MacBeth: A Tale Told By an Idiot - "I have supped full with horror." And hilarity

14 Feb 2024 - Photos by Adrianna Prosser

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
And then is heard no more. It is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing.

Eric Woolfe, the mad genius who created MacBeth: A Tale Told By an Idiot, is being disingenuous referencing that particular quote in the title. Yes, Woolfe "struts and frets" and is full of "sound and fury" but he also performs magic, animates puppets and becomes a tragic haunting MacBeth. He will not be "heard no more," anyone lucky enough to see this MacBeth will never forget it. When I am this absorbed and transported by a production, I am usually oblivious to the reactions of those around me. Upon entering the theatre, I duly noted that it, being a Saturday, appeared to be date night. A date night with an unusual undertone, a slight macabre glee in introducing a potential partner or paramour to something joyous, unusual and intense. Expectations were of Cthulhuian proportions. But nothing could have prepared one for what transpired. And I suspect this blogpost will not prepare you gentle reader, no matter how hard I strain for the perfect words.

This MacBeth is a haunted house production, leaning into the horror and gore to reveal the tragic descent of MacBeth as he is driven mad by a quest for power. The puppets are not used to make Shakespeare palatable or as a gimmick, they are integral to the themes that obsess Woolfe. And obsessed Shakespeare. Lady MacBeth is a slinky stone-faced creation. Like many of the characters, she is sometimes a hand puppet, sometimes a piece of haberdashery, always alive. Woolfe (Doctor Weathergloom's Here There Be Monsters, As You Like It) is not only the puppeteer and magician, he plays MacBeth. A vivid, tortured, unhinged and guilt-ridden MacBeth. A performance that would not be out of place in a standard Macbeth, but one that elevates and is elevated by the startling relationship between Woolfe and his inanimate animated co-stars. Lady MacBeth takes control of Woolfe's body and he becomes a sensual seducer, writhing with hilarious eroticism as she lures Duncan's guards to their deaths. But Woolfe, MacBeth, is the puppeteer, supposedly in control. His paranoia deepens as the lines blur and we no longer know who is the manipulator. A major theme of the canonical text has never been so explicitly vivid.

There is a similar integration of the illusion elements. Woolfe starts MacBeth with a card trick. Tossed off with a flourish, it astounds then, immediately afterwards, registers as a metaphorical introduction to the three witches. The witches are remarkable puppets, warty, green, scary and delightful. And their prognostications, their magic, becomes inextricably bound up with the questions of fate that lurk in the text of Macbeth. The "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow" speech is amplified by some close up magic with coins. Coins that are placed on the eyes of the dead. The illusion is sheer showmanship but the illustration of the themes of the soliloquy is icy cold and deadly clear. The "is this a dagger I see before me" is accompanied by a puppet dagger that takes on a life of its own in another illusion. It is a potent mix of horror, comedy, Las Vegas flash and Shakespearean scholarship. As if this blending of genres were not enough, Woolfe throws juggling into the mix with a ever-reappearing hamster becoming the guilt and horror that is beginning to consume MacBeth. In any other production, in any circus or extravaganza, it would be a showstopper. Here it is just breathtaking and unforgettable.

While Shakespeare does not get short shrift—MacBeth could be, should be, used as a way of teaching a complicated resonant play in a clear, concise and hysterical manner—Woolfe doesn't stint on the humour. Gags abound, from a riff on MacBeth being always "behind you," to an acknowledgment that many of Shakespeare's jokes no longer have relevance; "This Elizabethan humour hasn't aged well," says Woolfe before de-aging it farcically. The puppets themselves are inventive, bursting with colour and are prone to funny voices, sight gags and wisecracks. MacBeth is also, like the play, extraordinarily gory. The murders are vivid with fabric and buckets of ribboned blood festooning the stage. The flayed corpses are shockingly horrific, earning gasps. One eye gouging is vivid enough to warrant a "content warning." And hilarious enough that any warning should be disregarded.  When MacBeth's guilt becomes a guillotine, there is a sense of real danger. After all, many puppets have already been grievously harmed, why not the puppeteer? When MacBeth meets his doom, it is shocking and disturbing and, because we see the illusion, oddly comical and fitting. The play Macbeth distilled to its emotional core. Shaking us to our core. The sound and fury may signify nothing beyond audacious entertainment and an artist at the peak of his bizarre and bonkers powers, but then the layers peel back and the liquid terror in Woolfe/MacBeth's eyes becomes an image that dazzles and horrifies. And is still haunting me.

Date night ended after repeated ovations, and I was suddenly transported into one of those television commercials used to hawk Broadway and Mirvish spectacles. "That was unbelievable" and "I've never seen anything like it" followed by raucous and/or nervous laughter were the dominant themes. Except these weren't puppets performing lines for the camera, these were date night denizens with whom I'd just shared a unique and remarkable experience. An idiot, my ass.