No Good Deed Goes Unpunished: A Review of Coriolanus at the National Theatre

Rated 🍯🍯🍯🍯

Theatre Bee is abuzz with intrigue and irony after Lyndsey Turner’s starkly monumental Coriolanus at the National Theatre, a production that feels both grand and merciless, just like its protagonist. In David Oyelowo’s hands, Coriolanus is a tragic figure—a fierce and loyal soldier whose dedication to duty leads him straight into the jaws of betrayal. The production serves as a potent reminder that the virtues that drive one to greatness in one arena may lead to ruin in another. To stand for principles in a society governed by fluctuating whims is to invite betrayal, and that, perhaps, is Coriolanus’s most haunting insight.

David Oyelowo as Coriolanus at the National Theatre. Photo by Misan Harriman.

Poetry in Motion

In this staging, Oyelowo’s Coriolanus doesn’t merely play Shakespeare; he speaks it with such clarity and conviction that the language itself becomes a pleasure. For the Bee, there was a particular joy in letting the lines wash over, reveling in the enunciation and the rhythm. Turner’s production allowed Shakespeare’s language to hold its own as both a poetic and lucid experience. Even with eyes closed, Theatre Bee felt it could sit and simply listen—the language, crystal-clear, seems to become music in Oyelowo’s hands. The art of making these verses accessible and profound through performance alone is an accomplishment, and Coriolanus is worth attending for this auditory feast alone.

The Loneliness of Extreme Virtue

From the very start, Oyelowo’s Coriolanus is a man of action, not words. He holds a reverence for duty and honor so absolute that it makes him an outsider even in his own city. His extreme dedication is a moral fortress, but it also isolates him, creating a cavernous distance between himself and the society he has sacrificed so much for. He believes that heroism speaks for itself, that a man’s deeds need no embellishment or pandering to secure recognition. Here lies the tragedy: he doesn’t understand that Rome, like any society, does not abide by such noble absolutes.

When Coriolanus finally concedes to stand for consul, he faces the public trial of begging for their approval. His discomfort is palpable, and this reluctance eventually curdles into anger—a mix of betrayal and alienation from a society that seems more interested in pageantry than valor. His refusal to “perform” in the political sense sets him apart, rendering him a target for the self-serving tribunes Sicinius and Brutus, who manipulate the people’s resentment to eliminate him. They don’t want to work for power; they simply wait for someone like Coriolanus to bear the brunt of Rome’s anger, and then they pounce.

Volumnia: The Tyranny of Maternal Reverence

Volumnia, masterfully portrayed by Pamela Nomvete, shapes her son’s relentless drive, instilling in him a belief that true worth lies in action, not public approval. Their relationship doesn’t rest on tender love but on reverence and an almost transactional loyalty. Volumnia’s pride isn’t a mother’s nurturing love; it’s a fierce demand for familial prestige, and it denies Coriolanus the flexibility he would need to survive in Rome’s world of strategic compromise. Her influence warps his sense of duty, weaponizing his loyalty and leaving him unprepared for the consequences of failing to pander to public sentiment.

Their relationship operates as “love as leverage,” but one built more on reverence than affection. Volumnia’s conditioning leaves Coriolanus fundamentally unable to play the political game, and in her relentless pursuit of the family’s glory, she’s as much a source of his downfall as the enemies who ultimately oust him. This bond, more duty-bound than loving, shapes Coriolanus into a warrior capable of facing death but unable to stomach public flattery.

Inevitable Contempt in a Hypocritical Society

Once Coriolanus bends enough to play the political game, he’s drawn, however reluctantly, into society’s fray, investing himself just enough that rejection stings all the more. It’s here that Theatre Bee feels a tinge of sympathy for him. Here’s a man who was simply minding his own business, doing his duty, only to be prodded and pushed until he compromises himself for the sake of others’ approval. And when the rug is promptly pulled out from under him, of course he reacts with contempt. Who wouldn’t? It’s a nearly inevitable result when someone is pressured into playing a game they despise and then punished for doing so poorly. His initial reluctance thus hardens into a bitter contempt, and the Bee sees this less as arrogance and more as a justifiable frustration with the hypocrisy of it all.

The Common Enemy: No Distinction in the End

When Coriolanus turns against Rome, the line between personal enemies and the indifferent public blurs. At this point, it isn’t simply Brutus and Sicinius but the entirety of Rome that has become his target. His contempt sweeps up the individuals directly responsible and all those passively complicit. By this stage, he’s done trying to separate friend from foe, seeing everyone as part of the hypocritical machinery that’s betrayed him. In his eyes, the people of Rome—whether manipulators or mere bystanders—are all complicit in his fall. The Bee finds in this lack of distinction a reflection of the play’s ruthless message: when loyalty is betrayed by an unfeeling society, one’s revenge can’t afford such nuance.

Sleek, Grand, and Unforgiving: Turner’s Monumental Rome

Lyndsey Turner’s Rome is austere, sleek, and unapologetically elitist, almost museum-like in its Brutalist design. Es Devlin’s stage is a layered construction of concrete blocks, an unyielding architecture that mirrors the cold rigidity of Coriolanus’s character. This grandeur is intentional, lending a timelessness to the play’s examination of power dynamics. Some critics might lament this “polished” aesthetic as emotionally distant, but the production’s very detachment reflects Rome’s social hierarchy and the insularity of its elites. This design choice resonates with the protagonist’s own sense of distance from society, creating a unified and visually compelling theme.

The production sprinkles in modern touches—moments of video projection and anachronistic objects—that ground the play in the present while preserving its ancient roots. These touches don’t jar; instead, they serve as subtle reminders that the issues of power, loyalty, and political maneuvering are timeless. They’re less an attempt to modernize Shakespeare than a hint that the politics of spectacle remain just as relevant now as they were in Ancient Rome.

David Oyelowo as Coriolanus at the National Theatre. Photo by Misan Harriman.

The Moment of Betrayal: Contempt Born of Compromise

When the tribunes revoke Coriolanus’s support after he has reluctantly engaged in public pandering, his reaction isn’t just anger—it’s an existential fracture. Forced to play a game he disdains, he’s ultimately rejected by the very people he’s reluctantly tried to win over. In this moment, he becomes something wholly different: a man who turns his back on society’s rules, who no longer cares about the loyalty he once held sacred. His scorn is not born of pure arrogance but of a fundamental incompatibility between his values and Rome’s fickle politics. This transition from awkward hero to embittered traitor captures the play’s core warning: extreme ideals, when met with an indifferent or opportunistic society, become a curse rather than a blessing.

Conclusion: The Price of Principles in an Imperfect World

Theatre Bee found in Coriolanus a powerful exploration of what happens when absolute values collide with a society that values convenience over consistency. The Brutus and Siciniuses of the world—those waiting in the wings for a hero to sacrifice themselves so they can seize the leftovers—are as much a part of the social landscape as the noble Coriolanuses. The play warns that rigid adherence to one’s ideals isn’t enough if one defines success in relation to society, for society operates according to its own inconsistent rules.

Turner’s production, driven by Oyelowo’s intense performance, brings this tragic hero to life with clarity and conviction. In an era when political disillusionment runs high, Coriolanus serves as a timeless critique of loyalty’s limits and the tragic consequences of a world where moral integrity is a liability rather than a virtue. For the theatre-goer willing to face this bleak reality, Coriolanus is a necessary, albeit unforgiving, experience.

Four stars!

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Watched October 2024 at the National Theatre. Coriolanus runs through 9 November 2024 at the National Theatre in London.

For further flights of fancy on Coriolanus: The Standard | The Independent | Time Out Worldwide | The Stage

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