Muscles do not a character make (though, of course, masculine ideals mean many men do make this mistake), finds Lucy Kenningham Rome. The beginning of an empire. The plebs are in a bad way: they are starving.
Unrest is brewing. The Consul of Rome becomes entrapped in his role, unpopular because he refuses to play the game of politics. Welcome to the epic world of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus: the story of a Roman soldier catapulted into the political realm, where his military might and strong-minded morals are almost a moot point.
Our protagonist is one Caius Marcius ( David Oyelowo ), a war hero upon whom “Every gash is an enemy’s grave”. In the first half he wins a video-game-esque battle against Tullus Aufidius (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith) which, like the whole production, looks incredible but lacks feeling. Back in Rome, Caius Marcius – now dubbed Coriolanus after his heroic feats – accepts the role of Consul, the highest public office in the entire republic.
It’s an uneasy moment, with plebs carrying camcorders filming this uncomfortable induction into power, their images beamed vastly behind the stage. This Rome is an odd, 1984-esque dystopia, where political speeches are broadcast to the masses (who are largely invisible bar three who keep popping up in different outfits); armbands adorn placard-carrying protestors; and heavy men in trench coats dominate the stage. It’s frustratingly imprecise: those armbands flash warning signs about an incoming Third Reich.
Th.