'Coriolanus' review – Lyndsey Turner's stylish production brings Shakespeare's political tragedy bang up to date

Read our review of Coriolanus, starring David Oyelowo, now in performances at the National Theatre to 9 November.

The crowds rule in what is arguably Shakespeare’s most complex political tragedy. In Lyndsey Turner’s production of Coriolanus they arrive, angry and holding placards, as if fresh from the scenes of a modern day protest.

Turner’s Rome leans into the class divides of the city. Coriolanus enters in a burnt-orange velvet suit, clutching a glass of champagne, showing his position as a stuck-up socialite who is unwilling to bend to the people’s demands. And yet, it is clear, almost from the beginning, that it is the masses that have the final, ultimate power.

This production is a ticking time bomb that waits patiently for the mob to explode. The vast Olivier stage becomes a claustrophobic hub in the hands of designer ES Devlin. Rome is a city of surveillance. Security camera footage of herds of people gathering is projected, large, in bird's-eye view, on screens at the start of the play – there’s the sense that they’re preparing, together, to fight.

The governing body congregate in what looks like a museum in greyscale. Ancient artefacts, like vases and busts of classical warriors, are dressed up and put on display. Even when the play descends into violence, the objects stay onstage as a symbol of the inequalities that exist within the city.

As Coriolanus, David Oyelowo exudes strength. He comes alive on the battlefield, drawing his sword as if it was second nature and gliding it, dance-like, through the air. The fight scenes, choreographed by Sam Lyon-Behan, are delicate and well placed. But, with so much careful composition, they lose some fire along the way, making them more of a pretty picture than something rousing.

Even when passion is missing, Turner’s production remains a glorious sight. In the closing moments, a black-and-white film of Coriolanus’s body being carried, in a Christ-like position, is plastered on the big screen. Earlier, a recording of him wiping his face is enlarged to such a scale, we see his brow furrowing with each new rub. With sound composed by Tom Gibbons that begins as a gentle hum and grows into a roaring cacophony, it feels as though Rome could collapse into revolt at any second.

In the final act, Coriolanus’s loyalty is tested. He’s pulled in two directions, and has to ask himself whether it is really the right thing to strive to destroy the Rome he once loved. But without a natural chemistry between Coriolanus and his mother, Volumnia (Pamela Nomvete), his choice feels somewhat insincere. While Nomvete is an energised performer and her speeches have flashes of a mother’s deep love for her son, the relationship is absent of true intimacy.

The production relies on its chorus scenes to make an impact. The crowds stand hungry at the back of the stage as Coriolanus is banished from Rome. When he wails “I banish you”, while striding towards his own exile, they look immediately satisfied. It is their presence that carries Turner’s vision and brings Shakespeare’s tragedy wholeheartedly up to date.

Coriolanus is at the National Theatre to 9 November.

Photo credit: Coriolanus (Photos by Misan Harriman)