Trafalgar Theatre’s “The Duchess [of Malfi]” Dynamically Spotlights Violence and Misogyny in Modern Jacobean Framings – front mezz junkies, Theater News

The London Theatre Review: Trafalgar Theatre’s The Duchess [of Malfi]

By Ross

Standing and singing a song of sorrow and freedom in a fevered red dress is the woman of the moment; The Duchess [of Malfi], played with heartbreaking clarity by the powerfully attuned Jodie Whittaker (NT’s Antigone; “Broadchurch“). She stands alone, spotlighted behind a standup mic and backed up shockingly by an electric guitar, as John Webster’s reformed The Duchess of Malfi, updated by Zinnie Harris (Traverse’s Meet Me at Dawn), spins itself towards us from an unknown place in time, with layered modernity and 17th-century formalities played out in unison. “I was a mouse in a cage,” the Duchess remarks, in regards to the marriage that she is now free of. She expects understanding from those around her, especially her brothers. As a high-status widow, she now desires to grab hold and embrace the “chance to live again,” as she embarks on, what will soon become, a destructive refusal of submissive behavior and deference to her brothers’ wishes.

It’s the wildest of rides, this revenge tragedy modernized to heightened proportions, shining that same harsh spotlight on the misogyny of both that time and this present moment, where men and brothers are allowed to operate on a whole different plane of privileged existence, and a woman, for her own protection, must, metaphorically, “stay indoors and [wear] beige“, if that is what her brothers want her to do.

Published in 1623, the original The Duchess of Malfi was loosely based on the real and very tragic story of Giovanna d’Aragona, Duchess of Amalfi (d. 1511). As in the play, she, after the death of her first husband Alfonso I Piccolomini, Duke of Amalfi, secretly marries her steward, the. aristocrat Antonio Beccadelli di Bologna, with who she has two children, a fact that the couple managed to keep from the powerful Giovanna family. They, like the two brothers in this reinvention, would have interpreted her marriage to a servant as a disgrace to their noble lineage (even though Beccadelli came from a distinguished family). The children, Frederick and Giovanna, were raised separated from their mother, who only saw them in secret. But when a third pregnancy made it obvious that their secret could no longer be kept, she suddenly ran away in search of safety. Unfortunately, she was intercepted by agents sent by her powerful family, who brought her and her three children by Antonio back to Amalfi. Antonio managed to escape to Milan, but the Duchess, her maid, and her children did not share the same fate. It seems that they were delivered back to the family and never seen again presumably murdered by her own family.

That story, Webster’s play, and this revitalized version are all emotionally strong and dynamic, and as directed with fury by playwright Harris, the powerful formula is primed for tense impact. In this West End unfolding, a determined woman refuses to be ruled by her religious brother, a corrupt Cardinal, fascinatingly portrayed in evil abundance by Paul Ready (Globe’s Macbeth), and her twisted twin brother, Ferdinand, played deliberately by a rabid and captivating Rory Fleck Byrne (The Abby’s Anna Karenina). She wants to engage in life and love, against their calls for restraint, but her bravery results in her death at the hands of that same twin who rages against his sister’s love moon, like the wolf he starts to believe he is. It’s the story of male dominance and domestic violence, framed in sociopathic violent outbursts from a twin unable to control his disproportionate murderous impulses matched by his brother’s desire for control and power, all fueled by misogyny and a need to control.

It’s wondrous and overpowering, filled with fearful madness, that hits hard on the conceptual ideas of inequality and violence against women. With visual conceptual visuals and formulations, the play dominates the Trafalgar Theatre stage, thanks to projection designs by Jamie MacDonald (Margaret Atwood’s Democracy for the Financial Times), which almost overwhelms the impressive performance delivered by Whittaker, who has returned to the stage after nearly a decade away. The styling is slick and cinematic, taking this Jacobean drama and forcing it into a newly brutal world where violence is both bloody and sexual. Wealth and gender roles are highlighted to heightened affect, when the Dutchess decides willfully to marry, in secret, her steward, Antonio, played charmingly by an endearing Joel Fry (“Cruella“). After, those same framings are exploited for violent power grabs and a man’s control over a woman’s body by her brother, and insanity follows quickly behind.

Designed in multi-layered white starkness by Tom Piper (West End’s Hamnet) with an impressive play of shadow and light by lighting designer Ben Ormerod (Theatre Royal Bath’s Laughing Boy) attached to a compelling sound design by Michael John McCarthy (RSC’s The Fair Maid of the West), The Dutchess rages forward astonishingly, spinning itself into a furor of violence, control, and murder. It engagingly, although sometimes overwhelmingly, devolves into a graphically projected torture chamber of overtly overexplained exposition, running impulsive and aggressive circles around Ferdinand’s incestuous desire and his Cardinal brother’s sexual need for dominance over his mistress. “I thought you were well, brother,” but it’s clear neither of them are, with one killing almost casually, and the other increasingly believing he is a wolf – not in sheep’s clothing – sniffing out murder while orchestrating it violently. It’s both brothers who growl in misogynistic aggression controlled by madness, yet it is the murderer Bosola, played forcefully by Jude Owusu (West End’s Dr. Semmelweis) who finds a contemplative foundation of understanding, forging resistance alongside these women with a newly developed defiance.

Throttling the tragic shadow of The Dutchess, songs ring out, soulfully and symbolically, by both Whittaker’s Dutchess and the Cardinal’s lover, the married Julia, played with compassion by Elizabeth Ayodele (NT’s Small Island). Echoing in like a dead thing, they attempt to elevate the symbolic setup that, at times, overpowers the play. It’s both chaotic and passionate, clashing together harshly and powerfully to unyielding varying results. An angel dressed in white, courtesy of costume designer Max Johns (Garrick’s Why Am I So Single?) [original costumes by Piper], ultimately sends this fevered production over the edge during the finale. But, ultimately, and luckily for our sakes, it is the actor’s focused performances that hold The Dutchess together, reflectively and charismatically, in their pilgrimage for profound understanding and hopefully, enlightenment.