Cymbeline (Series 6 Episode 1)

First transmitted 10th July 1983

Helen Mirren sleeps unaware of Robert Lindsay's presence

Cast: Helen Mirren (Imogen), Michael Pennington (Posthumus), Robert Lindsay (Iachimo), Richard Johnson (Cymbeline), Michael Gough (Belarius), Paul Jesson (Cloten), Claire Bloom (Queen), Graham Crowden (Caius Lucius), John Kane (Pisanio), Hugh Thomas (Cornelius), Geoffrey Lumsden (Philario), Geoffrey Burridge (Guiderius), David Creedon (Arviragus), Patricia Hayes (Soothsayer), Marius Goring (Sicilius Leonatus), Michael Hordern (Jupiter)
Director: Elijah Moshinsky

If you fancy an amusing few minutes, try sitting someone down and explaining the plot of Cymbeline to them. I guarantee, not only will you not be able to do it in less than 10-15 (long) sentences, but at the end of it the person you are describing it to will pull a face and say “What?”. Their second reaction will probably be “Perhaps I’ll give that one a miss then”. Which to be honest is probably a pretty fair reaction. Cymbeline is, to say the least, a bonkers, poorly structured play in which the words ‘problem’ or ‘obscure’, used often to describe its place in the Shakespeare canon, might as well be a euphemism for ‘bollocks’.

As a play it should really work – it’s practically a menage of all Shakespeare’s comedy plots featuring, as it does, lovers divided by a lie told by a bad man, a girl disguised as a boy, separated siblings, servants caught between loyalties, a distant father whose heart is softened by events etc. Throw in a few tropes from the tragedies – confusion over the death of a key character, a poison that is actually a sleeping draft, an uncaring central female figure, a battle that happens largely off-stage, an overcooked murder plan – and you end up with something that should be really entertaining, but is actually a bewildering mess.

Difficult to follow and to engage with (lacking both characters you can really invest in and a dynamic plot you can really get behind) it’s pretty hard not to come out of the play without a meh feeling. This feeling isn’t helped by this production of the play, which is possibly the driest and (whisper it) dullest of the series so far. It may well be a matter of personal taste, but what really strikes me about this film (particularly after the high-octane and dynamic history cycle) is how static and flat the camerawork is, with many scenes told with a simple single shot with minimal actor movement. This has often been the Moshinsky approach, with an approach heavily inspired by paintings – but this production lacks the visual strengths of All’s Well That Ends Well or the reinterpretative imagination of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

What it does offer is a rather cold and impersonal interpretation. Part of this is intentional – Britain is deliberately framed as a cold and wintery place, to contrast with a steamier Rome, but this chill hangs over the whole play with many of the performances themselves taken a softly-spoken, hard-faced approach that largely fails to engage the audience in the story and the emotions of the characters. Despite the supposed high-stakes for many of the characters (if you can work them out) there never seems to be any urgency or intensity behind the actions in the play. Instead the action plays out over a series of still, painterly images – you could watch much of this play in fast forward and have no trouble following the visual storytelling – with too many scenes delivered at a meditative, lingering pace. This is despite the efforts of an all-star cast, some of whom are only partly successful in getting any audience investment in their characters.

In fact the slow pace of this play is particularly striking, when you consider how much has been cut-out or rearranged by Moshinsky. Two scenes, both revolving around the Roman-Britain war (and sadly including the crucial battle scene) have been cut, along with several large speeches; and a number of scenes have ten or so lines trimmed from them, usually around the transition. In all, this is probably the most heavily cut production so far – which then makes the fact that the bloody thing still runs for almost three hours even more inexplicable. Now there are obvious reasons why some actors take their time – Robert Lindsay’s lingering appreciation of a sleeping Imogen does at least make sense character-wise – but too many scenes elsewhere are delivered without pace or urgency (Michael Pennington is particularly guilty of this). Combine this with the general coldness of the production and it makes it even harder to focus on the characters, while you worry about the numbing of your posterior.

Moshinsky does throw in a few flourishes, not all of which are completely successful. He gets a fair bit of play around using mirrors in conversations (the camera trains on one person, while the person they are talking to is seen in reflection in a mirror alongside them) although I’m not clear what this is supposed to contribute to interpretation, other than offering a neat visual trick. Similarly, a number of scenes are set around tables with characters lounging or sitting straight backed in chairs at the end of tables, behind tables, while the tables themselves host private discussions, formal negotiations, intense chess matches… Whether this is supposed to be some comment on the general themes in the play of an oppressive culture and a feeling of observation and spying trapping people in place, or just a neat echo of some of the Dutch masters (in particular Rembrandt), leaves me rather non-plussed though. The less said about super-imposed hawks duelling in the skies while Cloten and Guiderius fight to the death the better (terrible memories of Winter’s Tale’s Bear come storming back).

The sequence that works by far the best is Iachimo’s lecherous observation of the sleeping Imogen. Not only does Robert Lindsay land his performance just the right side of over-zealous panting pervert, but the camerawork adds a sensual steaminess and illicit naughtiness to the scene, as it gets in close to Iachimo looming (topless) over Imogen, the camera finally moving position to roam with Iachimo over the room and body. The glowing yellow light over the scene helps add in this sense of twisted eroticism. Moshinsky then effectively mirrors the scene later (this time replaying the scene as nightmare) with Imogen awaking with Cloten’s headless body, the camerawork being remarkably similar (starting with the same shot) and following Imogen’s inspection of Cloten’s corpse (which for reasons too obscure to explain she believes to be that of Posthumus) her heart-broken tenderness and trauma contrasted with Iachimo’s earlier lip-smacking enjoyment. They are two sequences that do offer something new – and do make a clear link between the two scenes, centering Imogen’s experience and helping to turn the atmosphere of this bizarre play into something resembling a twisted dream by its heroine.

But it still doesn’t redeem the production, which is cursed with less than completely successful performances in crucial roles. Michael Pennington, an intelligent and profound actor, does everything he can with Posthumus but plays the part so straight laced, brooding and with a dark intensity that not only do you find it hard to interest yourself in the part, it’s even a little unclear at several points what emotion he is going for (his A5 S1 speech is a perfect example of this – the growth of his guilt is rather hard to make out unless you actually read along with what he is saying). Helen Mirren really does her best with, in truth, a rather ropey role as Imogen, a character who keeps threatening to burst into life as a true heroine but consistently fails to do so. Mirren gives her a great deal of dignity and moral force, but also shades it with a hint of corruption – she is clearly tempted briefly by Iachimo – and far from a doormat, she explodes with anger at first when Pisano reveals Posthumus’ suspicious of her conduct, before a melodramatic pleading for death. Her later pain when she believes him killed is moving. But she hasn’t much to work with. Robert Lindsay excels in the bedroom scene as Iachimo, but outside of that offers little other than scowls and leers like a low-rent Iago.

Richard Johnson makes some small impact as gruff, bear-like Cymbeline – in fact his reading is enjoyable enough that it hammers home how little he is in the play. Claire Bloom does her best with the one-dimensional Queen (famously described as so thinly sketched she doesn’t even merit a name), although her brooding under-playing and softly spoken scheming does detract from her position as the play’s villain. Hugh Thomas’ Cornelius makes a good impression as an observant and arch doctor and Michael Horden and Marius Goring pop up for some stirring Shakespearean style cameos as the God Jupiter and a Ghost respectively (don’t even ask). Graham Crowden makes a nice impression as Luscius while John Kane does some sterling work as the loyal Pisanio. Geoffrey Burridge and David Creedon, however, make little or no impression as Guiderius and Arviragus (two characters so loosely defined by Shakespeare that I can’t really tell them apart).

The best performances though come from Paul Jesson and Michael Gough. Jesson adds a lovely comic touch as the arrogant, campy and self-obsessed Cloten, his pomposity and grandiosity forever undermined by a rhoticism. Constantly seen preening himself, out of his depth in the real world and a hopelessly incompetent wooer and fighter, he lights up a number of scenes by bringing a real comic energy and engagement to the production. At the other end of the scale, Michael Gough’s Belarius is not only brilliantly spoken but Gough brings a world-weary, pained expression to all his delivery, with hints of guilt at his stealing of Cymbeline’s sons, matched with a touch of anger at his betrayal. Of all the characters with sustained speeches, it’s his that really capture the imagination and Gough is the one who creates a character that feels real, with genuine emotions and motivations and a feeling of an internal life. It’s a performance that actually deserves to sit in a better play, never mind production – what would he have done with a Malvolio, Polonius or Gloucester? A real shame that this was his only outing in the series.

These good touches however are few and far between in what is a desperately disappointing production, dry, dull and flat and largely not worth the three hours of your time. After the history cycle it also seems a chronic step back, lacking in visual and filmic ambition. After the work Moshinsky had done on previous productions I expected a lot better of this production. Part of that though I am willing to chalk up to the play itself, up there now with Merry Wives as perhaps one of the worst (and certainly hardest to perform) in the canon. A lot of people claim that there are a number of parallels between the events in this play and the life of Edward de Vere, making it a strong part of the argument that the Earl wrote the plays. Well, as far as I’m concerned, he can have this one.

Conclusion

The play itself is a mess, but that doesn’t excuse what is a rather flat, dull and boring production, slow paced and generally lacking creative imagination or visual interest. With a cold and dry mood and an overwhelming running time, there isn’t much to grab the viewer’s interest, let alone keep it. Pity poor Helen Mirren that two out of three of her offerings were this and the appalling As You Like It. Not one for the desert island.

Timon of Athens (Series 3 Episode 5)

First Transmitted 16th April 1981

Jonathan Pryce rails against the system and everyone in it

Cast: Jonathan Pryce (Timon of Athens), Norman Rodway (Apemantus), John Shrapnel (Alcibades), John Welsh (Flavius), John Fortune (Poet), John Bird (Painter), Hugh Thomas (Lucius), James Cossins (Lucullus), Max Arthur (Lucilius), David Neal (First Senator), John Justin (Second Senator), Donald Gee (Ventidius), Geoffrey Collins (Flaminius), Sebastian Shaw (Old Athenian), Tony Jay (Merchant), John Bailey (Sempronius), Diana Dors (Timandra), Elayne Sharling (Phyrnia)

Director: Jonathan Miller

 

Perhaps one of the best ways to justify the existence of the BBC Shakespeare product is that it allows you to see plays from the cannon that otherwise only rarely make a stage production let alone a film version. So welcome, one and all, to what I can confidently say is the only film version of Timon of Athens that is ever going to be made. Even this production had a convoluted journey to the screen. Michael Bogdanov was originally hired to direct but his radical reinterpretation (in a mode modern oriental setting) was nixed by the investors. Bogdanov was out and Jonathan Miller stepped up to direct his second production of the cycle at short notice. So what is remarkable is the depth and ingenuity of ideas in this production, considering Miller had extremely minimal preparation time.

 

But first things first: the play. Now there is a reason Timon is so little staged – the second half. Put bluntly, for those who don’t know the plot, Acts 1-3 cover the fall of Timon, who lavishes gifts and money on flatterers and parasites until his wealth is gone – at which point those same recipients refuse to help him out. He accuses them to their face of ingratitude and leaves Athens. And that is effectively it in terms of plot. Act Four is one massive scene (over a quarter of the production here) where Timon rants and rails to a series of characters. He dies off stage and Alcibades (an exile) returns and conquers Athens (all off stage) and reads his eulogy.

 

The play is quite possibly incomplete, quite certainly a collaboration between Shakespeare and others and its narrative grinds to a complete halt after the halfway-mark in favour of discussions around the nature of man. It’s highbrow stuff and probably the most overtly intellectual writing Shakespeare has done – but it doesn’t make particularly good drama. Put simply, when your lead character becomes one of those scruffy tramps who stand on corners shouting late on a Friday night, then you are in a bad place. Timon himself is barely a character, more of a mouthpiece for a series of cynical and misanthropic views (on the page he hardly comes into focus as a personality until he has lost his wealth). The other characters remain similarly one-note, undefined and in many cases even unnamed. It offers no satisfying resolution either to its plot or the themes it has addressed. It is, to be frank, as close as Shakespeare gets to a failure (perhaps the reason there is no record of it even being performed in his lifetime). And unfortunately those problems are evident in this production as well.

 

So the first thing when directing a production is overcoming the dramatic limitations of the play. This is something Miller makes a highly accomplished effort at doing. As with his Taming of the Shrew, this production is marked with several long continuous takes throughout, with the camera at times moving around the frame to offer a new perspective within the same shot. This works particularly effectively with establishing the teeming crowd of people awaiting Timon’s arrival at the start of the play and also gives Jonathan Pryce the opportunity to really get to grips with Timon’s later long emotional speeches, many of which are delivered in a single take. As before, it also combines some of the best elements of film and theatre.

 

Miller also embraces the theme of greed throughout the play, focusing on the essential greed of men (women are totally absent except a couple of prostitutes in Act Four, who are themselves serving men’s greed). Through the dinner sequence in A1 S2, he uses faster cutting to move face to face around the dinner table, showing the lords tucking in with an almost crazed zeal into the luscious feast Timon has laid before them (Timon himself, the camera notes, doesn’t eat a thing – his greed satisfied by the praise from those around him), with these shots interspersed with tight close ups of meat being ripped from bones by greasy hands, roasted birds being sliced up and cups of wine being raised to mouths. With cast members throughout practically drooling at the mouth, falling over themselves to laugh at Timon’s jokes, it’s a great visual way of demonstrating the naked avarice on show.

 

Throughout the first half of the production (A1-A3) the camera continually lingers on objects and elements associated with wealth and money. In A3 when Timon sends (in vain) for help to his three best friends, each scene is introduced with a close up of, in turn, a money box, a set of measuring scales in a counting house and an extravagant meal – while each person in turn pleads their lack of means. In other scenes, close-ups work in tight on accounts and coins, the apparatus of wealth a constant presence throughout. It’s clear, all the time, what is on people’s mind – and exactly what they want from Timon.

 

 

 

Miller also uses the full depth of the frame at several moments, with characters moving far back to the deeper parts of the frame to deliver dialogue or engage in conversation. As well as making first Timon’s home, then his wasteland, appear larger it also serves to dwarf the characters themselves – both in first the opulence, then the bleakness, of their surroundings and to draw attention to their own petty concerns and stunted outlook. It also opens out a play which can otherwise become quite the chamber piece.

 

Tackling the second half of the play, Miller takes Beckett’s nihilism as his inspiration, the wasteland an eternal pebble beach (without the sea or sun) introduced in a photo negative shot with Timon posed on the floor, arms outstretched like a sacrifice. Pryce’s body is covered in weeping sores, and the camera pushes him close to the viewer on the right of the frame, a position he maintains almost throughout the scene, reflecting his now entrenched views. By the end of A5 S1 he has retreated into a cave, his lines delivered either off camera or on a close up of his head lying on the floor, lit in such a way that his eyes seem to become his distinctive feature – looking increasingly less human or capable of empathy. As earlier, key close-ups are used well, particularly the final close-up of Timon, his hand digging into the pebbled ground around him as if preparing his grave (this image is then nicely mirrored by Flavius stroking Timon’s eulogy text, the play’s final image).

 

 

The imagery and directorial choices throughout are intelligent and consistent throughout and actually do a good job of adding a certain level of drama to the second half of the play, and are particularly effective in the first half of the play. Miller also combines several characters and streamlines a lot of the text (there are some quite big cuts here with even one or two scenes hitting the cutting room floor entirely), producing a production that is a clear interpretation of the play as a rumination on greed, selfishness, bitterness and a lack of self-awareness.

 

He’s helped by a hugely committed performance by Jonathan Pryce in the title role. Pryce very neatly demonstrates Timon’s feelings and also his lack of personal development. His Timon is a man who takes a childlike passion in pleasure, enjoys being the centre of attention, but seems naively unaware of the nature of the world, unable to reconcile its shades of grey with his own black and white views (I give money to people so they like me). Throughout the opening of the play, he seems almost wide-eyedly keen to secure the affection of his friends, hungry for every opportunity for the praise it brings him. He seems unable to comprehend the loss of his wealth when confronted with it. He seems unable to think of a course of action or understand the consequences of his actions, assuming everything will turn out fine. When his temper goes thermonuclear in A3 it seems more like a spoiled child screaming at his parents than a reasoned turning against mankind. Giving depth to a character as shallow as a puddle is a fine achievement.

 

Pryce handles the epic monologues of rage with considerable energy. Reportedly his room smashing, hate-filled diatribe that concludes A3 was unrehearsed – Miller merely told him to go for it and instructed the cameraman to keep him centre of the frame. The decision to film this in a single take allows Pryce to tap into some quite elemental force through this sequence – as he rants, raves, smashes plates and tables around him it’s quite something to see, a volcanic force of nature quite unlike anything else in the series. What makes it really work is that it seems consistent with the same, quiet, self-obsessed Timon scene in A1 and A2 – it’s merely refocusing and re-expressing the same basic character traits: entitlement, selfishness and certainty.

 

For A4 and A5, Pryce’s bitterness and isolation again seem child-like – having lost one credo, he embraces its opposite, condemning all men as worthless and greedy. Confronted with first Alcibades than Apemantus he alternates between bitterness, pain, fear, shrillness and fury. This works particularly well in the conversation with Apemantus the professional cynic: Pryce makes it clear that, just as Timon demanded to be the centre of a circle of friends at the start of the play, so is he determined to be the finest hater of men, demonstrating his pride has not been lost with his wealth. He is also not afraid to make Timon, even in his despair, never overly sympathetic. Pryce’s performance is a tour-de-force of energy and fury, but it’s also very successful at adding a depth and personality to a character who is little more than a cipher on the page.

 

There isn’t a lot of room for the other performances, but Norman Rodway brings a nice steel and amorality behind a wry exterior to Apemantus – it’s clear he is a guy who cares nothing for anybody. Miller allows him to break the fourth wall at several points in A1, to point up the naked greed on show, opportunities Rodway embraces. John Shrapnel makes a decent fist of the undeveloped Alcibades, suggesting determination and a sense of honour. John Welsh’s Flavius combines loyalty with a deep frustration at Timon, culminating in a touching silence when confronted with his death. Good performances abound from the rest of the cast, although Johns Bird and Fortune do play their parts a little too closely to a Long Johns sketch for my taste.

 

At the end, the faults of this production are due to the text itself rather than anything connected to the production. Miller uses a very effective range of devices and filming choices to bring the play and its themes to life. Pryce works very hard to bring a depth and consistency to Timon. The production looks great – the set in the first half is particularly impressive – and there are plenty of interesting flourishes and ideas throughout. The fact that the second half drags slightly is the fault of Shakespeare rather than anyone here.

 

Conclusion

A fine production of a flawed piece of writing with some very good performances, with Pryce standing out in a role that he makes more than just an opportunity for showboating. Intelligently directed by Jonathan Miller, its themes – greed, corruption and cynicism – are brought to the fore throughout without hitting the audience over the head. As far as this play is concerned, it still doesn’t quite work and the second half is a lot less interesting to watch than the first half (it would make a great one-act play), but this is a very good attempt at it. I’ve seen it twice now and enjoyed it both times.

 

NEXT TIME: Jonathan Miller remains in the director’s chair and gives us Colin Blakely and Jane Lapotaire as a deliberately unglamourous Antony and Cleopatra.