Cymbeline at Sam Wanamaker Playhouse review: bold telling of a Shakespeare deep cut

This sharpens the fevered misogyny of the men who covet Innogen and despise Posthumus, and the agents of Imperial Rome who want to subjugate Cymbeline’s Britain. An ambient soundtrack of ululations, yelps, bongs and clicks from a trio of sternly hieratic musicians in the gallery further underlines that we are in a strange, arcane world. So too do the hammered silver moon behind them, and the runic white shapes on the main stage back wall that look like bones.