Summarize this content to 2000 words in 6 paragraphs in Arabic Unlock the Editor’s Digest for freeRoula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.Of all the spaces in the National Theatre, the Olivier is the one that most proudly asserts drama’s democratic purpose. Inspired by ancient amphitheatres, it comes alive when plays charge that space with urgent political debate.That fact is front and central in Lyndsey Turner’s mighty production of Coriolanus, led by a terrific, deeply troubled David Oyelowo, which fuses past and present, public space and playing space, to brilliantly eloquent effect. Here is a play about democracy, war, power, populism, and about the endlessly destructive myth of the strong man, that unpeels from antiquity to offer a tarnished mirror to our times. It’s a staging keenly aware of the power of iconography. Es Devlin’s stunning set is framed by huge pillars, reminiscent of the theatre’s concrete architecture, that rise and fall to compose a series of sleek modern interiors — homes, offices, restaurants — dotted with expensive Roman relics. Chief among these is a museum, where the unruly past is preserved in a tasteful arrangement of swords, shields and marble busts: a silent testimony to imperial might; a reminder of the fiercely contested ownership of such treasures.And the image of history safely contained is torn apart from the start. Here, the hungry rioters from Shakespeare’s play resemble contemporary protesters as they burst in to disrupt a private party and spray paint on the emblematic artefacts. Oyelowo’s unyielding Roman warrior stalks through a modern landscape of smug politicians and ambitious rabble-rousers who stir up the restless masses to their own ends. The January 6 storming of the Capitol hangs in the air. And as the senators’ fatal decision to promote the general to political office unravels, the borders between a bloody past and a turbulent present become increasingly porous, with characters seizing objects from display. That fusion soars with two sequences, thrillingly lit by Tim Lutkin: in the critical battle between Coriolanus and Aufidius, the two tumble across the stage, swords flashing, shields clashing, like warriors preserved on an ancient frieze. In contrast, when the women of Rome come to plead for peace to the now banished, vengeful Coriolanus, they emerge from the deep recesses of the stage, a desolate procession that could speak for grieving women across the ages. The painful flash of understanding across Oyelowo’s face, that he could have led a different life, speaks volumes. This is a man forged in battle, deeply damaged by the myth of martial masculinity.It’s a staging of mournful, monumental resonance. Some emotional detail fares less well, however. The scenes of political wrangling are funny, with Peter Forbes’ urbane Menenius and the scheming tribunes (Stephanie Street and Jordan Metcalfe, who could have strayed in from The Thick of It) squabbling amid the elegant fixtures and fittings. But critical moments between Coriolanus and his fearsomely forceful mother (Pamela Nomvete), and with Kobna Holdbrook-Smith’s Aufidius, get a little lost amid the spectacle, as does some of the play’s poetry. It ends brilliantly, though. We’re back in the museum, the dead Coriolanus now preserved as an ancient statue, his shield gleaming. As a small boy stops to admire him, the questions are left hanging: what was it all for? And what templates for life will he inherit?★★★★☆To November 9, nationaltheatre.org.uk
