Rated 🍯🍯🍯🍯
Zinnie Harris’ adaptation of The Duchess of Malfi at the Trafalgar Theatre is a thrilling, fast-paced spectacle that reframes John Webster’s classic tragedy with a distinctly modern sensibility. Led by the magnetic Jodie Whittaker as the Duchess and an exceptional supporting cast, this production strips away the usual blood-soaked theatrics for a psychological intensity that leaves the audience questioning where their sympathies lie.
Ferdinand: A Mesmerizing Descent
Rory Fleck Byrne’s portrayal of Ferdinand is, simply put, a masterclass in controlled chaos. From the moment he steps on stage, he dominates the space with a frenetic, restless energy. Every glance, every twitch of a finger, betrays a man teetering on the edge of something dark and unspoken. His obsession with the Duchess is complex and unnerving, hinting at a twisted mix of love, control, and rage. Byrne keeps the audience guessing—he’s not just a villain; he’s a tragic figure caught in a whirlpool of his own making. It’s this sense of volatility, the constant back-and-forth between control and collapse, that makes his performance so magnetic. He never allows you to settle into one feeling towards him; you’re left as unmoored as he is. Bryne is hands down the bee’s absolute favourite highlight of the evening.
The Cardinal: Calculated Calm and Inevitable Collapse
Paul Ready as the Cardinal plays a perfect counterpoint to Byrne’s frenzied Ferdinand. Where Ferdinand is all unrestrained emotion, the Cardinal embodies icy restraint. His actions are precise, his motives clear—at least, until they aren’t. Ready deftly treads the line between detached calculation and quiet panic, as he watches the events around him spiral out of his control. There’s a sense that he believes himself above the chaos, yet he is slowly, inexorably, pulled into the same vortex. Ready’s Cardinal is the steady hand on the wheel, but even he can’t steer clear of the impending storm.
A Fast-Paced First Half That Keeps You Hooked
The first half of the play unfolds with a breathless, almost breakneck speed. Harris wisely chooses to accelerate the narrative, skipping over the introspective moments that might slow down the action (which, honestly, is a very risky choice as the soul-searching was a big part of the play’s appeal to the bee, but one that seems to have delivered in the current production), and instead propelling the audience from one dramatic turn to the next. The result is a dynamic, engaging experience that doesn’t allow you to catch your breath. Whittaker’s Duchess, spirited and defiant, is a whirlwind of rebellion, pushing against the suffocating constraints of her family. She’s not just a woman in love; she’s a force of nature, challenging anyone who dares to stand in her way.
The pace can feel relentless, but that’s part of the appeal. This is a world where things happen fast, where decisions must be made in an instant, and where consequences catch up quicker than you’d expect. And yet, even as events unfold at a dizzying speed, there’s a sense that every action is building towards something dark and inevitable. The bee kept wondering how much worse did things have to get before they got better, and that too with the dizzying realization that death does not put an end to anything.
When the second half begins, it’s with a brutal, unnerving twist that shifts the tone entirely. Without revealing too much, let’s just say that the play takes a turn from external conflicts to internal battles. Here, the pace slows, and the characters—especially the Duchess—are given space to breathe, to reflect, and to reckon with their fates. But don’t expect a neat, cathartic resolution. Instead, Harris lets the horror seep in through the stillness, through the silences that follow the chaos. It’s in these moments that the tragedy truly hits. The bee was barely able to sit still.
Four Characters, Four Reactions: Sympathy, Disdain, and Everything in Between
One of the production’s greatest strengths is how it plays with the audience’s perceptions of the four main characters—the Duchess, her husband, and her two brothers. Whittaker’s Duchess is initially a figure of defiance, inspiring admiration for her boldness. But as the story unfolds, her actions take on a kind of reckless futility, and you begin to question whether her defiance is bravery or naivety. Her husband, caught between loyalty and survival, becomes a figure of both sympathy and frustration, making choices that are easy to judge but hard to condemn.
Ferdinand, meanwhile, oscillates between pitiable madness and terrifying menace. He is, at times, almost endearing in his vulnerability, yet his actions are undeniably monstrous. The Cardinal, for his part, seems rational and composed, but that composure feels brittle—a façade that could crack at any moment. The production invites you to laugh at their absurdity, recoil at their cruelty, and, occasionally, even empathize with their struggles. The Duchess of Malfi at Trafalgar Theatre is not a play that leaves you sobbing in your seat. Instead, it’s a play that toys with your mind, that challenges you to understand characters who are, themselves, deeply misunderstood. It’s not about raw, visceral emotion, but about the quieter, more insidious kind of horror that creeps in during the silences. And sometimes, that’s far more unsettling, especially if you were expecting an easy evening of bloodthirst and bodies piling up on the stage.
This is a production that invites you to step back and watch the tragedy unfold, to marvel at the performances, especially Byrne’s phenomenal turn as Ferdinand, and to leave the theatre with more questions than answers. It’s a bold, captivating adaptation, and while it may not deliver the cathartic punch of a traditional tragedy, it makes up for it with its psychological depth and its ability to keep you thinking long after the curtain falls.
Four stars!
Watched October 2024 at the Trafalgar Theatre, London
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