RIFT’s Macbeth

I arrived at Balfron Tower alone and filled with an excitable dread, knowing I was in for a night of a thespial fondlage and the awkwardness of a sleepover with a bunch of strangers. We were greeted by our Eastern European hosts and told we would be entering a different reality, and that they would gladly sell anything of value left on our corpses, should we meet a grisly end.

First came the witches. They prodded and poked at us in their car park lair, made us hold hands around their hobo bin fire and were eventually chased off by Macbeth himself. He escorted us up to the tower, addressing each audience member as he spoke, letting us know we were in for a night of proximity. I was just hoping it wouldn’t be Tribbiani – Oldman levels of enunciation we would be faced with.

As we got into the tower it was clear how much effort had gone into the design. The rooms were varied and interesting, with the small touches like family photographs adding a nice touch. Our guides were entertaining and, like all the smaller roles, shared backstories and gossip that did a solid job of establishing the universe.

The performances from the main actors were great. A big chunk of the performance was in our little flat – Macbeth sweated all over one of the beds (I avoided that bed later) and Lady Macbeth did a fine job of being weird and tense. After one outburst she stormed out of the room, leaving everyone doing a nervous titter. Nobody knew what to say, until one older lady piped up with: ‘Don’t you just loooove this flat?’.

As the night progressed we were escorted round different areas of the building, forced to dance with greasy men and witness the surprisingly brutal murder of Macduff’s wife. The meal was a highlight – Borsch and assorted local delicacies, rounded off with Macbeth hiding under a table while the witches cackled and brought out their stinky cauldrons again.

We watched the ‘live’ news as chaos erupted around us, soldiers running around and manhandling us at gunpoint. In between scenes we were constantly engaged by the other characters and encouraged to drink by a particularly zesty barman. Once the brawling was over and the battle was won the night came to a close, leaving us to discuss the merits of decapitation over a glass of wine. I retired to our blood stained flat and managed to get an untainted bunk, brushed my teeth in the same sink that Lady Macbeth tried in vain to wash off her misdeeds and reflected on how I would dispatch my enemies, should the need ever arise.

We made it through the night unmolested by ghosts or snoring, and took in the morning rooftop view with a croissant. We had seen plenty of death and daggers before us, performances that were worthy of their surroundings and a display of theatre logistics that worked more often than not, despite the concerned faces of a few clipboard-wielding soldiers on the battlefield.

RIFT’s Macbeth is performed until 16 August at a secret Zone two London location.

For more information visit: macbeth.in

Photo: Felix Clay