King John (Series 7 Episode 1)

First transmitted 24th November 1984

Leonard Rossiter schemes in vain in King John

Cast: Leonard Rossiter (King John), George Costigan (Philip the Bastard), John Thaw (Hubert), Claire Bloom (Constance), Charles Kay (King Philip), Mary Morris (Queen Elinor), Richard Wordsworth (Cardinal Pandolph), Robert Brown (Pembroke), John Castle (Salisbury), Jonathan Coy (The Dauphin), Gordon Kaye (Duke of Austria), Janet Maw (Blanche), Phyllida Law (Lady Faulconbridge), Edward Hibbert (Robert Faulconbridge)

Director: David Giles

The final series of the BBC’s Shakespeare project kicked off with the producers surely well aware that, due to lack of foresight at the start, they were left with one whopper in Much Ado About Nothing and then four relative minnows in the Shakespeare pool – Pericles, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Titus Andronicus and King John. This is a shame since from this point on many of the issues with these productions are going to be about how well the director’s deal with flaws and problems in the plays themselves, rather than how they bring the plays to the screen – issues that I am not always confident that the directors who previously handled The Tempest and The Merry Wives of Windsor earlier in this series are going to be able to cope with.

King John is an odd play, with Shakespeare unsure what type of story he wants to tell here, or how he wants to tell it. The tone of the play zig zags oddly from almost light comedy into dark tragedy. John is a curiously peripheral character for large chunks of the play, struggling to impose himself on the action, as much as the actor must struggle to impose himself on the play. Time is telescoped as always, but in a scattergun and confused way, so that some events seem to happen in a few hours, others months apart. Characters take on great importance and then suddenly drop out of the action altogether. John is bad when the actions he undertakes are without defence – but Shakespeare seems obliged to present him as almost a hero when he defies the Catholic church and, that old Shakespeare bug bear, the French. It’s a difficult period of history to dramatise, so this is perhaps why Shakespeare feels more comfortable writing characters he effectively invented, principally of course Philip the Bastard, who gets all the best speeches and most of the best lines (if anything, John is a figurehead in his own play).

So that brings us to this production, which is a rather lifeless version of this rambling play that gets excessively bogged down in the earlier acts, in particular the long, long scenes that make up the bulks of Acts 1, 2 and 3. The production fails to really kick into gear into well into Act 4, instead developing into a series of scenes of speechifying, often under powered in delivery. Camera angles are kept simple, as well as editing styles, with direction favouring a straight combination of two-shot technique, with plenty of cuts back to the person who happens to be speaking at that time. There is a lack of inventiveness in any television technique or filmic language, with the decision instead to treat this as a very theatrical adaptation, possibly one of the most theatrical of the series. Occasional good ideas and interesting camera movements are few and far between.

The staging and design follows this up, with the style chosen for the different locations in the play (particularly outside locations) deliberately going for as non-realist a design as possible. The French locations are stylised exteriors, with the action taking place in front of huge backcloths covered in fleur-de-lis, absolutely no attempt made to suggest that we are ever outside in a ‘real’ place. The castles follow this design, with the stonework looking like exactly what it is – papier mache – and the exteriors of castle locations almost laughably wobbly in their woodenness. By contrast, interiors are detailed and carefully constructed to resemble real castles. Nothing wrong with this of course, but in a production that plays the action and the characters in as determinedly realist a way as possible, this looks odd – better productions have got away with non-realist locations, because either the action married with this, or the locations had been made so non-realist that there was never a feeling that we were meant to be looking at a real place. The inconsistency between interiors and exteriors doesn’t help with this.

Other creative and casting decisions in the play also don’t really work. Was it really necessary to have every single one of Cardinal Pandolph’s entrances (an underwhelming performance in any case by Richard Wandsworth, which doesn’t convey the Cardinal’s ruthlessness) accompanied by monastic chanting? This chanting keeps making clumsy appearances throughout the production, whenever the theme of religion rears its head. This production is also cursed with some of the weakest child actors we’ve seen yet in the series. The child playing Arthur is woefully unconvincing and fatally undermines what is usually the play’s best scene (Hubert’s planned blinding of Arthur) by failing to convey any sense of fear or anxiety (he’s not particularly helped by an underpowered John Thaw as Hubert). As a result, this scene, usually the emotional centrepiece of the play, is actually rather dull here. A second child performer pops up towards the end as Henry III and is equally ineffective.

In terms of the themes of the play, one thing Giles really focuses on, and brings out successfully, is the importance and strength of mothers and the influence and control they have over their children. There are three mothers in this play – Lady Faulconbridge, Eleanor and Constance – and all three of them are clearly the driving forces behind their children, guiding their decisions and fulfilling their own ambitions and desires through those children. Giles shoots the mothers always in domineering positions, presenting them as constantly controlling and manipulating their sons, living and achieving their ambitions through them.  Constance speaks constantly for her son, and seems barely able to release her grip on him, constantly holding him in a domineering grasp. Lady Faulconbridge clearly controls her rather dullard son Robert and can see (and intends to enjoy) the clear advantages of the success of her bastard son Philip. Even Janet Maw’s Blanche clearly understands realpolitik.

This focus on mothers and sons is helped by impressive performances from these actresses. Mary Morris is a fearsome, ruthless, ambitious and intelligent Queen Eleanor, clearly positioned as the power behind her son’s throne. Throughout A1, Eleanor is a constant presence beside John, almost a co-ruler. Giles uses some intelligent cutting and reaction shots to keep Eleanor to the forefront of the action throughout A2, allowing the audience to constantly see how she is evaluating the consequences of the actions around her. Phyllida Law equally makes a lot of Lady Faulconbridge’s wisdom and clearly expresses the affection she holds Philip in. Claire Bloom gives another impressive performance in this series, her Constance developing from a forceful determination to achieve her son’s rights, through to a pained, desperation progressing into despair as his hopes and dreams fall apart. Many of the finest moments in A2 are dominated by her presence, and Constance’s overbearing determination.

It’s in the second half that the loss of these characters is felt, as the play moves towards a confusing see-saw of events as men fall back into doing what they do best – fighting and feuding. Robert Brown and John Castle do their best with rather nondescript roles as the primary English lords, but are not helped by some repetitive decisions both in writing and playing – we don’t need to see Castle’s Salisbury in tears in almost every scene to know that he is as conflicted at betraying his country as he was devastated at the death of Arthur. A4 and A5 may pump up the number of events, but the production presents them (admittedly not the finest dramatic sequences written by Shakespeare) as formless and shapeless. Watching this I had no idea what this production might be building towards – there is no real sense of drive, of a narrative or thematic point being made here. Instead events continue forward until they stop. This is even clearer in the end of the play, as the actors shuffle off (accompanied of course by monastic chanting) without any real sense that the production has concluded something or been about anything.

A part of this problem is George Costigan’s performance as Philip the Bastard. An almost entirely invented character, Philip is probably (if anyone is) the real lead of the play, the only character who addresses the audience, and the character from whose perspective we are invited to see much of the action. Costigan gives an intelligent and extremely well spoken performance, but for me it’s too underpowered and calm. I don’t really get from him a sense of the charisma the part needs – there has to be a reason why kings and peers of the realm start to listen to this upstart Bastard, and I’m not sure that is explained. Similarly, the progress that Philip makes towards decency and patriotism (is there a nicer Bastard in Shakespeare?) doesn’t really become clear either. Philip is the main lens through which the audience sees the play, and when his journey seems hazy, so does the play.

Which brings us to the title character. Just like with John Cleese in Shrew, the BBC went against the expected choice by hiring an actor best known for sitcoms to play the tragic lead. The impact is slightly lost today, largely because Rossiter is less well known today than Cleese – no episodes of Rising Damp on Netflix! – but he gives a very good performance here as a John, a weasly mummy’s boy unable to make a decision, prone to the snide remark and glance but crucially lacking any ability to inspire confidence in others. So he takes a slightly pathetic delight in little victories – like clasping the King of France’s hand in a crucial diplomatic moment – but then looks total at a loss at a major moment, as his lords rebel. His lords show little respect for him – at one point Salisbury grasps him by the shoulder and John hardly reacts – and he constantly shuffles on his feet when talking and whines like a child, refusing at one point to acknowledge Philip until he has kissed his hand first. It’s a decent performance that seems very true to the historical man (and also quite good casting for Rossiter). It’s a real shame that this was Rossiter’s last ever performance, as he passed away between filming and transmission.

Rossiter gives us a firm centre for this production, but even he gets a bit lost in the dully handled speechifying that makes up most of the flat first half. A2 in particular seems to go on and on as more and more hot air covers the destiny of the crown, and the dark comedy of this offer and counter offer scene gets lost in the crush. It’s just not plain interesting enough for anyone to care – and there doesn’t seem to be enough tension or indeed anything really at stake during this long sequence. This then means that once things start to happen in A4, the audience doesn’t have a sense of tension exploding, or pay off from a build earlier. Instead, it remains a faithful but rather flat rendition of a weak play that takes the audience nowhere in particular.

Conclusion

A decent lead performance, and some impressive supporting performances, can’t make up for what remains a rather disappointing and empty production of one of Shakespeare’s weaker plays, that largely lacks real narrative thrust and never really feels like it is going anywhere. Instead, events continue until there are no more events, and material that could have real emotional impact instead meanders past, lost in dull debate and a few too many underpowered performances in crucial roles. Stylistically and filmically, it also doesn’t really work – too bright, too colourful, not visually inventive enough or done with enough dynamism. Disappointing.

NEXT TIME: Mike Gwilym sails the seven seas as Pericles.

Coriolanus (Series 6 Episode 5)

First Transmitted 21st April 1984

Alan Howard makes a point. The people of Rome ain't pleased with it.

Cast: Alan Howard (Coriolanus), Joss Ackland (Menenius), Irene Worth (Volumnia), Joanna McCallum (Virgilia), Mike Gwilym (Aufidius), John Burgess (Sicinius), Anthony Pedley (Junius Brutus), Patrick Godfrey (Cominius), Heather Canning (Valeria), John Rowe (Senator), Valentine Dyall (Adrian), Peter Sands (Titus Lartius), Nicholas Amer (Aedile), Paul Jesson (First Citizen), Ray Roberts (Second Citizen), Leon Lissek (Third Citizen), Jon Rumney (Fourth Citizen), Russell Kilmister (Fifth Citizen)

Director: Elijah Moshinsky

For a long time, I would have said the existence of this production helped justify the very existence of the BBC Shakespeare series. Not so much due to the quality of the production itself (although that is largely high) but because I felt it was so unlikely anyone would ever consider making a film of a play that deals with such heavyweight political themes and has a central character who, for large chunks of the action, is essentially a bit of a dick and an advocate of, at best, paternalistic, elitist government. But now – after first Ralph Fiennes’ excellent Bosnian-set film and Tom Hiddleston’s sell-out run in the West End and on National Theatre Live, I wonder if we are perhaps on the crest of a wave with this play. Its ideas of the mob being easily swayed by demagogues and encouraged to blame selected figures (Volsces! Senators! Caius Martius himself!) may be about to come into its own.

Well be that as it may, this production by itself not only makes a strong case for the series, it’s also in a way quite a milestone. Firstly, perhaps because there was more freedom with such a little known work (not many schools in the American mid-West trawling through Coriolanus), Moshinsky actually makes some pretty major cuts to the play here – I would say at least 40 minutes minimum of stage time has been hacked out. In addition, scenes have been re-arranged, split up, combined, lines reassigned to different characters – try following along with a script, it’s tricky. None of these feel like cuts “for the sake of it” – they tighten and streamline the action. For example, in one clever cut in A5 the dialogue is rearranged so we see the Menenius’ reaction to his failed mission to Coriolanus before we see Volmunia’s successful one, not after as in the script. This makes the build-up to Volumnia’s mission more daunting and emphasises Coriolanus’ coldness – making the character reversal in A5 S3 more effective. The script is full of clever little rearrangements like this.

This helps Moshinsky to create a production that actually feels like it has something to say about the play. The cuts, rearrangements and tightening bring the focus very closely into a claustrophobic character study in a hot, troubled Rome. The focus is also very firmly placed on Coriolanus himself, a character study of this confused and confusing man, a cocktail of split impulses, unable to find his place in society outside of his martial role. The heat of the city – bees are heard buzzing on the soundtrack, and sweat tickles brows in close-up – is matched by the homoerotic tension Moshinsky stresses (perhaps a bit too thickly) between Coriolanus and Aufidius – these two men of action, seemingly unable to understand or relate to much else in their world, finding a sensuous fascination in each other’s temperaments and bodies. But more of that later.

The set design and lighting Moshinsky has chosen for the production also serve this mood, Rome being a sparsley furnished, sandy coloured, overbearing metropolis of narrow streets and featureless walls, as if the whole place was some sort of elaborate prison or rat cage. He lights it throughout with strong strips of Caravaggio lighting, throwing a few areas into light and others into a semi-darkness. Through this, the small strips of colour on the otherwise predominately black and white costumes (carried over from the Miller house style for the series) stand out strikingly. Several scenes bring to mind Caravaggio – I was reminded in particular of The Calling of St. Matthew (where the design for Rome – right down to a window that views out into nothing – seems to be identical) but also The Taking of Christ for the way the light is used to catch the armour and with the vibrancy of the crowd scenes.

The Rome that Moshinsky sets his play in is a world of windowless rooms – the only ones are seen in the streets overlooking the square where Coriolanus fails to hide his contempt for the people, while making cursory efforts to appeal for their votes. A nice touch as well – that I didn’t notice at first – is that a virtue is made of the studio location by omitting any shots of a sky or skyscape – buildings just seem to stretch up, horizons are dim without being seen, rooms have higher ceilings. No where seems warm or friendly, everywhere is efficient, distant and cold – even Coriolanus’ home has an austerity to it. This then allows the crowd themselves in many places to create the city – and in several cases this works really effectively, as the crowds move as one disorganised mass, pressing in the directions they have been pushed towards, or starring impassively and unmovingly at the camera while the arguments of those they disagree with are presented.

Alongside this, Moshinsky throws in plenty of stylistic flourishes. The battle scenes in particular in A2 are deliberately reduced to a stylised series of clashes, largely with no soundtrack other than some suitably martial music, as soldiers move forward under Coriolanus’ direction. The soldiers armour is presented to give them an impersonal machine like quality, moving grimly forward to victory. Coriolanus’ thoughts intrude at times over the action, with some speeches and soliloquies moved to voiceover while the camera holds on his face. Music is also used effectively in the production, a percussive, low beat helping to bring everything into a tight, claustrophobic focus on Coriolanus himself, who is often placed in close-up.

At the centre of this character study of a production is Alan Howard’s domineering Coriolanus. Howard was one of the leading classical actors of the time, though his lack of interest in film and television has meant he remains less well known than many of his contemporaries. However, he was in many ways a perfect choice for Coriolanus – a part he had already played to great success on stage. It plays well to Howard’s coolness as a performer and makes great use of his arch, patrician, almost cruel voice with its studied, slightly sinister pronunciation. His face seems to constantly wear a scornful sneer – introduced from the off in A1 S1 as he confronts the citizens of Rome – although what is great is that Howard suggests Coriolanus simply can’t understand or relate to people – in A2 S1 he seems a little lost and awkward as he heads through a crowd of cheering citizens. This is accentuated in A2 S3 where the great soldier skulks awkwardly around fountain, nervously approaching the citizens to ask if he can count on their vote – barely able to restrain his self-loathing at asking for favours, unable to picture himself as one of the many representatives of the human race.

It’s this little tinge of weakness, nerves and immaturity that Howard trickles in that makes the final scenes work well – his Coriolanus is essentially a slightly spoiled kid, whose emotional maturity has been stunted at a very early age – he may have a wife and child but it’s almost impossible to imagine that he could have done something as normal as having sex. His natural defence seems to be to lash out – the comfort we see in his manner and form when raging at the tribunes in A3 S1, contrasted with his shame when forced to make an apology he does not feel in A3 S2. A man who it seems who has had his mother drum into him from an early age that he is special – is it any wonder that he sees the ‘normal’ interaction of Roman politics as beneath him, that indeed he sees the rest of the city’s population as less deserving or worthy than himself? Is it any wonder that he explodes in rage when banished, that he takes a glee in burning his bridges?

What’s interesting about the performance is the way Coriolanus constantly seems to be wrestling with these dual natures in her personality – the warrior (and Howard always seems to be fiddling with a sword until the final Act) and the family man. Moshinsky camera literally places Howard centre stage in close up for many of the major speeches – most impressively after this furious denunciation of the Roman citizens, when the camera pans back from close up to reveal Howard standing in isolation, stunned Romans looking on. After the banishment, Howard’s hollow eyes constantly suggest a man acting against his own principles – his refusal to look at Menenius during A5 indicating he is aware of this weakness – which his teary eyed, voice cracked “Mother, what have you done” when succumbing to Volumnia’s pleas later in A5 finally brings to the surface.

Howard’s performance is not perfect – he’s a little too stagy as an actor, the camera’s close-ups liable to make his facial acting turn a little too far towards gurning, his intensity as a performer sometimes too much on the small screen. The realities of television viewing also work against him – a scene when he leans against a wall admiring his blood covered blade is the sort of visual that would look terrific from the Grand Circle, but looks campy and ridiculous in semi close-up. His voice sounds just a fraction too sinister and scornful at times. He never really looks like the great warrior he must be (times have changed – the muscle we expect actors to put on for this sort of role now would amaze TV execs of this series).

It’s the elite quality about Coriolanus – his inability to really see anyone as an equal – that Moshinsky is most interested in exploring. Mike Gwilym’s surly Aufidius is presented as sort of mirror-image – a man with more ability for ‘playing the game’ but who also sees himself as ‘more than’ his fellow Volscians, who sees the fate of the city to a certain extent tied up with his own destiny. The method that Moshinsky uses to explore this contrast between the two is bring a concentrated sexual subtext between the two straight to the surface. These two macho warriors are engrossed in each other, hardly able to take their eyes off each other – even their fights are near-naked wrestling matches. When meeting after Coriolanus’ banishment, Aufidius wraps his arms around him tenderly while Coriolanus retells the story of his banishment, both of them in a slight state of undress. This is only a more tender version of their fight earlier in A2 - here a near nude, sweaty scrap, which quickly becomes a physical wrestling match, both actors panting and grappling each other in an intimate clash of bodies.

Even their final confrontation is recast as a near sexual climax. Reworking the scene from the play, here Aufidius personally murders Coriolanus, with Coriolanus himself egging him on, staring into his eyes while chanting a mantra of “kill, kill, kill” slowly taken up by Aufidius as he brings Coriolanus close to him, stabbing him silently with a sword, while Coriolanus holds his gaze, silently accepting this fatal penetration. To be entirely honest, the issue is brought a little too heavily to the fore (although there is tonnes of textual justification for such a theory) but it does make for some drama – and reinforces the very martial world (and cast of mind) of the lead character, who sees the world as one that should be governed solely by similarly strong men. No wonder that the only man who may be an equal to him is the only other character in the play to spark his interest.

By comparison the women of the play get rather shorter shrift in this version. Virgilia is as demure and timid as you might expect – and Coriolanus treats her more like a sister than a wife. Irene Worth’s full throttle Volumnia is a little too much for my taste and I found her relationship with Coriolanus is not really given the time in the production to really invest the audience in it. Similarly to Aufidius, as a character she is used to demonstrate elements of Coriolanus’ character rather than as a character herself per se (namely to show us the juvenile, little boy lost quality of Coriolanus bubbling just under the surface – his eternal “mummy’s boy” nature, always kow-towing to the only woman who ever controlled him). Worth’s performance brings that force and passion but I found the decisions taken to play her were, bizarrely, so close to Howard’s performance that it was almost too much. As a result I found the scene where she turns Coriolanus away from Rome in A5 – usually the highpoint of the production – actually rather monotonous. Probably not helped by the fact that Moshinsky’s interest is clearly with the Coriolanus/Aufidius relationship rather than the (more central in the text) Coriolanus/Volumnia relationship (Aufidius is even present during this scene and cut-to on several occasions). This key relationship is presented as a result far more perfunctionally and traditionally.

For the other performances, Joss Ackland is a terrific Menenius, playing as a bluff old politician comfortable enough to talk the talk with commoners, while always remaining a member of the ruling class, like some sort of Roman Ken Clarke. His affection for Coriolanus (his wet eyed reaction to the banishment feels very sweet) never blinds him to the realities of politics – and also gives a cocky self assurance that he can guide and mentor his wayward pupil. Old stagers Anthony Pedley and Paul Jesson do their usual excellent work. Patrick Godfrey makes a lot of the expanded role of Cominius, a patrician mediocrity. The actors assigned to the roles of the citizens and senators really bring to life their community and social class.

So this is a very well done, with at times rather over-interpreted production that uses some real design strengths of the series to present a visually striking version of Rome. Despite its flaws, I have a real fondness for this production, which has a level of interpretation to it that is unusual for the series – and actually very refreshing. It’s great to see the series have the courage to allow its more talented directors to make these productions their own interpretations rather than by-the-numbers walk-throughs. More like this please from the rest of the series!

Conclusion

An impressive piece of film making, with plenty of flourishes, lots of interpretation from Moshinsky, whose visual sense is as strong as ever and a strong performance from Alan Howard anchoring the production. However, it’s sometimes a little too heavy handed, both in performance and in the interpretation placed on the production, with Moshinsky’s textual interpretation of the Coriolanus/Aufidius relationship shoved a little too much towards the fore. Despite that though, this is certainly one of the strongest (and most interesting) films in the series.

NEXT TIME: Into the final series of the BBC Shakespeare as Leonard Rossiter presents the weasley King John.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Series 6 Episode 4)

First broadcast 27th December 1983

John Hudson and Tyler Butterworth: Two regular Veronese guys just shooting the breeze

Cast: Tyler Butterworth (Proteus), John Hudson (Valentine), Tessa Peake-Jones (Julia), Joanne Pearce (Silvia), Paul Daneman (Duke of Milan), Tony Haygarth (Launce), David Collings (Thurio), Nicholas Kaby (Speed), Hetta Charnley (Lucetta), Michael Byrne (Antonio), John Woodnutt (Panthino), Frank Barrie (Sir Eglamore)

Director: Don Taylor

The BBC series moves into the home straight (just six left after this one!) and, as we head into the final episodes, it becomes clear just how haphazard a lot of the planning around the series was. Not only are the remaining plays (with the exception of Much Ado About Nothing and possibly Coriolanus) a bizarre collection of minnows, the runts of the Shakespeare litter assembled into a bargain bucket, but this ramshackle transmission order in no way reflects the composition order of the plays itself. As we head into many of the earlier or weaker (or both) works, there is no sense of Shakespeare’s skills developing and building on top of each other – more a sense of completeness for completeness’ sake, like a kid tracking down the last few stickers for a Panini Football Album.

This feeling is particularly clear in Two Gentlemen of Verona, almost certainly (by critical consensus) one of the first plays written by Shakespeare. As such, it’s packed with signposts for future Shakespearean developments and ideas that would be explored in greater depth in future plays. This could have been built into the plans for the series, perhaps allowing viewers to see more of the contrasts. However, it’s not the case, so this is more of an easter egg for those in the know.

As for those early ideas – where to begin? Julia herself combines elements of Rosalind and Helena (AYLI and All’s Well), both her in her plotline and personality. Her dissing of potential suitors with Lucetta has much in common with Portia and Nerissa in Merchant. Her role, disguised as a boy, to pass messages from the man she loves to the woman he loves has more than an air of Viola. Proteus is an embryonic Iachimo from Cymbeline and Bertram from All’s Well. Our lovers all end up swopping each other in a forest a la Dream. Launce foreshadows a range of clowns to come from Touchstone to Feste. The Duke of Milan is another reasonable authority figure. A Friar called Laurence is name checked. Eglamour is like some distant cousin of Aguecheek and Falstaff. Large chunks of the plot (lovers separated, authority figures coming between true love etc.) would be recycled throughout both drama and comedy in Shakespeare’s work.

So what about this production itself? Well again, like Comedy of Errors, it’s a rather mixed bag: a combination of good ideas, misfires and some stodgy acting. Anyway, let’s focus on the positives first. Don Taylor does a rich and intelligent job of directing this play. Taylor decided to film long takes with multiple cameras, editing between the different shots to tell the story visually. This actually works rather well, getting a good balance between the Jonathan Miller style (single takes, tracking shots for single shots) and the Jack Gold (and others) style of a more traditional master shot/reaction shot style. Taylor wanted to allow the actors to perform “in the moment” and to have the opportunity to grow and develop within the scene, which he felt would be harder to achieve without allowing the actors to just go for it as they would in the theatre or rehearsal room. This works very well with many of the actors in the performance, particularly Tessa Peake-Jones (of whom more later).

The setting of the play is also an interesting combination of the realistic and the more stylistic. Verona (our original location) is a logical, consistent location – reminiscent of many of the courtly sets we’ve seen in previous comedies, with its own clear geography. Milan, however, is a far more stylistic place, an almost bizarre world where the entire court is a perfect stereotypical romantic image. This works quite well for the increasingly extreme and bizarre actions of the play, but is perhaps a little bit too much for a modern viewer. Silvia cannot enter without being covered in confetti. Two romantic young men strike poses in the background of scenes (wait in vain for them to become part of the plot). Some rather creepy painted cherubs run around throughout many of the scenes. In a slightly heavy-handed touch two statues are entitled “Amour” (struck by an arrow) and “Fidelity” (not). Prefiguring what is about to happen? Not half. What does work well is that, with the arrival of the treacherous Proteus, a windy storm sweeps through this Eden-like courtyard – serpent in paradise anyone? However this all works fairly well (despite looking a little odd) and means that we get a sense of why Valentine and Proteus get so swept up in romantic feelings the instant they arrive in Milan. How could they not with all these prompts around them?

Taylor also uses music very well in this production – perhaps better than many of the other productions. In Verona, a minstrel plays poems by Shakespeare and his contemporaries as a series of songs: this works well, both as something for the cast to interact with and also to smooth the transition between scenes. This also carries across quite nicely to Milan, where the music complements the stylistic world that Taylor has created. Taylor also starts the play with a nice little prologue of Julia being wooed by Sir Eglamore and another (random) character (who never appears again). It’s fairly inconsequential but adds context to why Julia pretends not to love Proteus and adds some visual interest as Eglamore rolls out a parchment of his lineage and the other courtier pours money across the floor from some sort of bird house (especially as this allows some witty screen images of this mess being cleaned up in the next scene).

The setting, however, does get a little odd in the forest in the final scenes. For some reason, the forest is turned into a series of metallic columns, wrapped in tinsel and leaves, their tops stretching past the camera lens, with a bridge like platform throughout. This looks like what it sounds like. The cast apparently even described it as “Christmas in Selfridges”. Now I’m all for impressionism over realism in these things – but within a consistent idea. Does this post-industrial forest match up in anyway with the romantic world of Milan? Not at all. Is there anything else in the production that even remotely ties in with that? Nope. Does it look, for want of a better word, a bit crap? Yes it does.

Having said all that, there is quite an affectionate warmth in the production for the characters and the story. By and large, the shades of gray are avoided, and even the bad characters like Proteus aren’t really that bad – he’s more misguided. The comic characters actually come across fairly well. In particular, Taylor draws a very good performance from young Nicholas Kaby as an energetic and engaging Speed, full of wit and banter with a skilful precision in piercing the pretensions of his masters. Similarly Launce is brought to life extremely well by Tony Haygarth, who portrays what could be a dullard with a real sensitivity and gentle wit – and with a truly adorable dog I’ve got to say. Haygarth does a fantastic job with the long monologues of Launce (Taylor wisely I think doesn’t play these as comic set pieces, or encourage any business from the dog), giving Launce a slightly world weary nature, someone who is far more plugged into the stupidity and vanity of the world than many others in the play. Taylor also directs these moments with a real simplicity – and recognises I think that high energy comedy didn’t work very well in the aesthetic of this series.

The best performance of the lot however is Tessa Peake-Jones as Julia. It helps of course that she has the most interesting character in the play, and certainly the most complex, but Peake-Jones mines this proto-Rosalind/Helena for all the depth she can, finding a great deal of emotional truth in the role. Her tearful, raw reaction to witnessing Proteus woo Silvia is genuinely quite moving. At the other end of the scale, her early conversation with Lucetta has a real lightness and affection behind it, and her reaction to receiving (then ripping, then trying to gather up the pieces of) Proteus’ love letter is quite sweet – she playfully plays a harpsichord to try and distract Lucetta from her interest in it before falling on the letter with a passionate longing when left alone. Similarly you really feel her pain and anger when she arrives in Milan dressed as a boy – and the mixed feelings she has towards Silvia, a woman she has much in common with. It’s a very well thought out, heartfelt performance that really grows on you as the play progresses.

It’s unfortunate that this isn’t matched by the other three main members of the cast. Surprisingly, in amongst all this invention and confident handling of the play, the acting styles of Tyler Butterworth, John Hudson and Joanne Pearce all come across as at best old fashioned, and at worst disengaged and dully traditional. All three go for a very poetic, breathy reading of the text, where youth and inexperience are conveyed by delivering many lines with a high pitch and eagerness. What this fails to do, however, is deliver any real sense of character or personality in these people, instead making them into rather distant figures strangely devoid of passion despite the actions they are involved in.

Butterworth’s Proteus never for one second convinces either as a conniving opportunist or as a man so wrapped up in a sudden passion that he sadly feels the need to take on a number of terrible actions. John Hudson’s Valentine is a dull figure, despite some efforts to add some moments of comic timing to him (such as his reaction when the Duke reveals the rope ladder beneath his cloak with which he intends to steal away Silvia) – but Hudson adds no sense of energy to it. Scenes involving him and Joanne Pearce are terribly dull, with both actors concentrating so heavily on getting the beauty of the language across that they forget to really add in any performing. Joanne Pearce continues where she left off from Comedy of Errors with a flat performance.

It’s these lead characters that, in the end, undermine the production. Despite all the efforts of some in the cast – and I want to mention as well Paul Daneman who gives a terrific performance as a Duke of Milan who is clearly savvy to Proteus from the start – the lead characters (sketchily drawn on paper) are simply not particularly engaging or interesting. I can see how they could be – there’s more than enough plot here – and I feel like there should be a sharp, active, vital quality to the performances – these guys are young, a bit dumb and horny as hell – but you don’t get any sense of that at all in the production. It’s a completely sex-free production, which is bizarre since virtually every single scene is about love or lust or some combination of the two.

Which is a shame as this is a solid enough production with a good selection of ideas and concepts behind it, and it generally has a lot of charm. What I liked about it is that Don Taylor clearly has an understanding of what the play is about, and where it sits in the cannon of Shakespeare’s work. Most of the design ideas effectively service the plot and allow us to understand the tone of each scene and the mood of the production. Yes, some of these design ideas don’t work, and the lead actors are weak – but the production effectively evokes a world, and creates a mood of warmth and lightness that makes it enjoyable.

Conclusion

Despite some key flaws, this is actually a rather engaging production. It’s very hard not to get wrapped up in the story, and to enjoy the events of the show – particularly with Peake-Jones’ performance, which is the true stand out of the show. There are also some well-done performances from the supporting cast, in particular Daneman, Kaby and Haygarth. The design ideas by and large work quite well (with some key flaws) and there are plenty of enjoyable moments. Where the production fails however is in the three other leads, who fail to bring any real emotion, passion or interest to their characters, which weakens the production as it detracts heavily from the audience’s interest in their plot. This doesn’t completely undermine the production, but it is a real shame that better performances (or actors) couldn’t have been found for the leads of this otherwise interesting and quite likeable production.

NEXT TIME: Alan Howard lays into those pesky commoners in Coriolanus

The Comedy of Errors (Series 6 Episode 3)

First transmitted 24th December 1983

Double trouble for Roger Daltrey and Michael Kitchen

Cast: Michael Kitchen (Antipholus of Ephesus/Antipholus of Syracuse), Roger Daltrey (Dromio of Ephesus/Dromio of Syracuse), Suzanne Bertish (Adriana), Joanne Pearce (Luciana), Cyril Cusack (Egeon), Charles Gray (Duke of Ephesus), Wendy Hiller (Emilia), Ingrid Pitt (Courtesan), Nicholas Chagrin (Master of Mime), Sam Dastor (Angelo), David Kelly (Balthazar), Frank Williams (Officer), Marsha Fitzalan (Luce), Geoffrey Rose (Dr. Pinch)

Director: James Cellan Jones

I think the track record of the Shakespearean comedies in this series has been pretty well established: what works well in front of a live audience doesn’t always translate well to the screen devoid of that crucial audience interaction and the buzz of the actors feeding off the audience and vice versa. Which is to say that this is, despite a few flashes and odd bits of business, not the funniest production you are ever going to see. There are two main reasons for this.

Firstly, despite being easily the shortest play in the series, it still seems longer than it should, because it lacks energy and momentum. Too many scenes go on a fraction too long, not enough attempt is made to marry up the importance to the series of clarity and delivery of dialogue with the essential pace farce relies on. In particular, too much time is spent labouriously spelling out the various errors made by the characters, overegging the gags. As the momentum slips in the production, so the tightness of the comedy is affected, reducing the sense of audience immersion that farce needs. 

The second main reason is that, by and large, it is rather indifferently acted. To put it bluntly, while some actors try too hard to deliver comedic “turns” and mug to the camera in flashes of tedious “business” (often campy), others honestly seem to be slightly out of their depth. Even the performers who don’t fall into these two camps are underwhelming, as if they couldn’t quite click with the production, or couldn’t find the right tone. It’s unclear exactly why this is, but some elements don’t quite make sense. For example, Ephesus is clearly a laid back kinda place (mime groups and courtesans clearly have a lot of influence, and its citizens are warm and friendly). Since it’s clearly an easy going town, why is its Antipholos so up-tight and angry all the time?

It’s a sign that things haven’t been quite thought through into a coherent whole. Some of this blame probably needs to lie with James Cellan Jones who, despite some interesting touches, doesn’t have a consistent idea for the tone of the play. Which is not to say that some of the ideas are not rather effective, and it’s clear he wants to put on a production of the play that is a little bit more than just a straight comedic farce. From the start, Jones never lets the audience forget that the play is framed around an old man being sentenced to death for a trite crime, and the decision to have Egeon continually wondering around the set between scenes, forlornly searching for relief works very well to keep bringing us back to the serious issues under the surface.

But other ideas don’t quite work. Although I can see that some people would really hate it, I actually rather enjoyed the mime group at the start miming out Egeon’s story as he narrates it. It adds some visual interest to what is otherwise a massive slab of text, even though the mime group set about their work with the shallow smugness of overpraised young children. The introduction of the Master of Mime as a character suggests that the group are going to “see through” all this business from the start and they will be real presences throughout the production. But then they completely disappear (aside from a few beats between scenes) from the action, have no influence on events (other than making some disturbance in the final scene to allow the Syracuse versions to escape) and offer no commentary or chorus function. It’s always, I think, rather damning of flourishes like this if they only work once in a production – if you can’t integrate it all the way through, you are better going without it.

Then we come into the main comedy scenes themselves. Stanley Wells makes a rather interesting point about the play in performance, that it serves the production better to have actors who are not identical as it should be immediately clear to the audience at all times which of the twins they are watching at any one time. This is categorically not the case here. This is less to do with the fact that Kitchen and Daltrey play both versions of the characters, and more to do with the fact that they are wearing identical costumes (in itself this makes little real sense) and that the personalities of the two twins are too close to each other. You do see some clear variations in the final sequences in characterisation when they appear together (and the split screen work to have them appear side-by-side actually works rather well considering) but it’s not enough to really make it clear. I was pretty confused at points, especially with the Dromios – and when the audience is as unclear about what is going on as the characters, then a farce doesn’t work.

Of the two main performances in this, Roger Daltrey does an amiable job and makes a decent fist of playing the role. I read another review which describes his performance as “amiably amateur” which is pretty much on the money. It’s not bad, but he fails to differentiate at all between the two Dromios and he delivers all the lines with too much of a “comedy” acting style, as little more than thick yokels, gurning through a series of events. This noticeably fails to make the “find out countries in her” exchange anywhere near as funny as it should be, with a lack of comic timing and skill in delivery. He’s clearly pleased to be there, impossible to dislike and does not embarrass himself but is not really good enough for the part.

Michael Kitchen does a serviceable job as the Antipholi, with Syracuse as a laid back fun loving kinda guy, who can’t believe his luck to have women throwing himself at him and has a playful relationship with his Dromio. His frequent direct addresses to the camera are playful and engagingly light in tone, making Syracuse an enjoyable companion for the audience. His Ephesus interestingly comes across as an uptight bastard, a bad husband and a man openly enjoying a series of affairs (as well as, it is hinted, a quiet awareness of his sister-in-law’s possible attraction to him) who takes a sub-Fawlty delight in slapping Dromio around. Two decent performances, but nothing really special.

The ladies in their lives are equally a mixed bag. Suzanne Bertish is probably a little too shrewish as Adriana, which then makes her coquettish hinting at sex being an after dinner treat for Syracuse slightly out of whack with the rest of her characterisation. She does however handle the longer speeches well, and there is a good sense of her pain and frustration at Ephesus’ obvious lack of faith and that her own anger stems from genuine feelings she has for him. She also gets some good moments of comic business, particularly when angrily preventing a Dromio from tidying away the contents of a table. Joanne Pearce though is flat out bad as Adriana, delivering her lines with a sing-song observance of the pentameter and failing to add any depth to the character – I suspect her simpering delivery is not meant to suggest she is having an affair with Antipholos of Ephesus, as I at first read it. Ingrid Pitts is embarrassingly oversexualised as the courtesan, Marsh Fitzalan makes no impression as Luce.

The older actors emerge slightly better. Charles Gray can of course now deliver this sort of thing standing on his head, and his Duke is a reasonable authority figure and humanitarian with the expected lecherous tone (very much Gray’s calling card now). Wendy Hiller adds an authority as Emilia (although the decision to accompany all her entrances with a Hallelujah chorus is as clunky as it sounds) as well as a touching sweetness. The acting honours of the production goes to Cyril Cusack as Egeon who not only brings a real depth of feeling and fatherly longing to his opening speech, but provides a large degree of emotion to the final scene – Egeon is probably the only character in the play that consistently works throughout and makes coherent sense.

The characters and acting are a mixed bag, but there are some nice touches here. As mentioned, several of the actors address the camera at key moments, which certainly makes some of the events more engaging, even if it doesn’t really help us understand them any better. Some of the small comedic performances and “near misses” work very well – in particular a moment at the end of A3 S2 when Antipholus of Ephesus witness his brother leaving his house and confusedly stares at the wine in his hand with a shake of the head – work very well, far better in fact than the overly played physical comedy (I’ve already mentioned the sub-Fawlty bashing of Dromio – never good to remind the viewers of far superior comedies than this).

The set itself is actually quite an impressive thing, playfully making no real attempt to present a “real world” instead reducing Ephesus to a carefully constructed single square, its floor made up of a wonderfully presented map of Greece, and bright primary colours dominating the surroundings and the buildings, giving the impression of an almost fairy tale background. How this ties in with the decisions around Egeon and the harking back to his sad state I’m less clear about – but it certainly makes the drama visually interesting. The split screen work to bring both sets of twins on screen at the same time is actually rather impressive considering the technical limitations of the time.

But the problem remains that I’m just not clear in the end exactly what sort of story is actually being told here. When it tries to be a comedy, it often goes for it far too much to actually be funny. When it focuses on the framing story, it never builds the mood enough to be actually moving. It’s a noble attempt at doing a farce with serious undertones on screen – but it just never clicks into place. Perhaps the core problem is that, deep down, this is too reverent to the text, willing to sacrifice the pace of the comedy to make sure that all the dialogue is delivered crystal clearly for the sponsors, as if the team were worried that to do anything less would be to insult the playwright.

The main problem is that all the stuff that works best is “televisual” and all the stuff that brings the film down is the “Shakespeare” stuff – and I think that is rooted in the fact that James Cellan Jones seems to lack real knowledge or experience with Shakespeare, making him uncertain how to play the dialogue or the plot. The camera flourishes work very well, and the idea he has about Egeon is good – but he basically seems to feel the actual dialogue is not going to be the source of any humour so never manages to bring any of it out of the performers. He then makes this worse, by instructing the actors to deliver it with clarity and respect rather than any comedic energy – a fatal flaw that holes the production beneath the waterline.

Conclusion

Some decent directorial flourishes and a few effective scenes and jokes basically get lost in what is overall probably a rather mediocre production – never outright bad, but often just slightly off beat, off tone or just missing being truly funny. With a lack of pace, too many scenes that outstay their welcome and a mixed bag of performances, where every good performer is matched by a sub-par one, this is a production that isn’t quite brave enough to cut loose from the text and really embrace making this comedy effective for film.

NEXT TIME: Tyler Butterworth and John Hudson are Two Gentlemen of Verona on the road for fun and romance.