Trevor Nunn reshuffles and re-energizes this cynical Trojan War romance, brilliantly crafting fresh vision and purpose by effectively manipulating cast and costumes, grafting a bold new message onto Shakespeare's inchoate anti war theme. With white actors playing all the invading Greeks and blacks playing all the Trojans -- except for the infamous Pandarus -- the tone of this production becomes progressively more anti-white as the Greeks become more barbarous and bestial. Not to mention anti-empire. Designer Rob Howell turns the entire stage into a circle of sod and dresses all the Greek kings in long leather jackets, peeling with age. Like trail-weary cattle drovers. The Trojans, by way of contrast, are ethereal nobles, draped in soft flowing white outfits worthy of Socrates. Achilles is supremely glamorous, decked out in regal Byronic silk robes. Raymond Coulthard commands our attention from the moment his Achilles first appears, with a charismatic stage presence that comes along once or twice in a generation, if at all. Coulthard's mighty petulance abstaining from battle is surpassed only by his savage treachery when he ambushes and kills the unarmed Hector. The unforgettable turning point occurs when Achilles learns of the death of his darling Patroclus, clearly his boyfriend in Nunn's concept. In a twinkling, Coulthard's effeminate mascara is transformed into striped warpaint raked down the sides of his cheeks. Primal, tribal mourning that is frightful to behold. His black armor, topped by a flamboyant black plume, is sheer magnificence.
There is too much Africa in Andrew French's voice as Hector to be seriously believed as the brother of Troilus, played by Peter de Jersey. No matter, French is as pure and noble in valor as de Jersey's Troilus is in love. The luminous Sophie Okonedo is fetching, spirited, and yet demure as Cressida, a walking enchantment. Clearly, Nunn intends for us to pity rather than condemn Cressida when the lights go down. Alex Hanson's brash vulgarity as Diomedes, Cressida's oppressor, aids us in forgiving the maiden's betrayal of her true Troilus. Other delights in this exemplary production include Oliver Cotton's rugged Agamemnon, Roger Allam's pedantic/bombastic Ulysses, and Denis Quilley's hoary Nestor.
Special praise goes to the scabrous, scurrilous Thersites of Jasper Britton. Covered with the grime of war and pustules of corruption, this weasel drips corrosive acid with every mean, resentful word he speaks. He is the haunting monstrosity of what has happened to two societies consumed by warfare and lechery.
