What I learned. . .
I came away from directing my fourth production of Macbeth convinced that the play really is complete in and off itself. There are many theories that pieces of the play are missing (what about Macduff’s story? Lady Macbeth’s?), but I’m more prone to thinking that played full-out, Macbeth is a piece of whole cloth (tailored, perhaps, to the notoriously short attention span of King James, for whom the play was originally performed). It’s pretty clear that the Hecate scenes, though interesting, provide little more than a kind of scolding of the three weird sisters by their otherworldly patroness (pandering perhaps to Shakespeare’s royal patron’s interest and expertise in witchcraft), and may have been written and inserted by another author, making it that much easier to cut those appearances with a clear conscience, stream-lining the play that much more.
My goals with this production were to take the audience on a clear, swift, and compelling ride, and to try to avoid the inherent trap of the “Monty Python” potential of the play’s final movement/battle sequences. I was aided in this by a scene design (Max Amitin) that provided the opportunity for cinematic fluidity, by David Sterritt and Alec Barbour’s excellent combat choreography, and by the lack of enough actors to inhabit full, armor-laden armies. The result of the latter condition was that our fights were quick and brutal, kept to the story, involved only the essential characters, reduced the amount of people who would enter screaming, exchange a few quick blows and then run across the stage to make a screaming exit, and impelled the action forward. I’ve also learned that as tempting as it is to cut the Macduff-Malcolm section of the English scene, part of the way in which you get audiences to listen to and comprehend that necessary, contrasting respite in the brutality of the play and stepping stone in Malcolm’s return to Scotland, is to make the slaughter of the Macduff family as bloody and grisly as possible. (These deaths, along with the regicides of Duncan and Macbeth originally took place offstage, perhaps with a nod to King James’s abhorrence of bloodshed. By graphically murdering not just Lady Macduff but four innocent children as well in full view of the audience, playgoers are not only shocked into silence, but able to understand the scope of Macbeth’s ruthlessness in an immediate, visceral way. The murders also unequivocally demonstrate Macbeth’s commitment, prompted by his return visit to the heath, to damn the torpedoes and go for broke, no matter the cost, no mater the consequences.)
I had a very game cast, good young designers, and excellent support all around. As a first-time guest at the Hilberry I learned – sometimes the hard way – never to make assumptions about anything. For instance, the theatre’s divvying up of hours on a 10-out-of-12 rehearsal day is different from any other I’ve experienced, and I was unnecessarily caught off guard when my stage manager suddenly called the lunch break an hour ahead of what I was expecting. Had I been more vigilant and paid closer attention to the published daily schedule, I would have reduced the amount of small surprises I experienced during the rehearsal process. Fortunately, it all worked out. The production opened on time and with the kind of confidence that comes from a generous rehearsal process; the reviews were uniformly excellent, and I left Detroit feeling grown in my knowledge of the play – as a piece of literature and as living, breathing theatre. All of that, plus the opportunity to make my directing debut in Detroit, to encounter and engage with the passion and talent of an ensemble of fresh young theatre artists, and to experience the diverse riches of a city in which I’d never spent time was more than gratifying. Could not have asked for more!