‘Titus Andronicus,’ a richly-physical production

It is an act of “cruel, irreligious piety” that sets off the bloody action in Shakespeare’s early play, “Titus Andronicus.”

After a decade leading Roman troops against the Goths, Titus Andronicus has returned to Rome, victorious but bloodied. His army has suffered terrible losses — and, in return, the Romans demand the ritual sacrifice of a prisoner of war. Titus gives them the eldest son of Tamora, Queen of the Goths — and when her eloquent plea for mercy fails, it is Tamora, who indicts Rome’s “piety,” and begins plotting the revenge that will eventually yield a faint glimmer of hope.

Kentucky Shakespeare’s current production of “Titus Andronicus” is staged in a dark warehouse that wraps the play in a world of shadows and echoes (lighting and sound by Jason Weber; costumes by Diane Lawrence-Downs). Except for those echoes (which sometimes interfere with our ability make out parts of the script), it’s a perfect place for this depiction of an empire’s collapse. And though the acoustics aren’t perfect, this is a richly-physical production — and it’s worth noting that one of the central characters is robbed of the power of speech, but still finds a way to communicate.

Under Director Matt Wallace, the pace, visual ingenuity and clarity of the production is superb — and Editor/Dramaturg Gregory Maupin has given the script an admirable crispness (scholarly consensus is that Shakespeare either adapted the script, or collaborated with another writer — whose knack for static pomp is better forgotten).

The play opens with a complex struggle for power. Saturninus (Neill Robertson) and Bassianus (Kyle Ware) are battling not just for the throne of their dead father, but for competing visions of Rome itself. Saturninus, the oldest son, invokes primogeniture. Bassianus appeals to Rome’s democratic freedoms and seeks election based on merit. Well-crafted performances by Robertson and Ware quickly reveal the nature of the brothers — the cruel, calculating narcissism of Saturninus vs. the sturdy honor of Bassianus.

The victorious warrior, Titus Andronicus (Jon Huffman), could have the throne by acclamation, if he wished. But he declines, and when invited to serve as kingmaker, he endorses Saturninus. It’s a choice that quickly comes to haunt Titus — and creates fertile ground for Tamora’s revenge.

The newly-anointed Saturninus immediately announces his intent to marry Lavinia (Katherine Martin), the daughter of Titus. But Lavinia is already betrothed to Bassianus — and when Bassianus and Lavinia hold out for their right to marry, accusations of treason fly — and taint Bassianus and all of Titus’s family.

Saturninus quickly makes a surprising marital choice — Tamora (Jennifer Pennington), Queen of the Goths. And when Saturninus announces his intention to punish the traitors, Tamora intercedes — and in a marvelously-witty scene Pennington portrays Tamora’s cunning blend of sense and sensuality as she manipulates her husband into sparing the accused — so that she herself can wreak vengeance on Titus and family.

That vengeance will be orchestrated by Tamora’s surreptitious lover Aaron (Dathan Hooper).

From a historical standpoint, it’s worth noting that according to one critic, Aaron (a Moor) is “the first great black role in English drama.”

From a dramatic standpoint, it’s worth noting that this is a fascinating role. Aaron is a magnificent villain: amoral, unrepentant, diabolically imaginative and unspeakably cruel. It turns out, though, that he has one point of vulnerability — and at the end of the play, his pursuit of a small mercy yields what is arguably the only redemptive outcome in this horrific story.

And from a theatrical standpoint, it’s worth noting that Dathan Hooper plays Aaron with a virtuosic mix of verbal and physical pyrotechnics (fights in the play are choreographed by Eric Frantz). This is a grim, rarely performed play, so the character of Aaron is rarely seen on stage. In my judgment, even if you find the script repellent, it’s worth stomaching the blood and gore just to see this fine performance.

It is Aaron who orchestrates the murder of Bassianus and the brutal rape and assault on Lavinia — which culminates with Tamora’s sons, Demetrius (Jon Patrick O’Brien) and Chiron (Jon Becraft) cutting off her hand and cutting out her tongue so that she can’t reveal the identity of her attackers (the crime occurs offstage, but Katherine Martin brings a grand, tragic majesty to the bloody aftermath.

For Titus and his family, the downward spiral continues. Two other sons are killed — after Aaron has deceived him into cutting off his own hand in an effort to save them. And then come two amazing scenes of transformation. First, at the very depths of despair, Titus breaks into a kind of revelatory laughter — as if he’s suddenly discovered a joke at the edge of darkness. Shortly thereafter, Titus’ brother Marcus (Tom Luce), wielding a carving knife, plunges it into a table — and impales a fly — an act that leads to a strange, surreal massacre of flies — and eventually to Titus’s own revenge — a revenge that will culminate in a dreadful feast and the deaths of nearly everyone, except Titus’s son Lucius (Zachary Burrell), who, in a twist, has returned to Rome at the head of an army of Goths.

In the end, it is Lucius who, for the only time in the play, honors a request for mercy, thus breaking the cycle that had been initiated by that bit of “irreligious piety.” That plot point might have had specific resonance for Shakespeare’s audience: according to legend, Christianity was introduced to England by a King named Lucius.

This article appears in October 26, 2016.