First transmitted 7th November 1981
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Suzanne Burden and Anton Lesser find true love never runs too smoothly - particularly when Charles Gray tries to help you. |
Cast: Anton Lesser (Troilus), Suzanne Burden (Cressida),
Charles Gray (Pandarus), Benjamin Whitrow (Ulysses), Vernon Dobtcheff
(Agamemnon), Geoffrey Chater (Nestor), John Shrapnel (Hector), Kenneth Haigh
(Achilles), Anthony Pedley (Menelaus), Jack Birkett (Thersites), Esmond Knight
(Priam), Tony Steedman (Aeneas), Paul Moriarty (Diomedes), Elayne Sharling
(Cassandra), David Firth (Paris), Ann Pennington (Helen), Bernard Brown
(Menelaus), Merelina Kendall (Andromache)Director: Jonathan Miller
Like Timon of Athens,
Troilus and Cressida is one of Shakespeare’s most rarely performed works.
Again it’s not hard to see why as soon as you sit down and watch it: this is
that rarest of things, a Shakespearean satire, a parody of Homer, in which each
of the heroes is deconstructed as something considerably more flawed and human.
It’s also parodies Homer’s poetry, meaning each character talks at very great
length to get across their point – none more so than Ulysses, who barely
delivers a line shorter than a page.
It’s also a play that lacks dramatic thrust. Troilus and
Cressida themselves are undefined characters (Cressida in particular is a very
difficult part, essentially acting as the plot demands rather than as a human
being). This explains why the showpiece roles are often seen as Pandarus and
Thersites – two cynical commentators and observers, who have the best lines and
soliloquies. Who wouldn’t want to play (or indeed watch) that, rather than the
cryptic love story at the (nominal) heart of the story? Especially since the
two lovers don’t even meet until the play has reached the half way point.
So this play is a deconstruction of the mythic ideal, and
this is the tone Miller’s production works to capture. Both the Greek camp and Troy
are run-own, shabby affairs, populated by characters who have been going over
the same conversations over and over again for the last seven years of war. In
the Greek camp, soldiers laze around in dirty tents, playing cards and being
entertained by prostitutes (visually Miller was inspired by the look of
M*A*S*H*). The Greek leaders laze on beds drinking, barely going through the
motions. Garrulous characters, particularly Ulysses and Nestor, seize the
conversation in tired silences. Between councils, Achilles and others laze with
their lovers or gossip with servants. The Greek costumes are as shabby, brown
and dirty as the rest of the camp, and drink is clearly in plentiful supply
(and a regular prop).
It’s little different in Troy. The city is a construct of
interior courtyards and rising staircases, all of it rough, chipped wood,
smeared colours and flaking paintwork suggesting years of undersupply. The
inhabitants, like the Greeks, continue the same debates – in a central scene, the
Trojan princes debate the futility of continuing the war, Troilus, Hector and
Paris trot out their arguments with a similar weary familiarity, going over
familiar viewpoints before committing to carry on once again. Even the
interjections of Cassandra are met with an over-familiar and tired boredom. The
costumes chosen for the Trojan characters have a grander, old-fashioned feel to
them, reflecting the more noble ideals and romantic views of the majority of
the Trojan characters, in contrast to the more realpolitik Greeks.
The loss of idealism is the central thrust of Miller’s
production. John Shrapnel’s scene-stealing performance as a quick-tempered,
impulsive but essentially decent and honourable Hector is the tragic centre. War
to him is close to a game with fixed rules, reflected in his behaviour when
visiting the Greek camp: as soon as the challenge with Ajax is finished, he
reflects old-fashioned nobility and good nature, like Prince Charles visiting a
school, rather than a man in the middle of a war to the death. This contrasts
with Kenneth Haigh’s cruel, arrogant and bullying Achilles, more interested in
burnishing his reputation and lazing with Patroclus, completely aware combat
has no rules. Much of the production builds towards the final meeting between
these two characters in battle. Romanticism dies with Hector, who is beaten to
death by soldiers, while Achilles watches dispassionately, before walking over
to push Hector’s bloody remains into the mud with his boot.
The end impact of that murder is seen in Troy, which in the
final scene is a darkened city, with wounded soldiers standing at every point,
a delirious Pandarus wandering past the grieving family of Hector. Troilus – at
the start an idealistic man – rants and raves in furious defiance against the
Greeks. The mood carries across from the battlefield – a blasted wasteland with
a bloody sun hanging in the sky. Troy has become a fatalistic city, where hope
and dreams have been abandoned in an acceptance of destruction. It’s a doom-laden
ending to the play, Miller suggesting that war is now on a slope descending
towards Hell itself, where inglorious death awaits the characters.
Alongside this nihilistic view of the Trojan war, a contrast
is made with the romance between Troilus and Cressida. Both the lovers are
young and naive, with a rather innocent outlook on the world. In their first
scene together, both Lesser and Burden are chaste and timid, unsure of how to
act upon an obvious attraction between them – they virtually need Pandarus to
push them together. What Miller suggests is that their naivety leads to them interpreting
this first burst of passion – an early crush effectively – as a passion for the
ages. Their uncertainty is still there: even when waking from a night together they
are physically hesitant with each other. When separated they respond as if
trying to meet expectations: Cressida clings to Troilus in dramatic outbursts
of tears and wailing; Troilus behaves as the strong comforter but stridently
demands again and again that she swear undying devotion. It’s all a bit much
for something that is really little more than a one-night stand.
This goes some way towards one of the modern problems with
the play: every male character seems to instinctively suspect Cressida is a
woman of loose morals and inconstancy. By making her early dalliance with
Troilus something youthful, built on instinct rather than reasoned or mature
reflection, her later alliance with Diomedes then makes some sense. The
reception Cressida receives from the Greeks when arriving – basically a lusty
cheering from horny men who haven’t seen their wives for a long time (Diomedes
even has to beat some of them away) – suggests she is aware finding a protector
in this den of violent, sex-starved men might not be bad idea. Burden suggests
in her performance that Cressida may regret the loss of Troilus (and her
innocence) but she is savvy enough to seduce Diomedes to secure her future. Just
as with the war, this is a loss of innocence. 
Suzanne Burden does her best with a tricky role here: from
her first scene with Pandarus, she clearly has an intense interest in sex and a
flirtatious nature, but (similar to Troilus) does not seem to have developed an
emotional maturity to sit alongside it. When confronted with her man, she is
tentative and quiet throughout. There is a suggestion in Burden’s performance
that she is less drawn towards him than he is to her, as if she is willing to
explore romance and sexuality with him, but perhaps does not see him as her permanent
partner. It’s a nice image of how Juliet might have turned out if she had survived.
Opposite her, Anton Lesser’s excellent performance as
Troilus is a dynamic force of youthful naivety, sharing Hector’s view of war as
a game, and almost childlike in his understanding of love. His romanticism and idolisation
of Cressida creates a woman who cannot fail but disappoint him. As mentioned,
his response on separation is to be the strong man, but he matches this with youthful
insecurity in her faithfulness. When circumstances force Cressida away from him,
he lacks the emotional intelligence or maturity to understand the reasons for
her actions, and redirects the near teenage anger and rage into an obsession
with the martial future of Troy, taking on Hector’s mantle: but as a sullen and
disillusioned young man rather than a moderate idealist. Similar to Burden, it
makes the part almost a companion piece to Romeo – only a Romeo rejected by
Juliet who buries himself in Montague-Capulet brawls.
At the centre of the web of sex and manipulation is Charles
Gray’s campy, creepy and (inevitably – it is Charles Gray!) toadlike Pandarus
is the selfish spider. Gray’s Pandarus sees ensnaring Troilus in his family as his
meal-ticket and, as such, is willing to spin any story necessary to successfully
pimp out Cressida to him. He has wit and charm, but is entirely self-focused
(clearly shown in the final shots as a disease-raddled Pandarus walks blindly
past the funeral of Hector, absorbed with his own self-inflicted tragedy). When
bringing the lovers together he virtually pushes them together to get the result
he wants, frustratedly crying “have you not done talking?” It’s another decent
performance from Gray, though I could have done with a performance which is
slightly less broad and allowed us to see a bit more of Pandarus’ intelligence
as well as his greed.
In the Greek camp, there is a batch of strong performances,
with Geoffrey Chater the stand-out as a hilarious Nestor, playing him as a
pompous, preening old man, nowhere near as clever as he thinks he is,
constantly agreeing shamelessly with the most persuasive figure (usually
Ulysses), chuckling pointedly at obscure jokes to highlight his intelligence
and, in one great moment, prattling at such great length to a visiting Hector
that Ulysses has to physically interject to restrain him (Chater remains at the
edge of the frame, constantly trying to retake the conversational impetus).
Benjamin Whitrow’s Ulysses is a good companion performance to this – smooth,
proud, calculating, a natural observer, with Whitrow suggesting that his self
interest has kept him from the ennui and boredom of the rest of the men (and
also allowed him to take the driving seat in discussions).
Vernon Dobtchett is a solid presence as Agamemnon,
displaying just the right mixture of pride and terminal lack of charisma.
Kenneth Haigh’s self-absorbed, cruel Achilles is a soulless contrast to Hector.
Regular performer Anthony Pedley gives another lovely performance as a preening
and dim Ajax, lead meekly by the last person he spoke to. Jack Birkett gives a
screechy, camp performance as a dress-laden Thersites that really captures his
bitterness and cynicism, but perhaps misses out on making clear Thersites’ role
in the play of providing a commentary on events.
Miller uses many of his usual tricks in the production –
long takes abound – and uses direct address to the camera at several
key-moments, in particular with Thersites. During Cressida’s ‘betrayal’ in A5
S1 he successfully manages to introduce multiple perspectives swiftly: Cressida’s,
Troilus/Ulysses’ and Thersites’, managing to demonstrate the unclear images
that each has of the other (Cressida cannot see the others, Troilus cannot hear
everything that is said, Thersites can see more but not hear). In a particularly good touch, Helen is introduced silently in A2 S2, making the lords more comfortable as they argue against her presence in Troy. The depiction of
the griminess and dirt of war is very well done, with marching troops
superimposed over shots of the Greek lords, and the battlefield a muddy plain
under a dying sun (although the gruesome shot of Hector’s caved in skull is a
perhaps a little too much).
It’s a well worked and intelligent, if overlong piece of
television that, rather like the play, wears its brain on its sleeve and at
times lacks a little heart. There is wit and humanity there but much of it
serves as secondary to the dissection of notions of honour and romance. So it’s
just as well that it excels at doing this!
Conclusion
The play itself is hard going in places, but this is a
production packed with good ideas that serves as a companion piece to Romeo and Juliet: in that play innocence
and naivety are celebrated (though lead to tragedy and the deaths of both);
here it is shown to be misguided and mistaken and is eventually refocused to
anger, cynicism and resentment. Miller’s production, particularly in A5, really
captures the feeling of a descent to despair. With several impressive
performances – in particular Chater, Lesser and Shrapnel – this is as good a
version as any to get a sense of this most difficult of plays.
NEXT TIME: Helen Mirren
is besotted with a donkey-headed Brian Glover in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Will this unfailing crowd pleaser of a
comedy manage to raise a chuckle in a series that has bummed out on comedy so
far?
