In Act IV of The Tempest, Prospero suddenly halts the merry making of the spirits when he remembers that Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo are still a factor for him to worry about. The other-worldly nature of the spirits Ariel had called on seems to vanish. In the Globe's production of the play, this is visualized very clearly. But in Sir John Gielgud's recorded reading of the soliloquy, it's not so obvious. In the Globe production, Prospero enters a sort of headache-like trance in which he parallels the spirits' disappearing act to his own idea of mortality. He is drawn into an exhortation of certainty: "We are such stuff / As dreams are made on, and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep" (4.1.173-5). The actor who portrays Prospero stares off into nothingness as he reflects, aloud, the reality that we all die and our lives are nothing more than fairy dust essentially.
Roger Allam's (aka Prospero's) trance is broken suddenly and he becomes very disturbed. It's not an overstatement to admit that most would probably get very emotional from such a deep moment. He wants nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts and to have Ariel come and fix things. As we have seen so many times in Globe productions, the characters go from deep emotional moments, filled with many moments of silence and suspense, to getting worked up and commanding a rapid shift in pace. But in another version of Prospero's soliloquy, read by John Gielgud (a man who reeked of Shakespeare to his core), the Milanese ex-duke has a calm voice that produces the lines that hint death with a soothing tone. A first time listener with an inadequate grasp of Shakespearean language and vocabulary would probably be able to use Gielgud's recording to put him to sleep. No alarming change in dictation or tone is to be found in the recording.
It reveals something fascinating about mortality. Do Sir John's words sound good to us because of his calming voice? Or is death a comfort to us deep down? Perhaps it is only in seeing someone outwardly disturbed by the thought of death, like in Mr. Allam's portrayal, that we issue a concerned and uncomfortable response. If Shakespeare knew the answer, he probably would have added more concrete guidance in stage directions. But alas, he didn't. The speculation is left up to the audience (and/or the listener) to make of it what he will. Regardless, both versions of how we hear the inner workings of Prospero's mind are valuable to his characterization and are what make The Tempest definitely not a comedy outright. Death is a preoccupation, for Shakespeare, for Prospero, for us.
In Touchstone’s interpretation
of Miranda and Ferdinand’s first unchaperoned encounter, the dress, physical
appearance, tone, and body language of both actors infuses extra information
into the exchange, giving particularly keen insights into Miranda’s psyche.Miranda’s tattered clothing and unkempt hair
reference both her isolation from the outside world, and also her lack of
independence and self-control. Though both Prosperio and Miranda were marooned,
Prosperio is much more “put together,” affecting a regal atmosphere in his
choice of garment and upkeep of his appearance and debonair mien.In contrast, Miranda’s white undergarment resembles
withered swaddling, and, along with her wavering, feeble, hesitant air, intimates
her lack of maturity.
Miranda’s wincing at her
realization of her disobedience in revealing her name to Ferdinand underscores
both her mother’s overbearing influence, while her bashful reluctance to meet
Ferdinand’s gaze while he praises her exposes her emotional immaturity. As a
result of this immaturity, her and Ferdinand’s relationship has a clear power
imbalance. Their literal flight and pursuit on the barren rocks illustrates
Ferdinand’s position as the instigator of the relationship, but Miranda plays
no deliberate game of hard to get (the dynamic of which her cunning mother
contrives). Her lack of resolution in her conflicting duties to her mother and
do her own romantic life show that she will not make her choices out of
self-reflection, but rather on a whim, spurred by the emotional high from the
newfound attention of another (human) man.
The Tempest, in its oscillation between comedy and tragedy, hardly possesses the comedic intention of A Midsummer Night’s Dream; that said, the production of The Tempest directed by Des McAnuff at the Stratford Shakespeare festival makes it a pretty point in Act 2 Scene 2 that humor can still be used incredibly effectively, even if there are no Bottom jokes to milk. Note, for instance, the sheer outlandishness of Trinculo’s costume: he looks straight out of Alice in Wonderland! He wears an oversized ruff, an out of place red phrygian cap, and a nonplussing red tunic-black baggy breeches combo--not to mention the overwhelming use of whitening makeup on his face, a feature that harkens to a sort of Tim Burton/Johnny Depp stylistic niche. Simultaneously considering the director’s casting of Trinculo as a man on the heftier side of sizes (a far cry from the recent motion picture’s choice of tall, lanky Russel Brand) with an ability to speak with a hilariously effeminate tone (à la Flute from the Pearl Theatre Company’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream), it becomes clearly that design choices were made to supplement the play with humor--seeing a sweaty, larger man in makeup lethargically toddle about the stage certainly garnered some laughs and smiles.
However--in testament to the duality between comedy and tragedy in The Tempest--the director balances the abovementioned humor with a sense of grim seriousness through his decisions towards direction. Yes, Des McAnuff indulges in a bit of goofiness with Caliban’s licking of Stefano’s foot paired with Stefano’s chuckle-worthy reactions of ecstasy; for the most part, however, Caliban’s unbecoming merging of both a humanoid figure and disturbingly reptilian features leaves a devoutly weirded-out impression in the mind of the viewer that well contrasts with the scene’s humor. In conjunction with the creepy costume choice, Caliban spends the scene spidering about the stage largely on all fours whilst speaking in a relatively harsh tone of voice: creepy and grim indeed.
Moreover, the song finale also captures the balance between the play’s comedic and tragic elements seen in the director’s powerful use of forms to present the content of the play. On one end of the spectrum, the song smacks of serious themes: Caliban loudly declares his “freedom” from Prospero, a man whom he already referred to as a “tyrant;” the chanting of freedom by both Stephano and Trinculo, a song routine added into the play by the director, simultaneously reminds the viewer of an analogous development in freedom--that these two men of a foreign kingdom, once fettered by servile roles, now ostensibly have the chance to “inherit” and rule this new island with Caliban’s help. In short, the song brings to mind a serious power shift on the Island whilst exploring the jubilant, intoxifying effects of freedom--one could even make the point that the director uses a dramatic prop in the bottle-necklace, and has Caliban take a dramatic chug of the alcohol in the midst of his freedom song, to call attention to the fact that freedom can be just as intoxifying a force as alcohol for the human mind. At the same time, however, veritably light-hearted, more comedic elements exist in the direction of the song: the actors liven the performance up a lot with energetic voices and light dancing (especially that circular hop about that occurs right before the scene comes to a close). Truly, while the director wants the audience to understand the pivotal character and thematic developments woven into the song befitting the more serious plot of a tragedy play, he also wants the audience to enjoy comedic themed elements in the play evidenced by the refreshing song and dance routine--a testament to how directorial choices can balance two different styles into one cogent performance.
All in all, Des McAnuff’s admirable interpretation of The Tempest underscores just how powerful directorial choices can be in sculpting the feel of a play; everything from his choice of costume (goofy outfits versus unsettling reptile suits), character physicality (amusingly plump and sweaty to creepily slinking), and song connotation works in unison to deliver a play that gives light to Shakespeare’s prowess in both the field of lighthearted comedy and more serious tragedy.
From the very opening of William Shakespeare's The Tempest, almost all aspects of the play are controlled by magical or extraordinary means. Sound familiar? From the "sinking" of King Antonio's ship to Prospero's authority over Ariel, magic truly does reign in this first act. Although Prospero has fallen from the heights of royalty and honor, he is still able to magically assert his authority on the island. Touchstone Pictures substantiates the extensive impact of magic, and control altogether, through the director's particular casting decisions.
Touchstone Pictures' first production of Act I, Scene II depicts Prospero's verbal abuse of Ariel, after his request that Prospero recall "what thous hast promised, which is not yet performed" (1.2.288-289). Prospero responds by forcefully reminding Ariel of the unfortunate circumstances that Sycorax, the late witch of the island, placed him in. However this verbal abuse becomes physical as the setting gradually changes, by way of computer graphics. Initially focused on the front of Prospero's hut, the setting evolves into the very tree that Sycorax trapped Ariel in after he refused to fulfill her malicious orders. This visualization illustrates the impact of Prospero's piercing words as they literally place Ariel back into his prior misfortunes. Not only does this speak to Sycorax's magical power, but it also conveys the method that Prospero is able to use in order regain control of Ariel's straying mind. Furthermore, the casting of Ariel also contributes to this idea of magic as his transparent skin and bright eyes make him extraordinary and more than a mere mortal. This leaves him as a vulnerable subject to the outlandish requests of Prospero, which may only be accomplished through magic.
Touchstone Pictures' second production of Act I, Scene II gives the viewer an exclusive look into the neglect that Caliban endures, at the hands of Prospero's magic. The degree of this neglect is expounded through the set design of Caliban's cave. Caliban stoops amongst rusty beer bottles and grimy clothing while he feeds on the rotten caucus of a crab. These elements that contribute to the general filth of the cave validate Caliban's claim that Prospero has "st[ied] [him] in this hard rock", almost in a manner that pigs would be stied in (1.2. 409-410). Moreover, Caliban's costume speaks to the tribulations that he has sustained through his fall. The director plays Caliban with darken and charred skin that gives the impression that he has been burned, or perhaps submerged in the smut of his cave, for such a long time that his skin remains as such. This charred skin resembles the very rock that he stands upon as he argues with Prospero over the rites to the island. In fact, in the light of the sun, with a stunning backdrop of the ocean, Caliban looks out of place. At this moment, the director is playing with the notion that Caliban belongs in the the rock, his cave, which his flesh mirrors. This idea expresses the influence of Prospero's magical command as he is able to make bring characters to the sheer level of rock and "sty" them in it. Ultimately, Prospero re-establishes control by casting a spell on Caliban which leaves him in pain and with cramps, once again revealing the comprehensive dominance of magic on the island and the neglect that it may cause.
In sum, the director of The Tempest production is able to effectively convey the magical methods of control in the first Act through computer graphics, set design and costume. Prosperous' and Sycorax's displays of authority over Ariel and Caliban through threats and magical spells articulate the significance of mysticism on the island. Indeed, the Touchstone Picture's production is able to delineate the intensity of Prospero's and Sycorax's extraordinary capabilities in a way that varies from the text
.
Monday, October 26, 2015
And So Falls the Prince of Denmark
Act V Scene II (Part 1)
Act V Scene II (Part 2)
Everything culminates to this moment. Hamlet fails to make progress in his plan and the King along with Laertes has a plot against him. The Royal Shakespeare Company's Hamlet Act V Scene II opens with Hamlet staring into a broken mirror. Here, Hamlet's broken face foreshadows what is to come. Everything is falling apart, but he doesn't know it. He still has this confidence, either genuine or forced, that he'll be able to win against Laertes. This confidence comes up in his interaction with Osric. He non-chalantly lies back and mocks Osric, seemingly without a care in the world, but the way David Tennant chose to portray Hamlet in this scene reflects the character's true state of mind. In this scene, Hamlet is disheveled, his shirt messy and his hair all over the place. This suggests that Hamlet is trying to keep himself collected, but with great effort.
In the second part of Act V Scene II, King Claudius sets his plan into action. Seeing that Hamlet is more skilled than Laertes, he offers him the poisoned cup. After Hamlet rejects it, Gertrude takes the cup and toasts to Hamlet's fortune. Claudius warns to her to not drink, but Gertrude, in a sacrifice to save her son, drinks the the poison. The actress that portrays Gertrude adds so much more to this moment, particularly with the delivery of her lines. There is such a defeatist tone to it that speaks volumes to the strength of her love for her son. To her, there is no other way. Once she falls and reveals the poisoned cup, Claudius takes a line meant for Hamlet, "Treachery! Seek it out." (5.2.323) This move by the director serves to emphasize the manipulative nature of Claudius. In this desperate last attempt at self-preservation, he cowers at the thought of facing his consequences. This fear is so great that when he is forced to drink the poison, his quick resolution reflects how he'd rather death than face punishement. Although I feel the shrug by the actor is a bit cheesy, it does accurately portray his preferance for the "felicity" of death.
Another interesting aspect about this version of Hamlet is the random security camera shots. These shots are particularly effective in this last scene because of the effect they have on the viewer. It makes the audience feel as if they were actually watching all of the event unfold in real-time, as if in a security office. This augments the suspense of moments such as the start of the fencing match and the round that Laertes plans on poisoning Hamlet.
Let's not forget Hamlet's famous death scene either. As Hamlet dies he asks for Horatio to refrain from killing himself in order to spread Hamlet's legacy. He refuses to be reduced to nothing as the bones in graveyards are. Horatio agrees and cries as Hamlet dies in his arms. The director decided to exclude Fortinbras, which only amplified the finality of Hamlet's demise.
Overall, the director's decisions to cut off lines and give some to other characters and his ingenious security-camera aspect prove extremely supplemental to the scene. The actors' delivery took this scene all the way home as well, giving heartfelt and deeply tragic emotion to their characters. In the end, Hamlet accomplishes his quest, and as a man who despised life, is released from its grips and set free into the abyss. So falls the Prince of Denmark.
In the Royal Shakespeare Company's Part 1 production of Hamlet's Act IV Scene 5, we see right away a shattered mirror, a prop the director uses to symbolize the death of Polonius. Interestingly enough, the fragmented mirror can also be considered as the symbol of the "broken" and mad Ophelia. At the 46 seconds mark in the Part 1 video, the camera captures Ophelia through the broken mirror as she enters Gertrude's room. I found the director's choice to introduce Ophelia at this angle to be quite interesting as the broken mirror angle displays Ophelia literally broken into bits of pieces. Because Ophelia is first introduced as physically broken through the reflection of the fragmented mirror, the director's angle here also suggests that this mad behavior first arises from the death of her father Polonius as represented by the broken mirror. The director further shows the disturbed behavior of Ophelia through her physical appearance. Ophelia's disheveled appearance starting with her unkempt and tangled hair to her non-existent shoes only strengthens the argument that Ophelia is mentally unstable. In the video, Ophelia even strips to only her underwear as she sings, again showcasing her crazy behavior.
In the Part 2 video of Act IV Scene 5, Ophelia comes back to the room now occupied by Laertes, Claudius, and Gertrude with arms full of different flowers. However, the director's decision to present Ophelia this time with bruises and scars visible all over her upper body is a further testament to her pitiful, mad behavior. The director also makes Ophelia stand out in the room by displaying her in a dirty white dress, while everyone else is covered fully in black. This costume of Ophelia, which also does not cover all of her body unlike those of the rest of the characters, emphasizes and shines the unstable behavior in the dark room, which at the time, is tense.
Yet, this mentally ill behavior of Ophelia is strongly contrasted with the vengeful behavior of her brother Laertes. Towards the end of the Part 1 video and into the beginning of the Part 2 video, the director introduces a storming Laertes who points the gun at Claudius. The costume of Laertes is an all black fashion: black pants and a black turtleneck topped with a black leather jacket. Even the gun Laertes holds is black. This consistent color of black on Laertes displays his dark and revengeful behavior. Laertes's modern outfit also reminds me of those of the assassins and agents we see in TV shows and movies. Also, the director's choice to have the whole scene in the dimly lighted room with black walls and curtains helps emphasize the tense and vengeful mood lingering around Laertes.
All in all, the director's ultimate choice of certain costumes and props for Ophelia and Laertes strengthens the sharp contrast between the behaviors of the two siblings. This production of Act IV Scene 5 does a tremendous job of emphasizing a sharp division of reactions from opposite sexes to a father's death.
Act 3, Scene 3 of the Royal
Shakespeare Company’s production opens with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern essentially kissing up to Claudius. However, Claudius's countenance remains solemn and disinterested, as he obviously has something greater on his mind than the boys' flowery comments. Claudius, in the production, barely looks at the two as he sifts through papers and, in one instant, lets out a purposefully rude, loud breath to emphasize a somber apathy towards the two men. This feeling of depression and seriousness is further emphasized through the setting of the scene, a huge, dark, empty room. Indeed, every single thing in the room (bar the shiny armor of the guards and the white shirts under the men's black suits) is black: the walls, the ceiling, the floor. This bleak emptiness sets the stage for Claudius's subsequent speech, in which Claudius seems even more reflective in the production than he does in the text. His soliloquy, a 37 line speech, takes four minutes and thirty eight seconds to deliver in the production! Oddly, Claudius only moves his feet once during the whole speech when he bends down to kneel, and even then, he stays stationary and simply slowly crouches. This phenomenon paired with the thin shakiness of Claudius's lips and the bare whiteness of his face reveals a reflective yet emotionally detached sentiment. He accepts the horror of his crimes, and while he does feel sorry, remains honest. Initially speaking (or 'praying') in a pleading tone, as soon as Claudius says that a successful attempt of repentance "cannot be, since I am still possessed/ Of those effects for which I did the murder" (3.3.57-58), his tone turns to one of a staid acceptance of his sins.
The director's portrayal of Claudius is even more curious and impactful when compared to the lunacy of Hamlet. As he enters the scene, his crown sits crooked atop his untamed brown hair. His white shirt is only half tucked in and his collar is completely messed up; he looks as if he hadn't slept for days. The director creates a mood of suspense in this scene as Hamlet, already looking scarily psychopathic, creeps in the shadows quickly towards Claudius, knife in hand, as the music starts to rise in both volume and tempo. Hamlet quickly holds up his blade in the spotlight right above Claudius's exposed neck as the music hits its climax. Hamlet's eyes are wide and his teeth are gnashed together, suggesting impulse and intense emotions of rage and vengeance. However, Hamlet pauses and the music begins to fade as a voice in his head convinces him that killing Claudius would simply be a service to his father's murderer. That Hamlet's voice isn't spoken but instead narrated suggests the turmoil that is present is all within Hamlet's mind. With a face of fear and realization, Hamlet slowly lowers his knife and quietly slips away. Hamlet only begins to physically speak once he reaches his dark refuge behind the scenes at the corner of the room. The director shows that Hamlet's strength gathers only in places of secretive thought, and that when called to action, Hamlet's psyche isn't as firm.
Ultimately, the director's choice in both Hamlet and Claudius's style of dress, speech, and expression creates a mood of dissonance and uncertainty. Hamlet, while seemingly set on killing Claudius, shows that he is incapable of physical action, and Claudius, while seemingly remorseful of his act, reveals that he still wants to reap the benefits of the murder.
