Macbeth
Directed by Mark Babych
Derby Theatre 2nd April 2026
Few plays in Shakespeare’s canon are as programmable as Macbeth. One of his most frequently performed works, it is so culturally familiar that productions often feel they must “do something” to it – reframe, recontextualise, or aestheticise it – in the hope of renewing its impact. Derby Theatre’s version, which explores the text through the lens of contemporary global conflict, with violence and power at its core, feels prescient and proportionate in its aims. Whether those aims are fully realised is a more complex question.
Macbeth is a story many encounter early, through its place on the English Literature GCSE specification, and its relative brevity often encourages productions to lean into pace and momentum to retain audience engagement. The narrative itself is straightforward: a successful Scottish general encounters prophetic sisters who speak of power and advancement, planting the idea of kingship where loyalty once held firm. Encouraged by ambition and by his wife, he murders the reigning king and takes the crown. Power, once seized, proves difficult to secure; paranoia sets in, violence multiplies, and the regime grows increasingly unstable until political order is restored at profound personal cost.
Unusually for Shakespeare, there is no true subplot to release dramatic pressure; almost everything is structurally and thematically tethered to Macbeth’s rise and fall. This economy allows productions to drive pace and narrative clarity, but it places enormous weight on the central performances, with nowhere to hide.
Fortunately, Oliver Alvin‑Wilson, who plays Macbeth, is more than up to the challenge. He negotiates one of Shakespeare’s most demanding arcs with clarity and control, charting a convincing progression from disciplined authority to prophecy‑driven psychological disintegration. His performance is commanding throughout, sustaining attention across the production and providing its essential centre of gravity.
Jo Mousley’s Lady Macbeth is, in many respects, an effective and physically assured counterpart. Her relationship with Alvin‑Wilson’s Macbeth feels grounded and recognisably human – a partnership between two people seizing an opportunity rather than abstract embodiments of ambition – lending credibility to the speed with which thought becomes action in the play’s early stages. At times, however, frequent pauses within her verse work against that momentum, draining energy from moments where Shakespeare’s writing demands thought on the line.
Daniel Poyser is a solid Banquo, whose ghostly return contrasts sharply with the living man. Colin Hurley is an excellent and affable King Duncan and also plays the urine‑stained Porter, a doubling that offers an intriguing moral commentary: the same actor embodying both legitimate authority and the debased guardian of its aftermath. While Hurley’s Porter earns many of the evening’s laughs, his re‑entry carrying sacks of what appeared to be abattoir flesh (though thematically consistent with the production’s blood‑soaked aesthetic) feels overly emphatic, a moment that might have landed more sharply with greater editorial restraint. It is one of several instances where intention is evident but impact less certain. Cayvan Coates is a believable Malcolm, whose dominance grows at the right time.
The three sisters (Deborah Pugh, Josie Morley and Livie Dalee) emerge as eerie, mask‑wearing figures with a steampunk inflection. Visually arresting, they work effectively in their initial appearances as unsettling creatures encountered by men of war. As the play progresses, however, their function becomes less clear. While their aesthetic remains striking, their continued interventions lean towards style over substance. More successful is the expanded role of the First Witch, who also appears as nurse and messenger, creating an overseeing presence that strengthens the atmosphere of surveillance and inevitability.
A similar impulse appears in the decision to collapse several Scottish lords into the single figure of Ross. (Benjamin Wilson) This streamlines the storytelling and avoids the familiar confusion of tracking multiple near‑interchangeable thanes, but it does diminish the sense of a nation gradually turning against Macbeth. Shakespeare’s lords collectively function as a political chorus; here, that chorus is reduced to a single voice. The result is narrative clarity at the expense of scale, most notably in the banquet scene, where Macbeth’s unravelling feels oddly low‑pressure with only Ross and Lady Macduff present.
There are also occasional issues of audibility. Even from only four rows back, some lines were difficult to hear (particularly the sisters with their masks) and moments where actors faced upstage further compromised clarity. These feel like practical rather than conceptual issues, and hopefully ones that will settle and improve as the run continues.
The production’s visual language is bold and largely coherent. The action unfolds within an industrial, abattoir‑like space which seems to be part run‑down warehouse, part decaying infrastructure and is capped by a mezzanine level with a derelict office space overlooking the set. Most of the murders occur in this raised area, a familiar but effective trope that links power directly to brutality and allows Sally Ferguson’s lighting design to do considerable narrative work. Stark shafts of light and shadow give shape to the production’s apocalyptic tone and amplify moments of violence and paranoia.
Yet this fixed environment proves limiting as the play progresses. In the latter half, when the action moves between Scotland and England, the unchanging space makes some scenes difficult to place politically or geographically. Moments that should suggest distance or refuge occur within the same oppressive setting, rendering scenes at Macbeth’s castle, including feasts and public gatherings, oddly dislocated from their intended function.
The production also reorders several scenes, a choice that serves the pacing well. Showing Macbeth greeting Duncan after Lady Macbeth has read the letter, but before he returns to her, subtly rebalances their dynamic. The moment grants Macbeth greater agency, framing the regicide as a decision that forms between them rather than being imposed upon him. The relationship feels active and present, a shared complicity rather than a simple act of manipulation. The decision to bring Lady Macbeth’s body onstage as Macduff (Simon Trinder) enters for the final confrontation neatly completes that emotional and political arc.
Ultimately, the production succeeds in holding the audience’s attention. Its visual language is striking, its storytelling clear, and its engagement with power and violence feels timely rather than forced. Not every choice fully lands, but the clarity of vision is evident throughout, and a commanding central performance ensures the production remains compelling viewing.
