We know that Ralph Fiennes can do ruthless. As camp commandant Amon Goeth in Schindler's List he depicted pitilessness in undiluted form and in all its sickening purity. But in Rupert Goold's production of Shakespeare's bloody tragedy, Fiennes adds a calculating intelligence to the quality. So whereas Fiennes's Goeth repulsed, his Gloucester - later, Richard III - mesmerises.
His confessions to the audience as he manipulates and murders his way to the crown are buoyed by a humour too dark to be described as gallows. Disdain pours form his pores, even for Vanessa Redgrave's Queen Margaret, a pathetic doll-clutching royal, haunted by grief until she summons and delivers the curses that will eventually serenade Richard's downfall.
Ever since the discovery of the real king's body under a Leicester car park in 2012, it could have only been a matter of time before a director used the exhumation to inform a production. And Goold does it well. The grave, first seen here surrounded by archaeologists in masks and white paper suits, is an instant portal to our murderous past. Yet, strangely for a Goold show, this production loses pace just when it needs to quicken. And the use of modern dress and smartphones while retaining swords and armour of battle just feels odd.
Still, there's enough revelation to keep you engrossed. This is a Richard who, when he's not in a killing vein, seduces his way to power and rapes to keep it. Bowed only by his mother, to whom he sits and listens like a chastised child, he is driven as much by misogyny as ambition. That, and the malign, charismatic intelligence Fiennes brings to bear which, unlike his Goeth, makes it impossible to turn away.