![]() It is an anti-dramatic device, but Poulton plays with that danger: “This is getting very expositional,” Tiro is warned. Joseph Kloska is shrewd and wry as Tiro, the slave who, as in Harris’s novels, is the framing narrator. After an impressive declaration, his jaw juts, his lips move: he savours his speech as if he can’t bear to let it go. Expressions perch fleetingly on his face. Propelled by adherence to the republic and the rule of law, tugged by vanity, he operates sinuously, especially adept at warmly greeting someone he is excoriating. McCabe – a celebrated Harold Wilson in The Audience – is a beautifully judged Cicero. It is the underlying manoeuvring that fascinates, the intricate arguments that entice. Actually, modern parallels are the least unusual aspect. Christopher Saul’s Pompey swaggers around with blond wig and pouter-pigeon chest, proclaiming himself “a good republican”. Drums whopping sandals lots of roaring and rushing across the stageĪ point is sometimes pressed too far. This is a testosterone-fuelled production. “Stupid people vote for stupid people,” goes down well. The suppression of citizens’ rights during a crisis. Audiences count off contemporary parallels. A bronze globe dangles: glowing, fading and – as an augury – darkened by a murmuration of starlings. ![]() A giant pair of mosaic eyes oversees the action. Nothing miniature or delicate in Gregory Doran’s production or Anthony Ward’s design. ![]()
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