First Transmitted 8 May 1981
 |
Colin Blakely and Jane Lapotaire's love shatters world peace |
Director: Jonathan MillerThe first season of Miller’s custodianship ends with an intimate, low-key production of one of Shakespeare’s grandest classics. And this production perhaps shows how far the series has come when compared to the earlier historical epics, such as Richard II, The Henries and, most obviously of all, Julius Caesar. Unlike the earlier plays, this takes paintings – specifically the work of Veronese – as its principle inspiration and leaves behind the literalism of historical accuracy.
This atmosphere of faded grandeur matches up well with the
visuals of the play. Taking Veronese’s The Family of Darius Before Alexander (see above) here as the main inspiration,
Miller creates a romantic, renaissance-era style and design that bears no
resemblance to actual Roman culture. Interiors are skilfully disguised utility
locations, with black set construction decorated by painterly cloths and
drapings that add an imperialistic luxury and style to the sets. Backdrops for
the outside sequences are an almost blinding white that makes no attempt to
present a realistic exterior. The painterly style of grandness – particularly
embraced by the Egyptian characters as opposed to the plainer styles of
Octavius and his followers – also shows how the characters themselves are
reaching for a grander past just out of reach of memory. When Antony dresses in
an elaborate army uniform or Cleopatra reclines in a cloth-strewn luxury tent,
they seem like ageing film stars harking back to past glories of large budget
film sets and costumes now a few sizes too small.
Miller uses a few nifty camera tricks to point up the
differences between Rome and Egypt, particularly in visual cuts. The first
transition uses a wipe that slowly pushes Egypt out of shot in favour of Rome.
When Enobarbus speaks of Cleopatra’s beauty, the film jump-cuts to a close up
of Octavia, as if stressing she cannot compare. Audio bridges are used
throughout to move from scene to scene. Light (and the lack of it) is also used
effectively. At the film’s start Antony and Cleopatra enter through a large
white entranceway into a dark, cloth decorated court – an area they will not
leave again until their disaster against Octavius. After his attempted suicide,
the camera lowers to Antony’s perspective and a flood of light from the corner
of the screen obscures the vision of the viewer just as Antony’s vision is
obscured by approaching death. Cleopatra’s death sees her sitting facing the
only point of light in the monument, with her back to the camera. The aim
always is to show the reality just behind the illusion the central characters
are trying to sustain.
Colin Blakely’s Antony is a key part of this. A short,
stocky actor with a working class hardness just beneath the surface, he is a
wonderfully off the wall choice to play one half of the greatest lovers of all
time. He is, it seems, constantly out of his depth – from his entrance he is
enraptured by Cleopatra and constantly, even in the aftermath of fits of rage,
finds himself deferring to her and her moods. He is, above all, a rather
unsophisticated soldier, at his most comfortable with his men before battle or
when drinking on Pompey’s boat. At times he comes across like a whining child –
complaining to Octavia or bitterly sulking in A3 S11 when Cleopatra loses him
the battle, almost in tears at her lack of faith in him. When asking Eros to
take his life, he even bitterly complains “you promised” when Eros demurs. Low
and high camera angles at crucial points constantly stress his lack of stature,
making him seem even more impotent and weak. At points, he takes control of
himself and seems the man of legends, but he is a man on a downward slope,
unable to check – or even fully recognise – the pace of his descent. It’s a
lack of awareness that makes him sympathetic – as well as frustrating.
Lack of awareness cannot be levelled against Jane
Lapotaire’s Cleopatra. She is a woman constantly performing, aware of the
effect that every one of her actions has on those around her. She controls and
manipulates Antony’s tempestuous moods with ease, and her influence over him is
demonstrated well in A3 S7 as she prowls behind him in the back of the shot
while he rejects the advice of those around him. A1 S3 shows she is willing to
appear girlish and innocent, fondly playing cat’s cradle with Charmian while
waiting for Antony – similar to the light playful attitude she is happy to show
in A2 S5 while awaiting news from the messenger and in A1 S5 where she allows
an illusion of equality with her servant (an attitude she is quick to drop when they say the wrong thing).
Lapotaire also brings a continual sense of vulnerability to
her performance. Her reaction to news of Antony’s departure is part staged, but
there is real fear and desperation in her at the thought of losing him. It’s
moments like this that show the real love she holds for Antony, beneath her
appreciation of the benefits of having him around. News of his marriage reduces
her to an emotional breakdown and floods of genuine tears. Bu there is still a
sense of realpolitik behind her actions, that makes her such an intriguing
character.When all seems lost in A3 S13 she is open to hear Caesar’s version of
her relationship – letting out an understanding “oh” when told she has been
bewitched. Mortified, horrified and pained beyond words by Antony’s death, she
still mixes this with a willingness to hear Caesar out and plan for her own
possible future.
The constant beats and changes in the relationship between
these two characters are skilfully played by both actors and well directed. The
underlying sense of need that lies between the two characters is constantly
seen, and their physical ease and naturalness stresses the intimacy between
them. Though there are flashes of anger, these are short intense bursts from
each of them – and the tenderness and relief of moments of reconciliation –
such as in A3 S12 – are moving and above all feel real. The loyalty between
them is demonstrated time and time again – and the despair when the one fears
the other lost is raw and all consuming. As a depiction of a grand passion it
is a like a wildfire that has consumed all the materials feeding it.
For the other parts, in another fine example of Miller’s
invention, Enobarbus – often played as a plain and honest soldier – is here
seen as a sleazy freeloader, constantly taking advantage of the perks of his
ill-deserved position. At every instance, he eats and drinks to excess, bellows
and makes loud and inappropriate comments. His presence as Antony’s chief
advisor casts as much a reflection over Antony’s lack of judgement as it does
over his own unsuitability. What James’ Enbarbus does well is to make his many
personality flaws appear to others as disguised virtues. The real man emerges
when getting drunk on Pompey’s yacht or deciding to flee Antony. The contempt
with which he is met after his defection demonstrates his true standing amongst
his contemporaries. Moments of genuine feeling emerge – taking advantage of
Antony as he is, he clearly cares for him deeply – and when talking of
Cleopatra’s beauty he finds himself drawn into reverie despite himself. But it
is still a striking re-examination of the character as mildly unpleasant
chancer.
Ian Charleson adds another excellent performance as a
patrician and moralistic Octavius, saddened by Antony’s descent, rather than
consumed by ambition. He seems determined to do what is required of him as a
leader and looks scornfully at the perceived lack of worth of the other
contenders for leadership – he is notably uncomfortable and eager to depart at
Pompey’s party. His mixed emotions over Antony are clearly expressed when he
weeps at the news of Antony’s death – he may be angered at the man for the ill-treatment
of his sister (with whom he is clearly close) but there is a clear regard still
for who he was (an attitude that is also clear when he bemoans Antony’s fall in
A1 S4). This sense of duty and stern moralism also explains his clear lack of
interest in Cleopatra’s charms.
Donald Sumpter brings
a lot of swagger to Pompey; Janet Key is a loyal and touching Charmian;
Esmond Knight’s Lepidus is a well meaning man out of his depth; and David Neal
is a stand out amongst Octavius’ coterie of advisors. Many regular players from
the BBC series crop up in key parts and give their expected quality
performances. But unlike other Miller productions, the focus is overwhelmingly
on the central characters to the detriment of the supporting parts – this is
one of the few productions where a minor character fails to emerge as a
particular point of interest.
Miller’s main issue with the play is to resolve some of the
central issues of its construction, created by Shakespeare himself. These are
not completely successful. It is still an overlong production and Act 4, as
always, with its yo-yoing of fortune between Octavius and Antony in battle,
overextends and overplays some of the same points a few too many times. There are
some key cuts – and the battle of Antioch is replaced altogether with an
onscreen picture and some text from Plutarch. The downside of the smaller-scale
approach is that the importance of the events of Act 4 to the future of the world
is lost slightly in the crush. Some characters also fail to come really into
focus – Octavius’ advisors seem to have interchangeable personalities and some
characters, such as Menas, shift and change attitudes according to the demands
of the plot.
By stressing a low-key, less glamourous approach to its lead
characters, this production perhaps challenges expectations more than any other
production so far with the exception of Miller’s own Taming of the Shrew. It finds constant new lights to shine on
characters throughout. It won’t perhaps please viewers who want the epic
feeling of Shakespeare’s history, but this is a striking reimagining of
Shakespeare’s play.
Conclusion
Next time: OK the
controversial one. Anthony Hopkins blacks up as the Moor and Bob Hoskins plays
his dark angel in Othello.
No comments:
Post a Comment