“Doctor Faustus” declare the billboards “by Christopher Marlowe and – Colin Teevan.” You can take this as a heads up. This is not a production for Marlowe purists, something you can also guess from the warnings of nudity, sexual scenes, violence, strobe lighting and general bangs and flashes. That’s before we even get to the quantities of vomit (black or white depending on whether you’re a good or a bad angel), excrement, heads pushed down toilet pans and blood – well, that’s just everywhere. You might also want to give this one a wide berth if you’re not too keen on 1950s baggy underwear.
Faust himself, though, does not have the unflattering underwear inflicted on him. Because this is not really a celebration of Marlowe, but of another Kit. Kit Harington. Best known for his role in Game of Thrones, a series where power is the goal at any price, Harington finds himself in familiar territory. To the delight of the audience, he gradually sheds his kit until he is left for most of the second half wearing just his boxers (these actually fit).
Marlowe did not invent the story of Faust. It was originally a German legend, the story of a man who sold his soul to the devil for power, glory and magic. There is some controversy over Marlowe’s original text – there are two versions, both published after the author’s death at 29. The middle section may have included additions by other writers so Colin Teevan has dropped this in favour of an update in line with director Jamie Lloyd’s aim of bringing in a new audience to the theatre.
Lloyd recently said, “If you want a more diverse audience, that has to be reflected on the stage,” and he’s certainly done that, and not only in his casting. Updating the action, he makes Faust a magician of the David Blaine variety – a celebrity with the pull of a rock star. Given these laughable “rewards” for selling his soul, it makes the deal and Faust’s blindness to the possibility of his own salvation almost unfathomable. What Lloyd wants us to focus on is our own celebrity-obsessed culture and its need for instant gratification – in such a shallow world, who would think for a moment about his immortal soul?
Lloyd has certainly brought in a younger audience and one probably unused to sixteenth century plays. If they didn’t know much about the story to start with, though, the production doesn’t give them a lot of help. The good angel is only singled out by his white vomit and, to be honest, the struggle between good and evil for Faust’s soul isn’t much of a fight. Divine warnings are barely signalled and Faust never seems to pay them much heed. Harington is not a Faust tormented and when he does get to some of Marlowe’s original lines, he’s not up to the soaring blank verse. The closest he comes to repentance is in the flicker of love he begins to feel for his assistant Wagner (played here with wide-eyed incorruptibility by Jade Anouka). Nothing, though, can turn him from his path and at the play’s close he is carried off to hell by Mephistopheles in a waltz from which Mephistopheles disappears and he is left dancing in an embrace with an empty space – the illusion of all he hoped for finally revealed to him.
Mephistopheles is played as a trickster by Jenna Russell and this is a brilliant stroke. Transformed into a middle-aged woman with cropped hair and an unflattering blood-spattered nightie, this Mephistopheles is able to gull Faust into believing her promises, illusions and transformations. She also does a wonderful set in the interval of devil-related numbers (don’t miss her version of Meatloaf’s ‘Bat out of Hell’ and ‘Happy birthday, Mr President’ (Obama) in the style of Marilyn Monroe while Forbes Masson does the moves as Lucifer. Masson is masterly in the role, gross, comic and sinister in equal measures.
This Doctor Faustus hurtles along at breakneck speed – helped on its way by hilarious dance routines (remember the baggy underwear), loud music from rock’n’roll to C&W (Elvis is singing ‘Devil Woman’ as I take my seat), jokes, karaoke, plenty of simulated sex, totally gratuitous nudity, air guitar, some minor magic and plenty of blood and vomit. As Faust, Harington moves through his allotted 24 years never quite satisfied with his side of the deal and heedless of its outcome.
I felt somewhat unsatisfied too. The production has its clever moments – an Apple Mac, its bitten apple logo lighting up the danger of knowledge, introduces the magic of illusion (or is that the illusion of magic?). Teevan brings in a few jokes about bankers, Trump and David Cameron. Tom Edden gives a hilarious version of all seven deadly sins. And there are certainly some gruesome bits – Harington with his head down the loo, a hideous rape, excrement as tasty snack. In the end, though, I was unmoved by Faust’s fate. And as an indictment of contemporary celebrity culture it was, to say the least, heavy handed. Jamie Lloyd has, however, secured his diverse audience and they were queueing round the block for returns when I went. Not so much Kit Marlowe pulling in the punters, more kit off perhaps.
Doctor Faustus at the Duke of York’s Theatre, St Martin’s Lane, London WC2N 4BG until 25th June 2016. Running time 2 hours 15 minutes. Production images by Marc Brenner. For more information and tickets visit the website.
