It would be tempting to slather any production of Marlowe’s Edward II with plaudits concerning its timeliness, or analogise it to the contemporary. There’s the obvious dangling carrot of homophobia within patriarchal power structures to swing about. And heck, contort the parallels a little further and you can take its presentation of a mercurial, emotional leader who refuses to listen to those around him and acts on a boyish whim to… well, you know whom.

But what’s perhaps most striking about Edward II, or at least Daniel Raggett’s impressive treatment of it here, is that it doesn’t feel the need to reach for the low-hanging fruit (…careful).

Marlowe’s heightened accounting of the doomed relationship between the titular monarch and his favoured ‘minion’, Piers Gaveston, crackles with impulses and clashes far more primal and base. Outside of some initial discomfort evinced by a group of nobles upon seeing their monarch kissing another man (which here could easily be interpreted as revulsion to his infidelity and brazenness as anything else) the same-sex nature of the central tryst could almost be incidental.

That isn’t to say Raggett shies away from the inherent queerness of the text. As Professor Goran Stanivukovic states in the show’s programme: there is no hiding behind metaphor or decoration to dramatise Edward’s sexuality. If anything, Garrett somewhat normalises it, his Edward II speaking to far more universal politics and power plays of envy, caprice and exploitation.

Raggett and company do a great job of initially keeping the character dynamics relatable and nuanced. Sure, this Mortimer fellow (Enzo Cilenti) seems a little oily and underhanded, and Warwick (Geoffrey Lumb) a trifle too hot-headed for comfort, but by the same token their King (RSC Co-Artistic Director, Daniel Evans) is doling out titles and position to his new lover on a whimsy, not to mention disrespecting his wife and ordering humiliation and assault on members of the cloth.

Raggett deftly ratchets up the tension as Edward’s lovestruck mania sees him slowly lose influence and control as the nobles about him plot to wrest their ruler back from what they deem a corrupt influence.

Inevitably, bloodshed and mayhem ensue.

It makes for a taut, gripping hundred minutes of theatre, played straight through without interval. As well as keeping things tight and pacy, Ragett plunges his staging back into the recesses of the RSC’s Swan theatre, often depicting multiple panes of action at once. See, for instance, Evans’ Edward huddling broken and forlorn downstage (almost within the audience) as Cilenti’s Mortimer rages about an ornate dining table, even as Ruta Gedmintas’ Queen Isabella tends to her son’s ceremonial preparation yet further back.

“…a taut, gripping hundred minutes of theatre”

Plumes of smoke cascade about, catching beams of Tim Lutkin’s moody lighting as throbbing hums of Tingying Dong’s sound design pulse away in the background, ebbing the gnawing sense of dread and tension. Whether splashing about in the puddles of muck that lend a grimy realness to a bleak imprisonment, or winching up an ill-fortuned character to meet their fate, Leslie Travers’ set design is equally striking, tactile, dramatic and grand.

Thankfully, this handsome production meets its impressive aesthetic and direction with some standout performances to match. Evans colours his Edward with a bricolage of faults and virtues in equal measure. Noble yet capricious, his infatuated monarch bandies between seeming both utterly ill-suited to rule and yet at the same time a genial and earnest presence. Somehow both commanding and pathetic at once, it’s an absorbing central turn that ultimately brings the audience on side as tragedy and incident escalate.

“Somehow both commanding and pathetic at once, it’s an absorbing central turn…”

Eloka Ivo first introduces his Gaveston with a slight air of predatory bullishness. Wrapped in only a towel at what appears to be a sauna, boasting to his friends about his appetite for grander pursuits, it underpins his apparent love for the king with potential shades of opportunism. Cilenti carefully builds the ruthless ambition of his Mortimer, whilst Stavros Demetraki and Kwaku Mills both impress as Gaveston’s gay besties. If some may balk at the characterisations here tiptoeing ever so slightly towards stereotype, they contrarily feel amongst the more real and relatable of the lot. Not to mention the juxtaposition of Demetraki’s muscular Spencer in a tight-fitting white vest, or Mills in unapologetic colour clashing with the uniformity, fineries and pomp of the nobles carries all manner of neat connotations of individuality, protest and defiance.

But although Raggett and the team do infuse shades of queer culture and representation into the nooks and edges of Richard II, it isn’t ever in an overly showy or overt fashion. After all, as already praised, this isn’t really a story or production about homophobia. There’s scarce mention of the fact it is a man the King is risking it all for. Queen Isabella – a deliciously icy (if occasionally too softly-spoken) Ruta Gedmintas – loathes Gaveston for robbing her of her King and husband’s affections, not really because he’s a man. Even the haughty bishops are more put out by assault on their own than anything else.

All of which makes its power struggles, personality clashes and game of thrones all the more compelling and engrossing. At times it’s downright vicious and unyielding, too; plenty of the cast find themselves thrown about, manhandled, smeared with blood or even naked altogether, and a late game assassination is particularly visceral and shocking.

Paired up with Rupert Goold’s high-octane Hamlet in the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Edward II rounds out a genuinely thrilling start to 2025 for the RSC. It’s a gripping, relentless and frequently brutal battle royale that throbs with electric performances, riveting direction and suitably regal stagecraft. Sure, you can punch and prod for allegory and contemporary parallels, but really it works best as a treatise on the same primordial instincts and inherent nastiness that underpins any great political drama. Namely, that power corrupts and people can become utterly unflinching horrors in their pursuit of it.

Now who does that sound like?…

Answers on a blood-soaked, insignia-adorned postcard…