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.
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