Othello

If Iago was whispering poisonous nothings in your ear and you could not hear the Shakespearean dialogue, you could be forgiven for mistaking this Othello for an offshoot of Black Watch.

The title character is, after all, a well respected officer. Traditional blue naval uniforms are unexpectedly swathed with great plumes of black decorative feathers. With knives in their assault-rifle holders, this is a production that revels in anachronisms.

The modernisation works well. The celebrations, fuelled by the “invisible spirit of wine”, could be scenes from Booze Britain. Elizabethan delicacies are overturned and replaced with an altogether more contemporary and loutish behaviour.

The female characters, too, are thoroughly modern. In a welcome change, the production throws off the all-too-common image of a scandalised Desdemona wilting in white. With her hair short and dressed in boots and trousers, Sarah Haworth’s portrayal is more tomboyish and self-assured than most; her confidence dissolves to great effect and, by the final scene, she is nothing but the quaking and obedient wife that the script demands.

Pauline Knowles’s Emilia is a powerful one, capturing the rising strength of a frightened and abused wife, whilst Mairi Phillips’s Bianca, a character usually marginalised in productions, is comically brought to life with tall heels and tight leggings.

Jude Akuwudike is a noble Othello but his performance shows weaknesses, including misspoken lines and fumbling actions. His portrayal is also overdone at times, but whilst he roars like a lion during the most destructive moments of the play, he finds a satisfyingly tortured ambivalence in the final tragedy.

Andy Clark’s excellent Iago is not a straightforward and sycophantic manipulator. He is potently charismatic and disarmingly jocular; he delivers his lines with a frighteningly assured tone that calls to mind Robert Carlyle’s Begbie in Trainspotting.

Philip Whitcomb’s design is surprisingly engaging. Two great, grey flats move in three dimensions, creating a claustrophobic feeling that lingers throughout. They split, periodically, to reveal much more interesting staging, such as Desdemona’s death bed, softly lit by gothic candles.

Making a 400-year-old play feel fresh is no small task. The company has managed to do so without falling into the trap of the ultra-modern.