“We will attempt Macbeth.”
Goblin: Macbeth, ensconced at Toronto’s Tarragon Theatre until late October, is not just a performance. It’s an uproarious theatrical takeover. Created by the acclaimed improv team of Rebecca Northan and Bruce Horak with music by Ellis Lalonde, the show immerses audiences in a universe where three intense goblins named Kragva, Moog, and Wughave have stumbled upon the complete works of William Shakespeare (and not just any random version, they’re proud to declare – it’s the complete First Folio!). They’ve read it all, and have decided to perform Macbeth – because it’s the bloodiest and the shortest of the plays.
But don’t expect a straightforward adaptation. Instead, after correcting the audience’s Tolkien-derived misunderstandings about goblins, this trio of interlopers will infuse the play with their unique blend of irreverence, comedy, chaos – and insight – leading to an evening that is as thought-provoking as it is hilarious.
The moment you enter the theatre lobby, you’re in the world of these goblins, who are not confined to the stage or visible only at showtime. As the audience finds their seats, the goblins are conferring and fussing over various props on the stage, and prowling the theatre aisles, peering over shoulders and chatting with spectators. This is the first clue that you won’t simply watch this Macbeth—you’ll be living it with these goblins. And with the house lights still ablaze, when they begin talking directly to the audience about land acknowledgements, goblin genders and their ambition for the evening, well, you’re hooked. Their grotesque masks (designed by Composite Effects, who have worked on promotional events with the team of HBO’s Game of Thrones), cool Matrix-like costumes, striking voices and goblin swagger transport you to their reality. It’s a neat and disorienting trick: you’d swear these aren’t actors playing goblins: these are goblins who are going to do some acting.
And that acting? It’s magical. The goblins’ world is equal parts bluntness and erudition, crass humor and enlightened wokeness. With a patent love of absurdity, they bend, stretch and stomp on Shakespeare’s 400-year-old text in ways that simultaneously mock and celebrate it. Banquo, for instance, isn’t the Scotsman you might expect: he’s a drawling, swaggering Texan cowboy. And Fleance his son is a back talking emo teen. Such wild leaps serve a practical purpose: as the goblins jump from role to role (and back), sometimes taking on multiple roles or trading roles in the same scene, it helps us keep track of who’s who. But they’re also a source of delight and laughter because they prove both the timelessness and malleability of Shakespeare’s work.
The words, the lines, and the story of Macbeth still hit hard – yet we laugh hard, thanks to these mashups and the compulsive goblin commentary which breaks the fourth wall continuously. (It’s probably more accurate to say that these three never really allow the fourth wall to form.) They quibble hilariously over the play’s archaic language and weird pronunciations. They pause to consider the intricacy of internal rhymes or launch a profanity-laced interrogation of the value of iambic pentameter. At one moment, a goblin is critiquing another’s acting. And at the next, they’ve disappeared so deeply into the role they’re playing, that they’ve had their feelings hurt by the other actor’s line . . . so they’re suggesting the other actor should use “I” rather than “you” language. This cognitive dissonance—juxtaposing earnest old-school Shakespearean drama with modern-day self-help ideas and quizzical banter—keeps the audience invested in the story, and in stitches the whole time.
Indeed, the most brilliant aspect of the production is how fully it involves the audience. At the start, the goblins test the audience’s receptivity to their plan . . . and give the audience a hilariously skewed baseline understanding of the nations and characters featured in the play. After this – whether calling upon attendees to participate in pivotal battle scenes or asking them questions and eliciting spontaneous cheers or jeers – the goblins set up shop squarely in the liminal space between performer and spectator, goblin and human, venerated text and improvisational interpretation.
The ending of the play is the most exquisite and uproarious example of this. It’s wonderful in its own right, and should not be spoiled. What I will say is that Macbeth’s conclusion turns on two “tricks” that are neat conceptually . . . but are fundamentally undramatic and, well, unsatisfying in a typical production of the play. Not so here: Goblin: Macbeth delivers the best rendition of Act V of Macbeth that I’ve ever seen – precisely because the goblins enlist the aid of the audience in dramatizing one of these tricks, and take time to skewer the other one as the plot device that it is.
Ultimately, Goblin: Macbeth is a gleeful act of theatrical alchemy. It lovingly mocks Shakespeare’s work, while luxuriating in its beauties and reminding us of its enduring relevance. And in doing so, the production answers the playful inquiry posed by the goblins after they have successfully completed their attempt at Macbeth: Why does theatre matter?
It matters because, as these goblins show us in their acting, it’s a living, breathing thing: one that can make us laugh, reflect, and connect, all while pushing, prodding, and penetrating the boundaries of reality. This gruff, chaotic and joyful Macbeth is not just a play—it’s a variegated, immersive affirmation of the magic of live theatre itself.
Spontaneous Theatre’s Goblin: Macbeth is on stage at the Tarragon Theatre Mainstage until October 27, 2024. Reserve tickets on tarragontheatre.com.
© Scott Sneddon, Sesaya Arts Magazine, 2024
