Tom Hiddleston is bleeding. Not just a little bit, either. In the 2014 Donmar Warehouse production of Shakespeare’s most abrasive political tragedy, he’s absolutely drenched in the stuff. It’s visceral. It’s loud. When National Theatre Live Coriolanus first hit cinemas, people weren’t just watching a play; they were witnessing a slow-motion car crash of ego and elite entitlement.
Shakespeare wrote this thing around 1608, but honestly? It feels like it was written after scrolling through a particularly nasty political thread on X (formerly Twitter). It’s about a war hero who can’t stand the "common people." He’s a killing machine who finds the concept of a "voter" disgusting. This specific production, directed by Josie Rourke, stripped away the marble pillars of Rome and replaced them with a gritty, minimalist cage. It’s cramped. It’s sweaty. And it’s probably the best way to experience a play that most people find notoriously difficult to love.
The Problem With Caius Martius
Coriolanus is a jerk. Let's just be real about that. Most Shakespearean tragic heroes have a "noble" flaw—Hamlet thinks too much, Othello trusts the wrong guy, Macbeth is too ambitious. But Caius Martius (the man who becomes Coriolanus) is just... mean. He calls the starving citizens of Rome "fragments" and "scabs." He has zero chill.
In the National Theatre Live Coriolanus broadcast, Hiddleston manages to do something almost impossible: he makes you feel for a guy who hates you. You see the trauma of a man raised by a mother, Volumnia (played with terrifying precision by Deborah Findlay), who basically groomed him to be a weapon of state. When he stands in the marketplace asking for votes, he isn't just being arrogant. He’s physically pained by the performative nature of politics. He’s a soldier, not a celebrity.
The Donmar Warehouse is a tiny space. It only seats about 250 people. That’s the magic of the NT Live version—the cameras get right into the actors' faces. You see the beads of sweat. You see the genuine flickers of fear when his mother kneels before him. In a massive theater, that nuance gets lost. On screen, it’s a psychological thriller.
Why the 2014 Production Is the Gold Standard
There have been plenty of versions of this play. Ralph Fiennes did a great movie version set in a modern Balkan-style war zone. But the Rourke production sticks in the mind because of its simplicity. There are no horses. No massive legions. Just a few chairs, a ladder, and a whole lot of red paint.
One of the most talked-about moments involves a literal shower. After a grueling battle, Coriolanus washes the blood off his body on stage. It’s a quiet, vulnerable moment that contrasts sharply with the screaming warrior we saw five minutes earlier. It’s also a clever bit of staging that emphasizes the physical cost of his violence.
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The rivalry with Tullus Aufidius, played by Hadley Fraser, is another highlight. There’s a weird, homoerotic tension between the two enemies that most productions ignore. Here, it’s front and center. They don't just want to kill each other; they are the only people who truly understand each other. They’re two sides of the same violent coin, trapped in a world that only values them when they’re destroying things.
Politics, Bread, and Displaced Anger
We need to talk about the citizens. In many versions of Coriolanus, the Roman "rabble" are played as idiots—easily swayed, loud, and annoying. Rourke doesn’t do that. She makes them look like people who are actually, you know, hungry. They’re fighting for grain. They’re tired of being sent to die in wars started by the elite.
Watching National Theatre Live Coriolanus in the 2020s hits different than it did in 2014. We’ve seen the rise of populism. We’ve seen what happens when the political class loses touch with the street. The play doesn't take sides. It doesn't say "the people are right" or "the leader is right." It says everyone is trapped in a broken system.
The "voices" of the people are their votes. Coriolanus finds it disgusting that he has to show his battle scars to get those votes. He thinks his service should speak for itself. It’s a fascinating look at the friction between meritocracy and democracy. Does he deserve power because he’s a great general? Or does he deserve it only if the people want him there?
The Power of Volumnia
If Coriolanus is the body of the play, Volumnia is the spine. Deborah Findlay’s performance is legendary for a reason. She is the ultimate stage mom, if the stage was a bloody battlefield. She has lived her life through her son’s victories.
The climax of the play isn't a sword fight. It’s a conversation. It’s a mother begging her son to spare the city he’s currently trying to burn down. It’s the only time we see Coriolanus truly break. Hiddleston’s performance in this scene is devastating. You watch the "invincible" warrior turn back into a scared little boy. It’s uncomfortable. It’s brilliant.
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How to Watch It Now
Since it was an NT Live broadcast, it’s not always available in cinemas. However, the National Theatre launched its own streaming service, National Theatre at Home.
- Streaming: You can usually find it there for a monthly subscription or a single rental fee.
- Library/Educational Access: Many universities and public libraries have access to the NT Collection via Drama Online.
- DVD/Blu-ray: Occasionally, these productions get physical releases, though they’re becoming rarer.
If you’re a fan of Loki or The Night Manager, you need to see this. It’s Hiddleston at his most raw. He isn't playing a charming villain here; he’s playing a man who is being shredded by his own integrity and his own pride.
The Lasting Impact of the Broadcast
National Theatre Live Coriolanus changed how people viewed filmed theater. Before this era, a lot of filmed plays felt static—like you were just watching a recording of a stage. But the camera work here is cinematic. It uses close-ups to heighten the tension and wide shots to show the isolation of the characters.
It also proved that Shakespeare doesn't have to be "boring" or "stuffy." This production moves fast. It’s loud. It’s angry. It’s exactly what the play was meant to be.
Most people think of Shakespeare as flowery poetry. Coriolanus is the opposite. It’s jagged. The language is dense and difficult because the characters are struggling to communicate. They don't want to talk; they want to fight. The NT Live version captures that frustration perfectly.
Key Takeaways for the Modern Viewer
If you’re going to sit down and watch this three-hour epic, keep a few things in mind.
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First, pay attention to the silence. Some of the most important moments in this production happen when no one is speaking. Watch Hiddleston’s face when he’s being cheered by the crowd. He looks like he wants to vomit. That tells you more about his character than any monologue.
Second, look at the costumes. They’re modern-ish but timeless. It’s a "non-specific now" that makes the political maneuvering feel dangerously relevant. The use of spray paint on the walls to mark the passage of time and the shift in power is a great touch.
Finally, don't expect a happy ending. This is a tragedy in the truest sense. No one wins. Rome is saved, but at a cost that feels far too high. It’s a bleak look at human nature, but it’s a necessary one.
To get the most out of your viewing, try to find the highest resolution possible. The lighting design by Mark Henderson is incredible, using shadows to create a sense of claustrophobia that you’ll miss on a grainy bootleg. If you can, watch it with someone else. This is a play that demands a long conversation afterward about who, if anyone, was actually in the right.
Check the National Theatre at Home website for current availability. If it’s currently "in the vault," keep an eye on their social media—they often bring back the Hiddleston version for limited runs because it remains one of their most requested titles. It’s a masterclass in acting and a chilling reminder that the politics of rage haven't changed much in four hundred years.