Theatre in Review: Titus Andronicus (Red Bull Theater at Pershing Square Signature Center)If you plan to dine after this production, you'll want the tofu special. Titus Andronicus is a carnival of carnage, a nonstop parade of rape, mutilation, and murder, culminating in a banquet so stomach-churning it makes the fare at Mrs. Lovett's pie shop look like a vegan's delight. An early William Shakespeare work, probably written with the more established George Peele, it has long been dismissed as a violent potboiler. But has turned up more often in recent years, maybe because the world has caught up with its atrocities, making it seem oddly contemporary. We live in the age of retribution: When the Secretary of War asks Jesus Christ to slaughter the US' enemies, Titus Andronicus has seemingly jumped through the Overton Window. The director, Jesse Berger, sensibly frames the play as a pitch-black comedy, although, more than once, the laughter is left sticking in the audience's collective throat. It begins with the title character. Rome's greatest general, returning in triumph from battling the Goths. Coming home with three of his six sons in coffins only adds to his luster. Among the spoils of war is Tamora, Queen of the Goths, who sees her son, Alarbus, ritually assassinated. (The light gray pillars that define Beowulf Boritt's set take bloodstains well.) Tamora is married off to Saturninus, Rome's new emperor, a lightweight and, possibly, borderline psychotic. Seemingly reconciled to her fate, she sets into action a revenge plot that will ravage nearly everyone else onstage. As Shakespeare says elsewhere, sin will pluck on sin: Each new crime calls for an equally violent response in a vendetta without an endgame. Berger deploys a well-spoken company willing to embrace the script's excesses. In the title role, Patrick Page's military bearing plausibly gives way to madness under horrific pressure, not least the savage assault on his daughter Lavinia, a crime pitilessly staged by fight director Rick Sordelet. ("Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive/That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?" Titus, gazing on his maimed daughter, demands of his banished son.) There's no way to prepare yourself for the howl of pain that accompanies the severing of Titus' hand in a failed attempt at appeasing Tamora. Equally unsettling is his silent scream, transmuted into an unhinged peal of laughter at the sheer absurdity of his fate. Appearing in a chef's uniform, complete with toque, to serve Tamora a meal she will never forget, he weds humor and horror in one of his most dazzling performances to date. Also occupying this charnel house are Francesca Faridany as Tamora, whose dissembling manner masks a frank bloodlust. ("I'll find a day to massacre them all/And raze their faction and their family," she says, coolly assessing Titus and his loved ones.) McKinley Belcher III, on a Shakespearean roll this season, thanks to his commanding appearance in Coriolanus several weeks ago, is menace personified as Aaron, Tamora's lover and hatchet man, loyal only to the inconvenient baby he sires with her. Olivia Reis's Lavinia retains her dignity even when, deprived of her hands, she rifles through a copy of Ovid, providing clues to her assailants' identities. Enid Graham is an oasis of sanity as Marcia, Titus' aristocratic sister. Anthony Michael Lopez has a strong presence as Lucius, Titus' son, who turns decisively against Rome. As Chiron and Demetrius, Tamora's dissolute, sociopathic offspring, Jesse Aaronson and Adam Langdon are a pair of giggling thrill killers, often alarmingly handsy with each other. If Matthew Amendt seems oddly halting as Saturninus, it is, admittedly, a thankless role, which pales in ferocity compared to Titus and Tamora. With its clean lines and restrained palette, Boritt's set provides plenty of room for mayhem, aided by Jiyoun Chang's lighting, which runs the gamut from stark white to saturated red washes; she also supplies a stunning reveal for Aaron's first entrance and pumps up certain shock moments with blinder cues. Emily Rebholz's costumes combine ancient and contemporary silhouettes in a style that might be called Fascist Chic. Adam Wernick's sound design provides a symphony of effects, including thunder, battles, cheers, ceremonial trumpets, and coronation music. In an especially creepy touch, he supplies an easy listening instrumental version of the Louis Armstrong classic "What a Wonderful World," just before the final bloodletting. No one is ever going to assert that Titus Andronicus is a great play; in its rush to havoc, poetry and human insights are neglected. Still, there's something irresistible about the pull of its characters' endless (and fruitless) attempts at achieving satisfaction. It holds up an uncanny mirror of our conflict-wracked world, driven by the chimeric notion that one more battle, a single additional act of destruction, will somehow bring peace. The astonishing body count at the final curtain strongly suggests otherwise. --David Barbour 
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