MACBETH, BRISTOL OLD VIC

George Costigan's production interprets Macbeth's "I conjure you" very literally, turning him from pilgrim to the black shrine to master warlock himself, summoning forth the bloody child et al with his own pricking thumbs. This is less a man led astray by glowing promises and vaulting ambition, and more a willing Faust, transforming from innocent to magus.

The production is littered with stylistic devices which elicit only the response "Why?". The cast are dressed like an explosion in a costume store, a jumble of periods and wardrobe bric-a-brac which neither please the eye nor aid the understanding. Macbeth and Banquo enter in crimson cassocks swathed in bullet-proof vests, parachute harnesses and swords, like members of a monastic SWAT team. The one suggestion which does succeed is that the Macbeths are unspeakably naff. From the leopard skin bedspread through the coronation fanfare of "We Are The Champions" to Macbeth's white dinner jacket at the banquet, the couple have all the sophistication of a neo-Georgian mansion in Basildon. Clearly the nouveau riche - or in this case the nouveau royale - can only achieve their success through a pact with the Devil.

Yet any flaws in this production are redeemed by Pete Postlethwaite's Macbeth. At hearing the weird sisters' first prediction, he has the glazed and joyfully startled look of a lottery winner. His first encounter with his wife is the unfettered delight of a couple who can't believe they've hit the jackpot. Although the build-up to the assassination sees him more chattering than fretting, thereafter his performance lifts off with the stately grace of an Atlas rocket. Reduced to near-hysterical post-homicidal gibbering, his "Wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'?" is a moment of pure heart-rending anguish. From that point on, Postlethwaite rides the rollercoaster of emotion, through possession and psychosis, writhing in agony as he is broken on Fortune's wheel. Internal torment and external violence balance on a knife-edge - the "tomorrow and tomorrow" soliloquy is an embittered blast of pain and anger as he strangles the messenger who brought news of his wife's death. "Out, out brief candle" indeed!

The other actors struggle to stand out against this megawatt glare of talent. Patricia Kerrigan (Lady Macbeth) is considerably better at high emotion than high treason. It's only when Lady M. starts to come apart at the seams that she gets into her stride - up to then she rattles through the lines as if fearing she'll miss the last train. Chiwetel Ejiofor gives an excellent performance as Malcolm - a cool politician, utterly controlled and delivered with icy precision -and only he and Richard Howard (Duncan/Porter/Doctor) can even begin to rival Postlethwaite for stage presence.

The powerful depth and complexity of emotion which Postlethwaite can project through the close-up of the movie camera transfer with rolling resonance to the stage. Whatever else this production may lack, that alone makes this Macbeth a must-see.

TOBY O'CONNOR MORSE