Rain No Toil, But 'Macbeth' Troubled

Perhaps "Macbeth" should always be seen after a rain delay.

Nothing quite complements William Shakespeare's dark tale of a power-hungry soldier who murders a king and speaks to mysterious prophesying witches like a cold and damp night at Central Park's Delacorte Theater. This is, of course, when the rain lets up enough to allow the play to go on.

The New York Public Theater's production, part of its annual "Shakespeare in the Park" series has eeriness to spare. The crumbling insides of a colonial mansion serve as the stage's backdrop, while rubble is strewn about the edges and candelabras are raised on the sides.

The "weird sisters" who tell Macbeth he's going to be king appear like apparitions in the night, cloaked in white and carrying glowing daggers that seem to float on air. The corpse of Banquo, who torments Macbeth appears in door frames covered in blood and lit under a single spotlight.

Unfortunately, however, these gimmicks only go so far toward creating a well-balanced and suspenseful take on one of Shakespeare's most performed plays. Aside from the clever set, the production is hurt by the plodding direction and a weak Lady Macbeth, played by Jennifer Ehle.

Were it not for Liev Schreiber's performance as the ambitious Scottish soldier, it would likely be a complete wash. Schreiber, one of the more accomplished Shakespearean actors of his generation, fills his role with the kind of passion for acting that transfixes.

When Macbeth sees Banquo's ghost at a banquet and starts raving like a lunatic, Schreiber pounces on the giant round table, snarling and frothing at the mouth in a frightening display — all the while minding his iambic pentameter. His breakdown after murdering the king is much quieter, yet almost as powerful in its subtleness.

Ehle is not nearly as convincing. The actress, who appeared in the television miniseries of "Pride and Prejudice" in the mid-1990s, never manages to display the type of cunning and evilness that lurks within her character as she drives her husband to commit his murderous acts. She needs a little more Meryl Streep from "The Devil Wears Prada," a little less Elizabeth Bennett from Jane Austen's famous book.

Moises Kaufman's direction is also too mechanical for the work, which involves many scene changes and some inner dialogues. Too often, characters block each other in conversation, rooted to the stage as they dully recite Shakespeare's verses. What's lost in the process is the dread and the creepiness that should envelop the work, rather than an afterthought.