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.

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.