’re so used to Shakespeare subtly weaving so many threads and nuances into his plays that Titus Andronicus is looked down upon. Apart from an early exploration of a London coming to terms with racism in the character of Aaron, and the play’s substantial derogatory use of the word black, primarily it’s all about revenge, pure and simple. Revenge is key; one of the most natural reactions that man can have, and one of the most ignoble. The play’s long first scene includes the first retaliatory act – Titus’ decision to have Tamora’s eldest son Alarbus murdered, simply because his own sons were killed in the war against the Goths. And from there, vengeance follows vengeance, and it all gets a bit out of hand.

The big question to ask of any production of Titus Andronicus is, just how gruesome do you want it to be? And I think the consensus is to be as bloody as you dare. Max Webster’s production is a surprisingly successful combination of high on blood but low on violence, in that most of the murders are committed in a very stylised manner, with a distanced swish of a knife and a flash of dramatic lighting that nevertheless causes the blood to flow. It’s also high on sinister too; whenever the pulley system on stage starts working, and a noose or a hook comes into view, you know there’s only going to be one outcome. As the death count increases, the styling becomes more intricate but more desperate; towards the end we’re reduced to sloshing from a bucket and using a couple of hosepipes.

The play starts on a high, with its riveting, long, opening scene where brothers Saturninus and Bassianus are setting out the reasons to the crowd why they should become the next Roman emperor; only for the honour to be given to Titus, who then bestows it on Saturninus. So much for democracy. The atmosphere is electric with political wrangling and backstabbing; and every aspect of the story is told clearly and powerfully. However, the second scene, between Aaron, Chiron and Demetrius is much harder to follow, and I felt a lull in the energy. It wasn’t until the return of Tamora that the storytelling became clear again.

Joanna Scotcher’s clinical stark white stage is the perfect setting for the intrigues and revenge killings to be carried out, allowing for a powerful contrast between the bright red blood and the pristine white marble. Lee Curran has plenty of opportunities for gripping lighting effects as the death count rises; however, whilst bringing a dead body wrapped in a sheet on stage with a bright fluorescent tube next to it probably looks great from the stalls, it appears clumsy and obvious from the galleries. And, whilst we’re on the subject of looking silly, although the stylised killings are very effective, the posturing and sub-balletic scene changes where benches are whirled, and a ladder passed here there and everywhere before finally going off stage just looks like the backstage crew have been replaced by members from Cirque de Soleil.

It’s vital for there to be some comic touches, as otherwise the play’s relentless piling of wanton horror on wanton horror just becomes too much. There’s a delightful moment of anachronistic use of music (usually something that irritates me personally!) when Aaron hums Delibes’ Lakme whilst preparing a grisly fate. And Max Webster builds in some delicate and surprisingly subtle moments of gallows humour, aided of course by Simon Russell Beale’s immaculate feel for comedy and killer line delivery.

There are some excellent performances, although I also thought a few were a little underpowered. Joshua James is outstanding as the belligerent, sullen Saturninus who looks on leadership as his God-given right; his interpretation of the role is spot on throughout, with more than a little of John Hurt-style Caligula and Rik Mayall thrown in. As a contrast, Ned Costello’s brother Bassianus conveys all the character’s humility and likeability that might have made him a good, if perhaps unspectacular emperor.

In a fascinating change from the original, Titus’ brother Marcus is now his sister Marcia Andronicus, played with great commitment and sincerity by Emma Fielding, bringing out the character’s decency, supportiveness and common sense. Letty Thomas gives a heartbreaking performance as Lavinia, from her initial shock followed by dignity when chosen as Saturninus’ wife despite being engaged to his brother, to her total destruction by the rapists Chiron and Demetrius.

Wendy Kweh gives a very strong performance as Tamora, at first desperate in defeat and willing to do anything to save the life of her son; then inspired by revenge to submit to marriage to Saturninus whilst working with her lover Aaron to encourage the rape of Lavinia and the eventual fall of the House of Andronicus. And Natey Jones is excellent as Aaron, a complex villain who, whilst aspiring to be as evil an assassin as possible, still cherishes the baby in his arms. I did admire the not-so-subtle allusion to an Elon Musk’s DOGE moment.

It will be the casting of Simon Russell Beale in the title role that will attract the most theatregoers to this production, and he is, indeed, fantastic. A tremendous stage presence, you never sense for a moment that there might be a hint of insanity in his Titus as he maintains a superb dignity throughout, even in the most tortured moments of despair. Some commentators decry the play for its prosaic violence; but you only have to hear a few lines delivered by Mr Beale to appreciate the glorious poetry that lurks just beneath its surface. And his performance is a constant source of surprise; when death and devastation is all around him, all he can do is stop and laugh at the ridiculousness and hopelessness of the situation. His laughter is shocking and bizarre, but it’s totally right.

The famous “banquet” scene, where Chef Titus serves Tamora and Saturninus a pie containing her dead sons, is performed with a lovely balance of horror and comedy, and ends up with the bloodiest final tableau. It’s no surprise that the ticket holders nearest the stage are given protective blankets to shield themselves from spraying blood – gore blimey, indeed. The production treads a delicate balance between the horror and the hilarious and largely gets it right. The audiences of 1588 would be delighted to know that Titus Andronicus is still in safe hands – unless they get cut off.

Production photos by Marc Brenner

Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!