I never thought I’d write this, but … I thoroughly enjoyed Titus Andronicus.

Shakespeare’s early play, co-written with George Peele is the revenge play to end revenge plays, setting lasting standards only in horror. Yet Blanch McIntyre’s production, with a bravura title role performance from David Troughton, has much to commend it.

It begins as the Roman general Titus returns from ten years of savagery battling the threat from the Goths, with Tamora their queen and three of her sons his prisoners. Twenty-one of his sons died in battle, and he agrees to the ritual sacrifice of Tamora eldest boy.

Thus begins a violent cycle of revenge as Tamora – freed and married by Emperor Saturninus, seeks retribution. For a detailed body count see Wikipedia’s A4 length summary.

How can a modern director make a lovingly presented parade of barbarity relevant? McIntyre’s answer is to set it amongst unscripted rioters in a stylish but oppressed current day. Where the West – another empire in economic decline, is ripe for the factional cruelty that comes with decay.

Robert Innes Hopkins’ capitol building set, flanked with security fencing is in Washington DC not Rome, with ever present media, US-like uniforms and a line in fashion familiar from Trump family news conferences.

It works remarkably well as opening political jockeying for the throne is literally conducted by microphone, with the text somehow right for the public arena. As the winning candidate Saturninus, Martin Hutson contributes a telling performance of ruthless arrogance overlaid by on-camera humility.

That the setting device soon wears thin hardly matters. The horror draws you in and, although the Andronicus clan has blood on its hands, Shakespeare aided by McIntyre earn our deep sympathy in their grief. As Lavinia – Titus’ raped and mutilated daughter, Hannah Morrish is all touching devastation and 21^st century determination. Whilst as the perpetrators Sean Hart and Luke McGregor exude spoilt rich boy contempt.

David Troughton is pivotal: shambling, disillusioned, exhausted and full of suppressed anger at the start, close to madness through suffering, but then mesmeric as he reclaims his old authority.

The wheels of revenge turn ever gorier and unintended humour hovers. Yet Shakespeare surely conceived the cannibalistic scene – which brings a new meaning to the term family-sized pie – as jet black humour. And Troughton brings it off with surreal mastery.

Fine performances too by Patrick Drury as Titus’ brother – a voice of sanity, Nia Gwynne as the hate-consumed Queen and Stefan Adegbola as her scheming Moorish lover, a charming and unrepentant fiend.

Much of the play seems beyond magicking But – especially on a day of rioting at the G7 – Blanche McIntyre’s approach resonated and gleamed, speeding over the pitfalls with assured sophistication, majoring on the pathos and the comedy.

As a last second directorial input the newly declared emperor – Titus’ son Lucius (Tom McCall), is knifed by an assassin. Overkill perhaps, but a graphic reminder that hatred begets hatred.

With live screening set for 9 August the RSC will scientifically measure the emotional effect of the disturbing scenes upon both theatre and cinema audiences. Maybe I’ve become blasé. Certainly the onstage bloodletting is achieved with telling but clinical brevity. But my heart did not flutter.    ★★★★☆      Derek Briggs    7^th July 2017