Perhaps under other circumstances having 'solved' All's Well would be enough of an achievement, but this is the National we're talking about; it's perfectly justifiable to demand more.
Can a Shakespearean play work without Shakespeare’s language? Pawel Szkotak proves so in his nightmarishly perverse adaptation of Macbeth.
Hytner makes a shrewd directorial choice to modernise Jean Racine's 17th century classic tragedy and tackles it as a psychodrama.
With infectious energy, Markeline pay a unique tribute to the miners of the Basque Country bringing old stories back to life and adventure to the National Theatre's Square 2.
Like a glass-panelled clock, Deborah Warner's Mother Courage and Her Children doesn't just choose not to conceal its inner workings, it displays them, inviting the audience to marvel at the way the pieces fit together.
Mitchell and Crimp took enormous liberties with the text and in this instance I thought it worked to everyone’s advantage.
In this tragedy without a chorus, Murray’s open-mouthed mask remains mute, and no amount of impassioned testimony can bring the sprawling drama to any sort of resolution.
Kinnear's Piato and Cowan's Lussurioso are just two of many excellent comic performances on display, but there's nothing recognisable as a great tragic performance.
Her Naked Skin is a bit like its heroine: courageous, demanding, articulate, divided, unpredictable and - despite good intentions - ultimately alienating.
The play does a great job putting the problems of today's multicultural London in perpsective, as each generation of immigrants eventually integrates into British life and then takes its turn oppressing the next.