First Transmitted 23rd October 1980
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John Cleese knows how to throw a wedding party in The Taming of the Shrew |
Cast: John Cleese (Petruchio), Sarah Badel (Katherine), John Franklyn-Robbins (Baptista), Susan Penhaligan (Bianca), Anthony Pedley (Tranio), Simon Chandler (Lucentio), Jonathan Cecil (Hortensio), Frank Thornton (Gremio), Joan Hickson (Widow), John Bird (Pedant), John Barron (Vincentio), Harry Waters (Biondello), David Kincald (Grumio)
Director: Jonathan Miller
The third series of the BBC Shakespeare saw a new man take
on the role of Producer: Jonathan Miller. A qualified doctor, experienced
theatre director, member of Beyond the
Fringe, documentarian and probably one of the UK’s best known polymaths,
Miller is a genuine intellectual and no respecter of conventions. It’s no
surprise then that Taming of the Shrew
totally overhauls the playbook of the earlier films of the series, presenting a
version that is thematically different and also bases many of its decisions
around textual interpretation rather than faithful reproduction.
This attitude is clear throughout: from casting and filming
choices to setting and interpretation. The three key elements of television
Shakespeare are all addressed in a far more radical manner than previously
under the Messina years. Although the production itself is not perfect, as an
attempt to really bring a theatrical experience to television, this actually
feels like watching something interesting at the National Theatre, rather than
something stuffy in BBC studios.
The obvious place to start (and probably the main reason why
curious viewers are pulled in to watch this drama) is the casting of John
Cleese as Petruchio. Cleese was extremely cautious about taking on the role,
having no experience of playing Shakespeare and with a low opinion of the first
two series of the project. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he feared that a BBC
production would be “about a lot of furniture being knocked over, a lot of wine
being spilled, a lot of thighs being slapped and a lot of unmotivated
laughter”. In other words, your straight forward romp. And under Messina, let’s
be honest, that’s probably what it would have become. However, Miller saw Shrew as a more interesting work than
that, and Petruchio as a more complex character than a berserk Basil Fawlty
(which Cleese must have anticipated was being expected of him). What he gets
Cleese to do is in fact play wildly against type.
Cleese’s Petruchio is a cold and aloof intellectual, a man
of puritanical views who – rather than swaggeringly bullying Kate into
submission – sees his duty with Kate to reflect back her own behaviour to her,
to show her the sort of person she appears to others. Rather than the big
shouting scenes, the key moments in the performance are the quiet reflective
ones, particularly the speech in A3 S3, in which Cleese quietly and softly
outlines his intentions, devoid of bombast. In his interactions with the other
characters, he is calm and collected – the outbursts of energy are clearly him
playing the role of the bombastic husband. The effect of this is to demonstrate
his genuine feeling for Kate and, perversely, his respect for her as a person –
he acts the way he does because her behaviour is unsustainable and (the drama
suggests) comes from a bitter resentment towards a world and family that has
never valued her. There are two Petruchios (much as you feel there are two
Cleeses): the serious and thoughtful intellectual and the manic comedian – with
the latter being the performance put on to obtain a specific effect. Cleese’s
performance is very good indeed in a production that has, you feel, been shaped
around him (I can’t really imagine him playing any other part in the cannon as
successfully as he does this one).
Sarah Badel is similarly excellent as Kate. In a way, her
casting is similarly inventive. Older than many Kates, Badel manages to make
Kate very vulnerable from the start, meaning her aggressiveness feels forced
and overdone. Again, it’s in the quiet moments where we get a feeling for the
vulnerability she is hiding below the surface. She plays the intelligence of
the role a great deal, bringing out the depths to her – the speech opening A4
S1 demonstrates a lot of this smartness. After being confronted with her own
behaviour from Petruchio it’s clear she gets the point quickly – by A4 S3 (a
triumphant interpretation) she is in fits of giggles at Petruchio’s changed
moods and views which she is required to parrot – it’s clear that the whole
thing has become a charming private joke for the two of them. Just as Cleese
does, she re-interprets the part – a hurt, vulnerable woman with a great deal
of warmth who has never had interest or regard paid to her by anyone else. There
are enough hints from the start that she is interested in Petruchio from the
start and she is more than happy by the end of the play as they kiss tenderly
to settle into a loving – and puritan – household.
The suggestions of puritanism – Petruchio’s house is notably
Spartan, his clothing is subdued – culminate in the decision to end the
production with a communal singing of a Psalm, after a well-meaning piece of
family banter. It’s hard to imagine a world further away from the ribaldry
normally associated with this production, and is a mark of Miller’s
interpretive work here. Petruchio’s intention is to get Kate to accept not just
her place in society, but also to open her heart to other people – a decision
she decides to take, and which clearly makes her a more contented person at the
end. The clear and unambiguous affection shown between them at several points
in the final scenes indicates the success that Petruchio has had, not so much
in taming Kate, but in getting her to realise that her own behaviour was as
damaging to herself as to others.
This is the sort of interpretative energy that is missing
from so many other productions so far. Miller doesn’t just present the play as
expected – he has analysed it, interrogated its themes and come up with a truly
unique vision. It still has moments of comedy, but the core of the production
is getting at the psychology: a damaged woman, clearly a black sheep of her
family and friends, responds with mindless and continual aggression, far beyond
the bounds of what is expected. A man uses reverse psychology to encourage her
natural warmth and desire for love to emerge. Now, some people are not going to
be convinced by this – and Miller makes it clear in the production that this is
still a period piece (I doubt such tough love would be worn today) – but you
can’t deny that this is a logical and consistent version of the play, something
sorely missing from earlier versions.
Miller swiftly dispenses with the opening Christopher Sly
vignette, to throw us straight into the action and keeps the play on a low-key,
even sombre tone. This does sometimes mean that the comedy is sidelined in
favour of the serious reflections on relationships (although there are some notably fine background jokes, including the infamous shoving over of a dwarf), but this is largely a price
worth paying. Badel and Cleese have a clear and natural chemistry, and Miller
focuses on the warmth in the relationship and the clear interest they have in
each other from the beginning (despite protestations otherwise). Miller makes
this a play about adult relationships and genuine feeling, with Kate a victim
of depression and familial disregard rather than a naturally aggressive person.
In terms of filming, Miller also seems to have been
determined to bring some of the elements of theatre into television. In
particular, many of the scenes (the notable exceptions are those in Petruchio’s
home) are shot in one take, or a series of takes. The average shot length (the
amount of time between cuts or changes of shot) must be well over a minute
(some shots, with roaming cameras, cover an entire scene) – for comparison the
average shot length in The Dark Knight
is 2.6 seconds. It makes great demands of the actors – the need to hit marks
and avoid errors – and requires controlled conditions and rehearsal. It’s a
merit of the BBC shooting scheme that both of these elements exist in
abundance. The long takes not only make the experience theatrical but also add
a fluid smoothness to the scene. It also means the scenes where cuts, reaction
shots and different camera set-ups are used (all the scenes in Petruchio’s
home) feel wilder and more disjointed than the other scenes – editing brings a
greater energy to them.
Design wise, the production is also a big break. Miller
intended to use artists as a visual inspiration. The locations are based around
the architecture of Andrea Palladio and Sebastiano Serlio, the leading
architects of the 16th century. Interiors of Baptista’s home are
clearly reminiscent of Vermeer’s paintings. The clothing fits in with perfectly
with similar paintings of the period. This is far from a gimmick – it adds
depth and invention to the frame and also sets the plays in a world that has a
recognisable context.
There are good performances from the rest of the cast as
well. Anthony Pedley makes an excellent wide-boy Tranio. Susan Penhaligan is
able to suggest subtly from the start Bianca’s contrary nature. John Franklyn-Robbins
brings an excellent befuddled quality to Baptista combined with a sly suggestion of greed and naked ambition. John Bird is hilarious as
the Pedant. This production is a major advance from previous productions in the series. It uses the rules of the series to make a number of interesting visual decisions. It places the primary focus of the production on reinterpretation and textual analysis rather than straight story-telling. And it makes brave casting decisions that pay off. It’s an excellent calling card for Miller. As a production of Shrew it’s not as funny as others, but it has more than enough moments, treats the story and characters with a respectful seriousness rather than as cartoon cut-outs and stands out amongst the rest of the films made so far. And it certainly has no slapped thighs or spilled wine.
Conclusion
Cleese and Baker are excellent in Miller’s bright new start to the series, far more daring in terms of filming and interpretation than anything else that has been produced so far. For the first time, this is a version of one of the plays that actually has something new and unique to say rather than being a faithful, traditional retelling. And, despite the comedy being side tracked, this is the funniest production so far by far. A refreshing and ambitious start for a new era in the films - and also one of the best productions.
Next time: Warren Mitchell must have his pound of flesh and only Gemma Jones can stop him in The Merchant of Venice.
