Thane needs more Scotch

Shakespeare, it occurred to me while watching Henry IV (Part I), at about 8.45 p.m. on a Thursday night in 1944, was good at the Celtic thing. Occasionally since, I have thought about it.
That night there were buzz bombs over St. Martin's Lane and the New Theatre was full of G.I..s with PX autograph albums Olivier was a
marvellous bouncing Harry Hotspur and the late beloved Harcourt Williams was Owen Glendower .
Sir Laurence, as we called him in those days, was so much Harry the horse-soldier he seemed to exude the odour of stables. He had the footwork of a game Cockney bantam and a warm-hearted brute scepticism a coldness of the head authentically English of the North, counterpointing the aboriginal Welshness of Williams.
Glendower intoned and the air turned weird, seethed with witches and worlocks, invisibly in combat. Williams was an exquisite player, utterly Celtic. But his words too, Shakespeare's, were Celtic.
There are other Shakepearean Celts: in Henry V. look you, Jamie, mind y', and Macmorris, d'y'see. But the supreme Celt is the Thane of Cawdor. Mackbeth is possessed by pride, evil spirits and driven by false prophecies; all his tomorrows are governed by powers of darkness. The inspiration is superstition. Only a C,elt, or a great actor, could believe it.
Mr. Denis Quilley's Macbeth (Old Vic) is well-spoken. The actor moves gracefully: in one scene he is debonair. In effect, the complete thing is disciplined. That may be what is wrong-it seems prctarammed. The fey lunacy which Wolfit, for example, achieved is miss ing. Wolfit spoke beautifully, doom-laden, the words possessed him.
Mr. Quilley speaks carefully --this obviously is a bad business-and knows the words. The costuming of the men suggests the Iberian peninsula in the 17th century: Mr. Quilley might have stepped from an early Velasque portrait.
There was something embarrassingly rational about Don Macbeth, nothing of 11th century Scotland. It was well educated, very dignified in a cool Iberian way. It would have walled up the witches then downed a schooner of amontillado.
If this Macbeth drank whisky, another little drink wouldn't do him any harm. Yet .it would be unfair not to report that an uncommonly good audience applauded Mr. Quilley rapturously.
Physically, Miss Diana Rigg is nicely tailored for a traditional Lady Macbeth. She is much more, The lovely actress touches the lean beldame with compassion. First, and briefly. we see the steely "bad influence:" abruptly it changes to an Ophelia-termagent, then in the end, broken, all pathos. collapses in terror, a cadaver quivering with a small stubborn life.
As ever at the National, the smaller parts are played with incisive skill
W. J. Igoe