Trevor Nunn and Patrick Stewart discuss two ways Stewart approached played Enobarbus, in 1973 and 1978. Check out all that hair on Sir Patrick.

Get a new master, be a new man. Ron Cephas Jones as Caliban in The Tempest at The Old Vic.

If you read my review of As You Like It, the other Mendes-directed Shakespeare play produced as part of this year’s Bridge Project, you’ll know that I heaped praise on the direction and blame on the declamation, although not, sadly, in equal measure.

The good news about this Old Vic production of The Tempest is that the cast had less of a problem with the declamation; if the way the words were spoken didn’t give them new meaning for the audience, they did not hamper the general sense either. The other piece of good news is that Sam Mendes’ direction is as strong here as it was for As You Like It. In moments it is quite brilliant and clearly demonstrates that his rise to Hollywood A-list director was no fluke. Example: in a kind of dumb-show prologue, we see Prospero (Stephen Dillane) casting the spell that will raise the eponymous tempest and bring the royal ship to shore. In the process he lays his long sorcerer’s staff on the ground in the centre of the magical circle he walks. When the mariners rush on to speak the play’s first lines, they pick up the staff and it becomes the ship’s rail, which they hold onto as they eye the gathering storm. As the rest of the royal party come into play, they grab and spin the staff, taking their turn at the rail. It is simple, evocative, brilliant. [Arguably, it is all downhill from this point, but that may be a consequence of the play's construction.]

Another memorable directorial moment picks up on the following exchange between members of the lost royal party in Act II, Scene i, to show that the island ‘appears’ differently to the different characters, according to the states of their souls:

Adrian: The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
Sebastian: As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
Antonio: Or, as ’twere perfum’d by a fen.
Gonzalo: Here is everything advantageous to life.

As these lines are spoken, Mendes has two sylph-like spirits flank the party, with one holding a withered, leafless bough, and the other a bough bursting with leaves, thereby demonstrating to the audience that the difference of opinion here is not simply a consequence of Antonio and Sebastian’s cynicism (or Adrian and Gonzalo’s optimism), but a consequence of their actually seeing different islands while in the grip of supernatural forces beyond their ken or control. The good see the good, and the bad, the bad. What could be more appropriate in a romance where we expect the good to come to good and the bad come to bad (albeit with a great deal of suffering in between)?

So much for the good in this production; what about the bad? Anyone who has experienced The Tempest knows that the island with its various sights, sounds, smells, and quirks is actually one of the play’s main characters, oft discussed by the mammals (Caliban’s mammal status is pending) who run around on it, oft affecting and effecting the action of the play. It is something of a shame then that the set, lighting, and musical design of this production do not realise the potential of Shakespeare’s ravishing descriptions and songs, with the latter especially disappointing. The decision not to include an interval is a poor one: The Tempest may be a short play by Shakespearean standards, but it is long enough and demanding enough that the audience leaves unpleasantly fatigued if it is forced to sit through it all in one sitting.

The performances too are a mixed bag. Stephen Dillane’s interpretation of Prospero smoothed away some of the gruff moodiness of the character and in the process moved too far away from the feeling we have that the man he is playing may not be all that delighted to be leaving an island paradise where he can control the elements and study to his heart’s content (but is doing so anyway for his daughter’s sake). I liked Juliet Rylance’s earnest Miranda, but am bound to say that my companions decidedly didn’t. Christian Camargo may have been going for otherworldly with his portrayal of Ariel, but just came across as bored; he seemed to sap the energy from the stage with his every utterance. Ron Cephas Jones’ Caliban was excellent–his long-limbed sinuosity somehow just right for the part–and his decision at the end of the play to ‘sue for grace’ was moving and made me feel, as reading the play has never done, that the whole thing is much more concerned with the relations between Prospero and Caliban than between anyone and the dukedom of Milan. Naturally, everyone was in agreement that Edward Bennett’s performance as the priggish Ferdinand was nigh-on perfect, the best thing ever seen in a theatre, but you already knew we were going to say that.

Overall, if you are already a fan of Shakespearean theatre, or haven’t yet seen a decent production of The Tempest, this is recommended entertainment. Otherwise, save your money and wait for the movie?

In this strip, Calvin announces he likes to verb words, something Shakespeare also did a lot of. Hobbes decides that verbing could make language a “complete impediment to understand”–funny, that’s a complaint we often hear about Shakespeare’s language. But isn’t it beautiful when he says “Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle,” as one example?

Although trash talking may seem like a modern phenomenon, trying to intimidate an opponent with insults and taunts has been going on at least since Moses and the Israelites took on Pharaoh and the Egyptians. Given the foreign and domestic conflicts that persistently troubled Elizabethan England, there can be little doubt that, whatever it might have been called at the time, trash talking was also a regular occurrence during Shakespeare’s lifetime. It should be no surprise, therefore, that Shakespeare himself used trash talking frequently and effectively throughout his plays. 

Trash talking is based on the premise that verbal attacks can help win the game or battle by hurting the opposition’s self-confidence and their chance at winning. The emphasis is on the negative, denigrating the opposition’s ability, intelligence, and character. Little, if anything, is out of bounds. Trash talking is, however, more than just trading insults. In most cases the exchange precedes a contest that will produce clear winners and losers, bringing a degree of accountability to the process.

While there are few hard and fast rules, effective trash talking usually includes the following principles:

1. There is an element of truth in the taunts–the more unpleasant and embarrassing the better.
2. Care is taken to select vulnerable targets.
3. Most importantly, the trash talker must be able back up his or her comments–in modern slang, they have to be able to walk the walk as well as talk the talk.

Taking Shakespeare’s eight plays about 15^th century English history as an example, these criteria can be used to evaluate the trash talkers, both the good and the bad. Some of Shakespeare’s characters are good trash talkers because they utilize at least one of these principles effectively. For example, when Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester calls Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, a “Winchester goose” in 1 Henry VI, he cleverly combines an insult with an embarrassing fact. While being called a “Winchester goose” may not seem like much of a put-down, it has been defined as either a prostitute or a side effect of venereal disease. The taunt stings even more because the Bishop of Winchester actually had licensing authority over brothels–sort of a licensor of licentiousness. Not exactly the kind of thing a man of God would want to be reminded of in public. (For more on Winchester geese, see Sandra’s article on Southwark Cathedral.) 

If a royal duke can be a good trash talker, it would seem that an old reprobate like Sir John Falstaff would be a superstar. On closer examination, however, Falstaff doesn’t follow any of the principles of effective trash talking. When Prince Hal calls the rotund knight, “this bed-presser, this horse-breaker, this huge hill of flesh” in 1 Henry IV, Falstaff turns creative, taunting Hal as you “eel-skin, you dried neat’s tongue, you bull’s pizzle.” Attacking one’s future king is not the wisest decision about target selection especially since Falstaff is in no position to back up his words. Furthermore, while Falstaff may be more imaginative than Hal, his choice of images to mock the prince’s thinness may be too subtle compared to the obvious effectiveness of taunts about Falstaff’s great bulk. 

Falstaff isn’t the only one of Shakespeare’s trash talkers who is better at choosing images than targets. The idea is to pick on someone who will be rendered less effective by the insults and taunts, not to give the opponent additional motivation. Shortly after almost single-handedly stopping a rebellion with his rhetoric in 2 Henry VI, Lord Clifford and his son confront the physically deformed Richard of Gloucester (the future Richard III). Not unreasonably, they both assume Richard can be intimidated by taunts about his appearance. Most people’s self-confidence would probably take a hit when called an “undigested lump” and a “foul stigmatic,” but not Richard. His almost unlimited hostility feeds on such comments. To their cost, the Cliffords find out the consequences of bad trash talking.

While most of the trash talkers in the history plays are male, Shakespeare didn’t neglect his female characters. This is especially true of Margaret of Anjou, who marries Henry VI and becomes Queen of England during the civil war between the Houses of Lancaster and York. Prior to one of the battles in 3 Henry VI, the vitriolic Margaret calls Edward, the York claimant to the throne, a “proud insulting boy,” reminds “long-tongued Warwick” that in the last battle his “legs did better service than your hands” and compares Richard of Gloucester to a poisonous toad. She gets high marks for the accuracy of her taunts, some credit for target selection, and given her participation in killing Edward and Richard’s father, she can certainly back up her words. Despite her trash talking talents, Margaret’s side ultimately loses, but the outcome might have been different if she had been allowed to fight as well as talk.

Perhaps not surprisingly for an English playwright writing about English history, Shakespeare casts a Frenchman as the worst trash talker of all. Not just any Frenchman either–the dubious distinction of being the worst verbal warrior goes to the Dauphin, the heir to the French throne. When at the beginning of Henry V, the young English king claims territories in France, the Dauphin taunts Henry as if he were a playboy prince turned playboy king. The taunts are accompanied by a “gift” of tennis balls–toys for the “child” king who doesn’t merit serious consideration. The taunts backfire as the competent Henry uses the insults as added motivation to pursue the French throne. To make matters worse for the French, the Dauphin, blindly believing his own ill-informed rhetoric, leads his woefully unprepared army into a disastrous defeat at Agincourt despite overwhelming odds in their favor.         

Throughout all the French verbal rigmarole, Henry who has already shown he is a good trash talker, chooses not to respond in kind thereby avoiding the risks of violating the principles of good trash talking. To each French verbal volley, Henry simply stands up for himself and his army, saying they will do their best. Once the battle is won, however, Henry is able to engage in the most effective trash talking of all: taunts based on results, not words. Twice before the battle, the French had sent a herald to demand Henry pay ransom to avoid his impending defeat. When a much humbler herald returns in defeat after the battle, Henry asks, with great sarcasm, if he is coming again for ransom. It is a devastatingly bitter reminder to the French, not only of their defeat but also of the arrogance that led them to it. In the eight plays, Henry is far and away the best trash talker because, like the great athletes and trash talkers of today, he says what he will do and does what he says.

Caliban has been performed in many ways onstage: a woman, a punk rocker, a Rastafarian, a Millwall fan, and a practically naked predator carrying a large phallic bone that offended one member of staff so much that it caused them to resign. When Miranda sets her eyes on Ferdinand, the third man she has ever seen, she instantly falls in love with him. Prospero protests, “this is a Caliban”, a similarity that is obvious throughout the story but has yet to be fully realised onstage. Until now.

Ferdinand and Caliban are both royal suitors and are treated in the same way by Prospero. In the Oxford Shakespeare Company’s version of the play, Richard Pryal proves he is an outstanding actor, playing both Ferdinand and Caliban. He switches, even in front of us, from being an upright, handsome, well-spoken Ferdinand to an ugly, aggressive, ape-like Caliban. It is a brave move by director Mick Gordon that works smoothly and excitingly to bring alive the characters’ similarities, since it highlights how Ferdinand, and even we, can be “the Other”.

The story is set on a desert island, where Prospero has been ruling by use of his magic art for twelve years. He uses his powers to create a tempest, which his enemies from his hometown Naples get caught in. What follows are a series of attempts to usurp power, a pursuit for love, and families reunited. Much is made of the magic, comedy, and love, so much so that there is a song and dance with the repeated line “contract of love”. Nick Llloyd Webber (Andrew’s son) creates pretty and playful music, which compliments the production’s preoccupation with all things happy. It feels like more should have been made about the play’s more important themes, like the relationship between art and nature, master and slave, and, of course (because of Caliban), colonialism.

Some bits feel mismatched. Matthew Fraser Holland is doubled up to play Ariel and Gonzalo. His Ariel is whitened-up, in an outfit like a strait jacket, and has a demeanour like Drop Dead Fred. He carries around a megaphone, occasionally blurting out lines or singing. Similarly, Prospero has Moses robes and a stick , whereas Miranda wears an 80s Madonna-clad outfit teamed with Doc Martens.

At 90 minutes with textual cuts and frequent musical interludes, this is a bite-size version of the play. It’s cute, snappy, and just as enchanting as the garden of Wadham College it is set in. The production only really succeeds, however, when it is more daring, as it is with Caliban, and is worth seeing simply for this.

The Oxford Shakespeare Company production of The Tempest runs till 19 August in Oxford and 30 August on tour.

Leonora (Anita Constantine) preparing to commit suicide Photo credit: Clare Richards

If you are a Shakespeare geek, a student of Shakespeare, or are studying the Renaissance literary period, you may have been aware of a theatrical curio which has, on Saturday, finished its short run at Southwark’s Union Theatre. The curio in question? Double Falsehood, a play that may or may not be partly by Shakespeare that was recently redeemed from academic purgatory by the publishers Arden, who commissioned Nottingham University scholar (and modern day Lewis Theobald) Brean Hammond to lead the heavily bastardized manuscript into the muted light of specialist bookshops and university libraries everywhere. Hammond, incidentally, has also given his blessing to this KDC Theatre production and has contributed a description of the play to the programme, in which he writes of it as ‘a pacy, stageable play – a “rattling good yarn”, full of excitement and event’. Much of this description is proved true by director Barrie Addenbrooke’s reverent staging, which makes use of original costumes and tampers very little with what is, arguably, an already somewhat piecemeal play script.

The plot centres around two women, Leonora, a chaste maiden, and Violante, a formerly chaste maiden who is dishonoured by the villainous Henriquez in the opening scenes of the play. Henriquez is one of those men who sees every woman as a challenge, who cannot eat, sleep, or breathe until he has had his way with that challenge, and who, when he has had his way, quite naturally loses interest and must find another challenge. He is also the son of a duke. Having reft Violante of whatever the controlling patriarchy calls it these days, he sets his sights on Leonora, and has her fiance Julio–his supposed friend–called away to serve at court; so much, so David and Bathsheba, or perhaps, The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Once Julio is out of the way, he sets about solving a problem like Leonora, with her turncoat father–who previously promised her to Julio–assisting at every turn. Their attempts to force her down the aisle eventually precipitate Leonora’s decision to commit suicide, although her weapon is discovered and she is prevented before she has a chance even to attempt it. This shocks her father back into a human being again, and she somehow–it is confusing–manages to escape to a nunnery in the mountains. In the second half of the play we catch up with Violante living among shepherds in those same mountains. Cue the re-entrance of Roderick, Henriquez’ virtuous older brother, who has promised his father he will bring the recreant to order, and then to the court. Roderick gathers up the women, along with Henriquez, brings them all before the Duke, Julio et al., and it’s unlikely reconciliations all round and everyone marrying the person Deuteronomy says they should marry.

But what about this production of Double Falsehood? I suppose I’m obliged to say I think it’ll only appeal to the hardcore third-year university English Literature students, and even then, ‘appeal’ is stretching it. The problem is mostly that it’s a terribly play. I’m not saying it wasn’t a decent play at one time or another during its history–I’m quite fond of the Fletcher-Shakespeare collaborations that weren’t ‘discovered’ by Theobald–but it certainly isn’t one now, and probably wasn’t one even when Theobald got his oft-travestied hands on it. I could spend a wilderness of keystrokes disparaging the play here, but will satisfy myself only with saying that for a comedy it is not, by any standard, funny. Only a highly ambitious theatre company would attempt to stage a play like this, and I can only conclude that the KDC is, indeed, highly ambitious. But it doesn’t come off. The Union Theatre stage is too small for this play, too cramped. The decision to employ traditional costumes worsens the cramp, somehow both psychologically and physically; few off-West End stages can accommodate a dress with whalebone hoops sewn through the skirts. A minimalist staging might have worked better. The actors, with one notable exception, struggled with the script and with the ridiculously changeable characters. To be perfectly honest, if you somehow managed to combine the talents of Henry Irving, Laurence Olivier, Sarah Bernhardt, and Sarah Siddons into one body, that Frankenstein’s monster of talent would have trouble making most of the characters in Double Falsehood seem convincing, so none of the company, if they are reading this, should take it to heart.

And the positives? A stand-out performance from Helen Kelly as Violante. My programme tells me she is currently completing an MA at Guildford School of Acting and is a previous winner of the Young Soprano of the Year competition; on the strength of her performance in Double Falsehood she will be a successful actress. Elsewhere some nice directorial touches lightened the mood. Violante’s maid (played by Samantha Calver) helped to distinguish the character of her essentially virtuous mistress from her own with a few seductive glances and a loosely-laced top; the derisive way in which she ‘obeyed’ her fallen mistress spoke volumes about the sexual economy which is a central concern of the play. Giving the two travellers Fabian and Lopez (played by Waylon Ma and Brian Tynan, respectively) a Monty Python-esque feel also worked well.

Double Falsehood may well be a play with Shakespearean seeds, and this KDC Theatre production may have sown the seeds for a much better, larger-scale production of the play at some point in the future. Only time will tell.

Creation Theatre have uncovered a previously unknown Shakespearean comedy, Romeo and Juliet. The love story is played for laughs; for example as the famous balcony scene begins, Romeo pulls a series of funny faces, dashes backwards and forwards, and has the audience laughing out loud. This is a fun, delightful, and original take on the story.

There are two feuding families, the Capulets and the Montagues. Romeo, the son of a Montague, and Juliet, the daughter of a Capulet, meet at a masked ball, are instantly smitten, and only recognise the other as an enemy when it’s too late. Director Charlotte Conquest adds religious symbolism to the tale; when the two fall in love it is akin to the fall of man: they dance seductively together, bite from a red-hot apple, and cause calamities to arise.

Everything about the production is tight and fast-paced. Amy Noble proves she is an excellent actress, convincingly playing the teenage Juliet and an elderly Lady Montague, and the double role itself is clever as it suggests a kind of Oedipal reason for Romeo’s affection. Patrick Myles’ Romeo, however, is transformed into more of a fool rather than a tragic lover—he often has a lost Frank Spencer look, a fumbling rapport with his lover, and is the butt of jokes. Benjamin Askew is extraordinary, too, as Mercutio. He delivers every line like a tease in the same way he teases the other characters. He is a blond, spiky-haired rocker, with golden “nimble soles”, much like My Chemical Romance’s Gerard Way. He is a crowd-pleaser, providing funny fight scenes, dancing with his enemies, and then hitting them in their private parts.

The world of Verona is also successfully created: even before we sit down the opening brawl takes place in the courtyard, in the interval Benvolio sits outside the bar crying next to the dead body of Mercutio, and throughout the play characters can be spotted continuing bits of the action in the courtyard in the background. The company are known for staging Shakespeare plays in some of Oxford’s most imaginative locations; these have included an island in the River Cherwell, Headington Hill Park, Oxford castle, and now Oxford University’s Saïd Business School. The building is uber-modern and designed by Dixon and Jones, the architects responsible for the Royal Opera House in London. It’s a spectacular setting for a spectacular play. A fun evening’s entertainment.

Creation Theatre‘s Romeo and Juliet in Oxford runs till 4 September.

Image credit: Gerard-Butler.net

Shakespeare news is slow this week, so we’re taking the opportunity to update you on images from Ralph Fiennes’ Coriolanus film that we saw for the first time this week. First, we found a movie poster displayed on the film’s Wikipedia page and on Gerard-Butler.net(right). The text below and to the left of the gun reads: “Nature teaches beasts to know their friends,” a quote from Act II, Scene I of the play.

Ralph Fiennes, known for such films as Schindler’s List, The English Patient, and In Bruges, as well as playing Lord Voldemort in the Harry Potter films, not to mention being the brother of Joseph Fiennes, beloved of all Shakespeare fans for his portrayal of the Bard in Shakespeare in Love, both directs and stars as Coriolanus, a brilliant Roman general, with Gerard Butler (The Phantom of the Opera, 300) as Tullus Aufidius, the leader of the enemy Volscian army. Vanessa Redgrave stars as Coriolanus’ controlling mother Volumnia. The cinematographer, Barry Ackroyd, was also the cinematographer for last year’s Academy Award winner for Best Picture, The Hurt Locker. Like The Hurt Locker, this production of Coriolanus takes place during the Iraq war. It is expected to premier at the 2011 Belgrade International Film Festival.

We’ve previously posted production and set photos here and here, but we saw some new photos this week, including our first look at Vanessa Redgrave as Volumnia:

Image credit: Collider.com

And here’s what looks like it could be the last meeting between Coriolanus and Tullus Aufidius:

Image credit: Gerard-Butler.net and 30ninjas.com

We also found an essay at 30ninjas.com (“Why Coriolanus Matters“) that formed part of the discussion in the early stages of the film’s development about why or how Coriolanus might speak to a contemporary audience. It’s an interesting read and gives some indication of the directions the film is going in. We were particularly interested in a paragraph pointing out candidates for a modern-day Coriolanus:

Unfortunately, the world abounds with leaders and military personnel within whom it is possible to recognize aspects of Coriolanus’ character. The arrogance and intransigence of Bush and Blair make them obvious contenders; Mugabe’s (one of many tyrants) flouting of democracy and abdication of rational political responsibility make him another; with their military backgrounds strongmen such as Pervez Musharraf (who in a final rebuke to his enemies before stepping down as president argued he had ‘shed blood for his country in two wars’) and the late General Pinochet are other leaders who incite comparison. Recently, John McCain gained significant political capital from his air force background and a distinct emphasis on aggressive foreign policy combined with a fervent support for the US military at home. For more overtly militaristic comparisons we might consider two Serbian commanders. The paramilitary leader Arkan can be seen to share significant traits with the Roman general. His searing nationalism and apparent enthusiasm for warfare was in part responsible for his bloody assassination. Another would be the former Serbian General, Ratko Mladic. By his own account Mladic was a student of Hannibal and Alexander the Great. Despite his reverence for lofty predecessors he often railed against contemporary politicians and preferred the company of his soldiers who greatly admired his bravery and instinctive aggression. Mladic ate and slept among his men, patrolled the frontline on foot and often led his troops into battle in an armored vehicle.

As we reported previously, Sarah Palin seems to think that Shakespeare made up words willy-nilly, and that she can too. We think her image of Shakespeare must be something like this.