Antony and Cleopatra (Series 3 Episode 6)

First Transmitted 8 May 1981

Colin Blakely and Jane Lapotaire's love shatters world peace

Cast: Jane Lapotaire (Cleopatra), Colin Blakely (Mark Antony), Ian Charleson (Octavius Caesar), Emrys James (Enobarbus), Esmond Knight (Lepidus), Donald Sumpter (Pompey), Lynn Farleigh (Octavia), Janet Key (Charmian), Darien Angadi (Alexas), Cassie McFarlane (Iras), Simon Chandler (Eros), Anthony Pedley (Agrippa), David Neal (Proculeius), Harry Waters (Thyreus), George Innes (Menas), Geoffrey Collins (Dolabella), Mohammed Shamsi (Mardian), John Paul (Canidius), Howard Goorney (Soothsayer)
Director: Jonathan Miller

The 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.

Miller also of course develops his own interpretation of events, rooted right back into the casting. Miller saw the play as a drama about two former greats who have passed the peak of their powers, and are struggling to deal with and accept a world that has left them behind. Lapotaire and Blakely appear plainer and smaller than many actors cast as the characters – particularly Blakely who looks like a dwarfish faded sports star. Lapotaire is far less glamorous than previous incarnations of the character, and here is a woman aware that her position is now the key part of her allure.

While pulling the glamour out of the central couple, Miller also brings the scale of the play down to fit the small screen. With its vast number of scenes and grand continent-crossing sweep, the play is an epic, often played on the widest of stages. However Miller sets the majority of the action in a series of small, almost claustrophobic locations, with the camera zooming in on conversations. Miller also makes extensive use again of long takes, with the camera moving between parts of the scene and around characters and events. Performances in turn are defiantly real and grounded, with the characters made into flesh and blood human beings rather than heroes from history.

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

With some excellent performances, a consistent visual imagery throughout and strong, imaginative direction, this is a very well done version of Shakespeare’s play. It doesn’t resolve all the issues of Shakespeare’s original – the vast number of scenes and occasional lapses of pace in the action – and in working so heavily on the interpretation of the principal characters, the supporting roles get a little lost. However there are plenty of fascinating ideas and interpretative energy here as always, and the lead performances hold the play together extremely well.

Next time: OK the controversial one. Anthony Hopkins blacks up as the Moor and Bob Hoskins plays his dark angel in Othello.

Hamlet (Series 2 Episode 6)

First Transmitted 25th May 1980

Derek Jacobi climbs one of the literary summits of the world in Hamlet

Cast: Derek Jacobi (Hamlet), Patrick Stewart (Claudius), Claire Bloom (Gertrude), Eric Porter (Polonius), Lalla Ward (Ophelia), David Robb (Laertes), Patrick Allen (Ghost), Robert Swann (Horatio), Jonathan Hyde (Rosencrantz), Geoffrey Bateman (Guildenstern), Emrys James (Player King), Ian Charleson (Fortinbras), Tim Wylton (First Gravedigger), Peter Benson (Second Gravedigger), Paul Humpoletz (Marcellus), Jason Kemp (Player Queen), Geoffrey Beevers (Player/Lucianus), Peter Gale (Osric)

Director: Rodney Bennett

 

For his final production, producer Cedric Messina presented the most famous play of all time: Hamlet. His vision of Shakespeare was always sharply traditional with a focus on clarity, clearness and faithfulness with an aversion for invention and interpretative daring. So the real tragedy of Hamlet is that this most deep, complex and searching of works is strait jacketed here, with little real aim beyond capturing a ‘complete’ version of the play on screen.

 

Which is what you get: an almost complete reading of the play (there are no more than a dozen small cuts at most) with the characters and events interpreted more-or-less as you might expect. Characters circle around each other, communicating but not truly interacting. The play rolls gently from set-piece to set-piece, with Jacobi’s soliloquies hammered into the ground like milestones for the viewer to pace themselves to (however wonderfully they are performed). There is nothing unique or truly interesting here – if you’ve seen a couple of Hamlets you’ve probably seen every idea there is in this film. Combine this with the play’s bum-numbing length (I had to watch it in about four shifts) and there isn’t much here to tempt a viewer back for repeated viewings.

 

The focus here is firmly on the language of each scene, to the detriment of action, emotion and (of course) interpretation. This is not always a bad thing: if you want a chance to simply listen and think about the play, this might well be the production for you. I certainly enjoyed reflecting on the depths of Shakespeare’s writing – the six pages of thoughts and reflections I made about this production are a tribute to the intelligence of Jacobi and his fellow actors. But without drama there is a lack of engagement. If the production places the whole play on screen as an act of intellectual taxidermy what is there for me to invest in? Put it another way: would you rather see the stuffed animals in Natural History Museum or real ones at London Zoo?

 

Director Bennett originally wanted to film on location – an option vetoed after As You Like It. Instead the first truly impressionistic set we’ve seen so far in the series is created. The basic location is a sort of cyclorama, a bare blue oval into which are dropped various walls, perspective tricks, tables, graves and thrones to create different locations. It’s an attempt to bring theatricality to television once again, but much more successfully and consistently than in Henry V. And it pretty much works. It’s also the first production to use incidental music to develop mood. What music can do, when it’s used well, is to add texture and depth to film – and it’s used very well here, unobtrusively placed and used to particular effect at the end of Act 1 to underscore Hamlet’s encounter with the Ghost.

 

But the filming here is largely safe and straight forward. There is some neat editing in A3 S4 where different angles are used to show the different perspectives of Hamlet and Gertrude during the Ghost’s second visit (making it clear that Gertrude sees nothing). There has been a bit of ribbing of the Ghost’s appearance, like a fluorescent Jacob Marley, but it does give him an unworldly feeling. Typically, any interesting interpretative questioning of the Ghost’s faithfulness (or Hamlet’s relationship with what must have been a distant and imposing father) is ignored, although an interesting comparison is made between his overbearing browbeating of Hamlet and Polonius’ bullying of Ophelia one scene earlier, with similar angles and shots used.

 

But to really talk about a production of Hamlet you need to get down to the actor playing him. Messina went all out to get the biggest name he could get and secured the man who seemed to have spent most of the 1970s playing Hamlet all over the world. So, if nothing else, this film should be noted for recording one of the great Hamlets of the twentieth century for posterity. I feel (and this is a personal thing here) that this production allows you to see what a brilliantly cerebral actor Derek Jacobi is. Jacobi successfully plays Hamlet as an exceptional, deep thinking genius in a performance that is notable for its low-key, softly-spoken nature.

 

From his first lines the sharpness of his intelligence are clear, as he addresses Claudius in A1 S2 with a scruffy, hands-in-pockets contempt. His introspection has only been heightened by great sadness at his father’s death (crucially not despair), and you can feel a bookish gentleness to him. He’s a reserved man, close to only a few. He’s not an avenging angel. Like all performances, certain lines ring out, and when hearing of the Ghost the key phrase Jacobi embraces is “it troubles me” – his unease at the implications for him of the Ghost are plain. He may suspect Claudius – and his reaction to the Ghost’s story makes clear he does – but he’s not comfortable with the obligation of revenge.

 

Throughout, Jacobi explores the impact of this news on him, specifically the idea of how far Hamlet’s madness trickles over from pretence into reality. As an actor, Jacobi is willing to go quite far – after the departure of the Ghost, he howls and literally beats himself in fury, a frantic disposition quite alien from the opening scenes. His feigning has a gentle, open-mouthed simplicity to it but there is a hint under the surface of a wildness that has been activated in him. During his “rogue and peasant slave” speech he deliberately takes on the character of a man raging for revenge, either side of a more reflective nature – Jacobi even points up the ‘acting‘ Hamlet is doing, by stopping the speech and looking quizzically at his sword, as if unaware of what it is for.

 

But this is still a Hamlet energetic enough to do what it needs to get the truth. Jacobi takes over the play performance in A3 S2, pushing aside the players to act out the tragedy himself, Hamlet challenging Claudius directly – making it clear to the man he knows the truth and challenging him t make the next move. His maniac laughter and nonsense singing after the performance however suggest a looser grip on sanity – a feeling that continues throughout A3 S4 where it seems ambiguous as to whether his callous disregard for Polonius’ death and savage physical assault (including miming sex) on his mother stem from controlled rage or mania.

 

But Jacobi, like Shakespeare, is smarter than that – he knows madness is not only about running around shouting. From A3 S2 Hamlet is oddly disconnected (other than with Horatio). In A4 S1 he confronts Claudius with an eerie calmness. His “to be or not to be” speech may be a sharp intellectual meditation (and Jacobi does it very well) but it also has unsettling notes of suicidal peace and playful joy. By A4 S3 he seems almost psychotic, calmly talking about plans of murder. It’s a clear the Ghost has turned Hamlet from a reserved intellectual to a suicidal depressive with bouts of mania who, by the end of the play, has disconnected himself from all joy and lightness in the world and seems engaged only by death. And if that’s not a type of madness, I don’t know what is.

 

That’s a lot on one performance – but there is a lot there to analyse. Jacobi does a terrific job of bringing it to life, exploring the myriad ideas and debates behind him. If there is one thing missing, though, it’s heart. Ophelia is worthy of a few tears – at both her betrayal and death – and his closeness with Horatio has an almost homoerotic frisson, but neither really moved me as a viewer. I didn’t get the sense of emotion – and this is part of what I was saying earlier. It’s a production where ideas are triumphant over emotions, where characters talk but don’t interact. It’s brilliant (more accomplished than other filmed Hamlets), but it’s harder to love.

 

Many of the supporting performances are mixed. For me, Lalla Ward just doesn’t have the range for Ophelia. It’s a difficult part, but her performance is too weak and simpering, lacking in depth – it’s never clear why Hamlet is interested in her; it’s easy for a viewer to tune her out. I was also disappointed by David Robb’s Laertes. His Laertes doesn’t quite work – he has a patrician charisma, he’d make a very good Orsino but not a great Laertes. It’s hard not to see an actor as exciting as Ian Charleson wasted as Fortinbras and wishing they had swopped roles. Robert Swann makes very little of Horatio (though to be fair I’ve seen very few actors manage to make much of what must be the dullest role in all the great tragedies).

 

Eric Porter’s Polonius seems trapped between interpretative stools. There is a clear jump between A1 and A2 in how his character is portrayed, moving from an overbearing and controlling father to a more muddled old man, struggling to keep up with Hamlet. It’s a switch I found a little jarring, as if there had been a tug-of-war over interpretation and we had been left with a compromise performance as a result. Honourable mentions must go to Emrys James’ excellent Player King and Tim Wylton’s gravedigger (Wylton makes more impact in five minutes here than he did in three hours of Henry V).

 

Claire Bloom is the only cast member (including Jacobi) who speaks to the heart. She clearly has a genuine love for her son – though is not averse to slapping him in A3 S4 – and her breakdown into guilt and regret in A3 S4 is one of the best I’ve seen done. It’s a scene that clearly hangs over her and affects all her actions from that point on – you can see it in her growing distance from Claudius but also in the living death Bloom manages to show behind her eyes from that point on. It’s as good as her work on Henry VIII.

 

Patrick Stewart’s Claudius I found interesting, largely because it is very similar in tone and interpretation to the performance he would go on to give to almost universal acclaim in the David Tennant production 30 years later. Stewart’s Claudius is a cold politician, smiling and smiling but always a villain. He’s clearly a competent ruler but is playing the honest Joe to everyone while being deeply corrupt. Stewart throws in an interesting ending with Claudius, stressing at several points the character’s hatred and contempt for Hamlet – the tension between them in A3 S2 sizzles. Stewart plays him as a man obsessed with destroying Hamlet – even laughing when Hamlet murders him, as if overjoyed to have trapped him into committing open treason. But it’s a safe performance, helped by his undeniable charisma. Watch the Tennant Hamlet and you will see a great Claudius, one of the best on film.

 

Reading back through this review, Hamlet-like, I cannot decide if I have been either too harsh or too easy-going on this production. It’s trying its best, but it has no heart and it falls between too many stools. It feels like a mixture of intellectual exercise and faithful Xeroxing of the text. There is stuff here to admire and, whatever its flaws, Derek Jacobi’s performance simply has to be seen for anyone interested in this play. But I’m not sure there is enough here to come back to – certainly nothing in the bits he isn’t in. And in a world where we have so many filmed Hamlets it’s hard to see anyone rushing back to this one when they have a choice of Olivier’s, Branagh’s, Gibson’s, Tennant’s, Hawkes’, Kozintsev’s or Williamson’s.

 

Conclusion

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. That probably sums up what’s missing from a production that I looked upon if anything with a countenance more in sorrow than in anger. You won’t find your tongue full of praise for it. Jacobi is brilliant, but the rest just doesn’t quite cut it.

NEXT TIME: We move into the reign of Jonathan Miller with John Cleese casting his mission statement in The Taming of the Shrew.