The Toronto Theatre Review: Macbeth: A Tale Told by an Idiot
By Ross
The haze floats up, slyly, behind a demented looking Tiki Bar set-up, perfect for supernatural potions served forth by the three stacked witches who make their appearance quite delightfully demented for the creation of this magical one-person Macbeth: A Tale Told by an Idiot, sharply and wisely being presented with demonic deliciousness by Eldritch Theatre at the perfect ‘Cabinet of Curiosities’ that is the Red Sandcastle Theatre in Toronto. It’s a slice of pure theatrical perfection ignited when the pseudo-mystery science theatre music is piped in and the man of the hour rises up from battle in this brilliantly hilarious yet darkly disturbing retelling of Shakespeare’s tragedy. It’s an adventure that stabs at the dementedness of the play while also performing parlour tricks made for a deck full of Kings and Queens. The masked man, three heads tall, unleashes the floating fiendish witches to cast a spell over us all, and it works as this unconventional theatrical adventure blends quirky quick humour, and puppetry, with the classic slaughterous story of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.
Directed demonically by the “Doomed” Dylan Trowbridge (Talk Is Free’s Cock), the conjuration is perfectly cast, over the play and all of us in the audience who become instantly enraptured with this siege of cleverness and inventiveness. And then, after a quirky ‘biggady boggady boo” (don’t quote me on the exact line, please), we fly towards the brave Macbeth like that puppet raven on a mission, after an engagement with the puppet king and his yellow-felt crown that will soon be snatched away by the power-hungry Thane of Glamis, who quickly, like the witches predicted, is elevated so he may attach with a quick clip the title of Thane of Cawdor to his metal covered chest. As performed and conceived with feverish force by “Eerie” Eric Woolfe (Eldritch’s Phantasmagoria 3D!), his Macbeth launches a strong-willed force that makes the patch-eyed teddy bear Banqual shiver with disturbances unknown to him before this night. But dark magic has been called forth by this wild eyed man, and as the brilliantly smart sound effects siren in delightfully, the coin-tricked king makes his way to Macbeth’s home to be greeted by both the black-draped “witch queen of New Orleans,” Lady Macbeth, and the death box bed that will send him to sleep forever. And for the hosts to their deadly sleep-no-more stance.
Backed up by a roped and shredded curtain and a squadron of some of the best and most fascinatingly buzzard-ly bizarre puppets around, Macbeth: A Tale Told by an Idiot flings this unique and surprisingly well versed adaptation forward, bending the rules of realism with magic tricks that are most wisely blended into the structure and form of this iconic play. “Screw your courage to the sticking place,” she cries, white faced and perched on top of her husband’s frame, urging him to muster up his murderous mannerisms and carry out his earlier spoken desires for power, and bring that yellow crowned glory to her and their home. The lines ring true and clear throughout, even when the elements of the macabre are invaded with red-eyed hand puppet murders and blue squared soldiers either forced-drunk with wine or masked by forest branches for their determined approach to Macbeth’s castle for the final act of vengeance.
Woolfe’s performance is etched in madness and cartoonish dread, inventing a new way to take in this sorted tale most mesmerizingly. The floating dagger is a stellar piece of trickery, matched and layered sharply with the language of the play. The bobble-headed porter tells us lawyer jokes in his devilishly grand slice of comic relief as two more coins disappear and reappear on their way to hell. The soliloquy of each of the characters is wisely told, by this idiot and all the other spongebob-esque figure heads, like the amazingly well triangulated Macduff, who shoots daggers of deliciousness at Shakespearian adaptations, including the possible motorized Stratford Festival retelling that will soon open a few hours away on the gilded Festival Stage (I’m very excited for that opening night). “We have to suspend our disbelief,” we are told, from father to son, before the father of Kings is thrown, quite magnificently, into the metamorphosing bag of death. “Tell my story,” cries the bear, and we listen with invigorated intensity, quite happily, captivated by the power play acting that’s taking place before our bedazzled eyes, with great thanks to the phenomenal and absurd design by “Mad” Melanie McNeill (Eldritch’s Here There Be Monsters), smartly crafted lighting by “Ghoulish” Gareth Crew (Breaking & Entering’s Doubt: A Parable), and the fantastical puppets that are thrown around like sponges by a madman idiot.
“Then comes my fit again,” Macbeth cries, as he shakes his noggin with gusto, almost knocking off his soon to be removed fruitless crown, while a parade of future (very small) kings appear from that magic box through slight of hand witch tricks, dashed to the ground only to appear once more, fulfilling the witches’ prophecy and the future claim on that crown. A card trick rips the Macduff family apart, but the reclaiming takes place as planned, and the wee character of Malcolm, who found a way through without being slaughtered like the rest of them, finds his rightful place on the throne. Produced by “Evil” Emma Mackenzie Hillier (Eldritch’s The House at Poe Corner), we can’t help but revel in the righteous madness that is besieging the castle and Shakespeare’s play. Marvelling in the intelligent delivery, the creative genius of the retelling is well worth the trek to the Red Sandcastle Theatre for this wildly weird wonder that is Eldritch Theatre‘s Macbeth: A Tale Told by an Idiot.
