Glyndebourne - Macbeth

I didn’t know quite what to expect when I went to see the dress rehearsal of Richard Jones’ Macbeth at Glyndebourne, the first full-blown show of the season. But I certainly didn’t expect to see what I saw. I didn’t expect Banquo’s ghost to be a remote control cardboard box. I didn’t expect to see 27 witches, a third of them dressed as chavs with badly-dyed blond hair and shell suits. I didn’t expect enormous disco-balls with acid house smileys on the front. Or caravans, or gas stoves, or washing machines, or assassins in boiler suits and obviously false moustaches. Or fat women suspended in the air on strings, with comedy crowns on their heads. Or quite so many white rubber gloves.

“Ghastly” said one lady as she came out the toilet afterwards. “Please, no more glitter balls,” said another. “It was all a bit plonkety plonk,” said a third. These were all seasoned veterans, dressed to the nines. Almost everybody else loved it, though (dress rehearsals are ‘smart casual’ and most of the audience get freebies from people working at the show). At the end, my arms were stiff from clapping. I can’t comment much on the quality of the singing: I don’t know if the tenors hit their notes; I did notice that things seemed to get out of synch at one point. I was clapping for the brilliant choreography and acting. For all the lateral thinking that had gone on to ensure that every scene had a visual trick up its sleeve. Great kilts, too. AL