Here's a question for you. In all the times you have seen Macbeth, did you ever get the impression that Mr. and Mrs. Macbeth were actually married, or did you just think they were contestants in the Partners-In-Crime section of the Theatre Olympics?

Me, I fall into the latter category. I knew they were married because the script told us that, but they just never seemed connected on a gut level.

The way it’s constructed, we meet Macbeth when he’s on his way home just as he bumps into the three witches who tell him he will be king and protected from any assailant of woman born etc. etc., etc., and we know how far that will get him. We meet Lady Macbeth as she is reading his letter describing said events. All of a sudden, its "Oh June, I'm home," from stage left. Enter husband. Big smooch welcome home. Oh, by the way, says Macbeth, the king is stopping in for an overnight. That’s great, sweetheart, that's great, says Lady Macbeth, lets kill him. It happens just about that fast, and there is hardly time to hiccup, much less notice that these two are husband and wife.

In this production, however, Patrick Stewart meets his lady with such deep exuberance, grabbing her hands to his face and kissing them, that we get the married part big time. Even though Lady Macbeth’s entrance and letter reading are a little off, a little rushed, and she is about twelve years old, surprise, once Stewart enters we know these two are partners. And that feeling is a keeper.

The dungeon of a set, which is kitchen, banquet hall, and operating room, confines and focuses our attention. The only way in or out is on a rickety freight elevator with double sliding gates (The night I saw it at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, the gates stopped working, and the actors glided on and off stage right and left so smoothly it made you wonder if the breakdown was staged.) A romp toward power begins as a smoldering coal under a cauldron, becomes a flame and then leaps through the air to ignite the forest that is indeed moving in on Macbeth.