A republic stands on the edge. A leader gathers acclaim. Friends gather closer. And the knives are already drawn.
There are moments in history when the air itself seems to tighten; when power hangs so precariously in the balance that one whisper, one handshake, one knife’s point can redraw the fate of nations. Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar is set in just such a moment — the late years of the Roman Republic, the first century BC, when ideals of liberty and civic virtue were already giving way to ambition, paranoia, and the quiet calculations of men who insist they act only for “the good of the state.”
This is a world where loyalty is a performance, where friendship disguises rivalry, and where public virtue is rehearsed like theatre. A leader adored, then feared. A Senate dignified, then compromised. A crowd easily stirred, then dangerously unleashed. And in the shadows, those who tell themselves that history will vindicate them — though history rarely obliges.
In this thrilling and sharply drawn production, Julius Caesar is no distant marble figure, but a man whose rise provokes admiration and envy in equal measure. Around him circle those who claim to defend the Republic, while quietly manoeuvring to secure their own legacy. The daggers, when they come, are not merely weapons — they are arguments made final.
As modern politics grows ever more theatrical, Shakespeare’s tragedy of power feels alarmingly familiar. We watch, we judge, we cheer, we despair — and yet the story remains the same.
Presented by the Grove's in-house company.