Review: Tamburlaine at the RSC

This one ain’t for the faint hearted. Tamburlaine by Christopher Marlowe is heavy on the blood. It drowns the wooden floor of The Swan Theatre in Stratford. But the stage is also garlanded with a remarkable flowering of words from the 23-year-old Elizabethan playwright.

It was a landmark play; Tamburlaine changed English theatre. His armoury of imagery and blank verse had never been heard before. And his emerging grasp of human psychology was a precursor to modern stagecraft.  It had to have deeply influenced Shakespeare, only a few months his junior and probably boozing it up with the shady but brilliant Kit in the pubs of Shoreditch in the late 1580’s.

This RSC production prunes the original two-parter into three hours. Tamburlaine, played with muscle by Jude Owusu, has no moral compass, no awakening, no justification for his warmongering. He just enjoyed conquering  nations motored by a relentless ambition, a sort of medieval killing machine.

He hangs virgins from the wall of Damascus, snaps the necks of opponents, enslaves captive kings to pull his chariot, drowns children outside the gates of conquered cities. Some boy, eh?

But Marlowe’s twist is evident. Like Shakepeare’s  Richard III or even TV’s Tony Soprano, there is a sparkle of likeability in this bloodthirsty maniac. You take a shine to Owusu’s tyrant who ravaged the Middle East and Central Asia 600 years ago. And this is especially true when he comes to grief over the death of his beloved queen, Zenocrate, played with dignified eloquence by Rosy McEwen.

The production does have its flaws. There is inherent confusion with some actors doubling or even tripling up their roles. And though edited back to 3 hours, some monologues were repetitive and long. And I do mean l-o-n-g.

But, ultimately it’s a gripping play about raw power embroidered with the hard edge of words. It makes for a memorable night.

Until December 1.