by
Kristin Battestella
Let's
celebrate The Bard with these three elusive and somewhat unusual
adaptations brimming with big names, bizzarro, and beaches. Huzzah!
Macbeth
– Pre-007 Sean Connery leads this black and white 1961 Canadian
television production – which looks like some seriously low budget
mid century television indeed thanks to poor, VHS caliber video and
up close camera work that is so tight, its missing its own blocking
and practically cutting off the picture. The costumes are almost
non-existent, the swords look like toys, and the empty stone sets are
more bad sci-fi than Billy. There's a lot of standing around doing
nothing, too, but fortunately the foreground silhouettes, gray
shadows, and ballet-esque witches invoke a surreal feeling alongside
ominous smoke, thunder, and trumpets. The old speakeths are well
spoken, delivered firmly as the brisk eighty minutes gets right to
the prophecies, treasonous plots, murderous frenzy, and guilty
consequences. Although jealous voiceovers and ambitious internal
monologues initially belie Macbeth's calm exterior, it's a pity there
are precious few action moments and no zesty, angry asides to match
Connery's gruff. Ironically, the abstract space accents Lady
Macbeth's warped soliloquies, and stage dame Zoe Caldwell looks her
conniving, condescending part – Mrs. MacB's twisted, timeless words
are enough to carry her easily manipulated husband to crime and trump
the old production values. Sleepwalking, revenge, turn about fair
play – this packs in a lot despite most of the action happening
offscreen. Zooms and music do escalate the shocks for the Macduff
killings, and the sword fight finale is well played, however, one
must be familiar with the play before this viewing. I do wish Connery
had a proper film chance at The Scottish Play, and while the shoddy
video makes this classroom tough, comparing specific scenes could be
a fun study. It's not quite a filmed play, however, with such little
attention to the film design, nothing remains but dialogue and
performance to tell the story – and I kind of like it that way.
Othello
– It's black and white and only an hour and a half, but writer,
director, producer, and star Orson Welles puts his all into this 1952
opus. The ominous opening reveals the play's fatal ending with
haunting funerary, chanting, silhouettes, and medieval hoods in a
march of the damned complete with sacrificial Cross motifs. Venice
feelings and international locales add mood for this fast moving,
simplified adaptation, too. However, no one is introduced and the
dialogue is difficult without subtitles – making this edition very
confusing for one unfamiliar with the always fine tragedy at hand.
Although the narration, head hopping, and messy structuring is
understandable due to the long gestating, embattled production, the
intercut up close shots have a spliced together tone. Distant outdoor
filming, big battle action, and artistic scene setters also try too
hard and detract from the plot. This Iago is a mustache twisting
villain – his opportunistic orchestration lost amid the busy scenes
or existing only to dupe a kindly, messianic Moor whose one weakness
is a woman in white. Of course, if Welles could have done this as a
one man show, he probably would have, and his egotistical photography
creates more unevenness. Othello's scenes are the best because Welles
makes them so with slower shots and stewing confrontations. From
misunderstood to ogre with crazy in between, this is a performance
booming in stature. However, a white star playing the traditionally
black Moor is certainly taboo for viewers today – and Welles does
so in odd, sweaty, swarthy makeup. Such full of itself blinders
overshadows an intriguing vision caught behind the noir forties yet
ahead of the avante garde sixties. Fortunately, the pace steamrolls
thanks to a no good handkerchief, and considering all the behind the
scenes troubles, it's amazing this is such watchable, powerful stuff.
No, this isn't perfect, and the changes may bother Shakespeare
purists, but this heavy little picture is worth a look. 
The
Tempest – Helen Mirren (The Queen) leads writer and
director Julie Taymor's (Titus) 2010 role reversal alongside
Alan Cumming (X2),
Chris Cooper (American Beauty),
David Strathairn (Goodnight, and Good Luck),
Djimon Hounsou (Gladiator),
and Felicity Jones (The Theory of Everything).
Sorcery and supernatural storms invoke an in limbo, fantasy tone –
making the hefty exposition easier old speaketh fanciful – while
brief flashbacks to Milan have a dreamy, otherworldly quality to
match. Small people live large in orchestrating flawed plans to
entertain themselves amid an almost steampunk styled island lair and
bleak, barren settings. Silent film German Expressionism photography
captures the isolated, moody Hawaii beaches and airy forests as ships
in peril, crashing waves, and seaside winds accent the surreal.
However, the Ariel special effects montages can feel cheesy or
redundant – Ben Whishaw (Skyfall)
need not be separated from the rest of the cast with post production
spectacle in this otherwise outdoor play presentation. Fortunately,
the blu-ray release has an hour long behind the scenes documentary,
commentary with the cast and crew, and rehearsal footage explaining
how and why they made such choices. Subtle reflections, nymph music,
and the earthy, androgynous Ariel design are better, and the harpy
scene provides some wild turnabout action. Although young audiences
may like the near slapstick silly and drunken moments, even as a
jester Russell Brand (Despicable Me) feels
out of place with an obnoxious missing the mark sidetracking the
first hour. The innate Shakespeare parallels can also feel uneven
when straying from the stronger cast and self aware confrontations.
The youthful romance, however, is more appealing to modern viewers
thanks to players waxing on if they are dreaming or awake in a play
within a play purgatory. Likewise, the Prospera switch adds
mother/daughter intrigue to strengthen the sympathetic sorceress with
a bad wrap theme. Maybe we don't see Mirren much and it is obvious
this is such a strong female character because the role is really
written for a man, but our Dame commands the masculine ruthless and
fiery action well. Everyone here plots for their own gain, yet each
finds his guilt, pity, or comeuppance in a fine finale that trades
power for compassion. One may not always agree with Taymor's
storytelling decisions, however, I wish she directed more simply
because this industry needs visionary women. Several scenes here are
ripe for classroom comparisons and discussions, and in this era where
most films look the same, Shakespearean fans seeking something
different need look no further.
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