The Curse of Shakespeare's Scottish Play, also known as
the Unmentionable!
Mad Monologue of a Shakespearian Witch:
Here’s the gruesome but true story of the Curse of Shakespeare’s Scottish play, M A C B E T
H. But don’t you mention the name of that play! Don’t read it aloud! Don’t say the word M A
C B E T H ! Ever! The Unmentionable will bring bad luck to you all! (Only I may say it loud
and clear: ‘Macbeth!’)
Remember 1606, the opening night! The actor who played the part of Lady M. – and don’t
you dare to speak out her name! – became mysteriously ill, and Shakespeare himself had to
step into his shoes. The Scottish Play was commissioned by King James I, who attended the
opening night, and, well, I can tell you, it was a Right Royal Disaster! Fifty years passed,
before I could mention the Unmentionable again:
MACBETH!
And so, it’s my greatest pleasure now to spit it out, whenever or wherever they play the
Unmentionable!
MACBETH
Do you hear it?
MACBETH!
tells about betrayal, and the lust for power. You may have seen or heard me, amidst thunder
and lightning, together with some other witches, meet and greet Scottish general
MACBETH
and his friend Banquo with prophecies. We proclaim that
MACBETH
shall be King, and that Banquo shall father a new line of kings. Immediately,
MACBETH
starts having Great Expectations of becoming King of Scotland. He writes to Lady M. about
the prophecy and when King Duncan decides to stay at the
MACBETH
Castle at Inverness, Lady M. wants to have him assassinated by her husband. Killing his King
leaves
MACBETH
totally shaken, not stirred and Lady M. has to take charge now. To secure the throne, they will
have to murder again… and again, and again!
Since 1606, death and misfortune is associated with the Unmentionable. In 1667, they turned
the dark and gruesome tragedy into a light-hearted musical, with singing witches doing a hell
of a witch dance. And so, in 1703, while we were performing the ballet, I got England into the
worst storm ever witnessed on the isles. More than 500 seamen drowned, Bristol was
destroyed and London severely damaged. The puritans said that the Tempest expressed the
Wrath of God, but in fact, it was the Wrath of a Witch exposed to a musical ballet.
In 1794, while performing at Drury Lane, our
MACBETH
sustained a near-fatal stab wound. Passionate fights were enacted with real weapons, and that
was the reason why a Macduff had his thumbs hacked off by a fiery
MACBETH
In 1849, at the Astor Place Opera House where we were playing, there was a riot and more
than 30 people got killed. In 1937, the director of the London Old Vic got nearly killed in a
car crash, and our Lady M. badly bruised. The already famous Laurence Olivier, the star of
the production, lost his voice, and almost died when a weight from the stage lights came
tumbling down. Lilian Bayliss, founder of the theatre, died on the opening night. Heart attack.
A member of the audience got one too, after being hit by a piece of Olivier's sword. The
MACBETH
production starring John Gielgud however, may hold the record. During the final rehearsal, I
managed to give our King Duncan a fatal heart attack, one of my colleagues had one too, and
another one could not maintain the tempo of the music, while we were dancing round the
cauldron; she collapsed and died on stage. And oh yes, I must not forget that our set designer
committed suicide. In 1947, our
MACBETH
was played by the promising young actor Harold Norman. In the final scene, he fell on the
ground, but instead of dying on stage as rehearsed, he crawled into the wings. 'I've been
stabbed,' he whispered. We took poor Norman to a hospital. A month later, he died there. At
that time, nobody knew it, but in the dressing-room he shared with another actor, I did some
quotes with him from the Unmentionable.
MACBETH
was played several times by the late and great Charlton Heston. In 1953, he stood in an openair production in the Bermuda Triangle. He had a motorbike crash while still rehearsing. And
then, well, he somehow set fire to the rain. Heston had to ride a horse bareback in the first
scene. Suddenly he rushed off stage, pointing at his tights, writhing in pain, and yelling: ‘Get
them off me!’ – I had laundered the tights, dipping them in kerosene, and the heat, combined
with the sweat of the horses, caused serious burns on Heston’s legs and groin. His castle came
down burning, as it was planned, but the wind blew flames and smoke into the audience, and
caused a stampede.