IN JANUARY the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse in London opened for its inaugural production The Duchess of Malfi, directed by Dominic Dromgoole and starring Gemma Arterton. 

The space itself is a remarkable addition to London’s cultural landscape. It’s a recreation of a Jacobean indoor theatre which, while drawing on the 17th-century Blackfriars Playhouse, makes no claims to be an exact replica. It is an “archetype” but, whatever the space’s configuration, its productions have been fantastic. 

Right from the opening of John Webster’s play, the atmosphere was electric. A remarkable sense of claustrophobia was immediately established and to sit in close quarters with David Dawson’s Ferdinand was unsettling and uncomfortable. 

The flickering candles, the only source of light, provided the perfect illumination for the darkness of his desires.

The most recent production ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore built on this atmosphere and John Ford’s dark tragedy found an intense incarnation here. 

The relationship between Fiona Button and Max Bennett’s incestuous siblings was disturbing but erotic and it’s perhaps unsurprising that posters featuring an image of their naked embrace were banned on the London transport system. 

Again, the space itself played an important role in the production. Giovanni’s appearance in the latter stages of the play with Annabella’s heart on his dagger’s point can often draw laughter. But here, when we can almost hear the blood dripping onto the stage floor, the effect is notably different. 

Tight direction by Michael Longhurst featured an impressive ensemble with Noma Dumezweni’s forceful Hippolita compelling us to consider the injustice of her treatment. 

But the Sam Wanamaker is not just a space of blood and tragedy. 

One of the earliest ever English comedies, Francis Beaumont’s The Knight of the Burning Pestle, is running over Christmas. 

A raucous romp with three overlapping narratives, it is “directed” from the audience by the Citizen and his wife, brilliantly played by Pauline McLynn and Phil Daniels — who’ll share his beer with you if you’re sitting nearby. These two disregard all rules governing the theatre audience and show us that at the Sam Wanamaker you don’t just watch the stage, you watch the audience as well.

Katherine M Graham