Lorna Irvine reviews the latest take on Shakespeare: 'Froth outweighs morals and manners'.
Hark! There is much mischief afoot.
Joss Whedon's take on Shakespeare's wry look at marriage, lies and corruption could only suffer in comparison to Baz Luhrmann's 1996 classic Romeo and Juliet, as both are rooted in the everyday with Luhrmann getting there first, but this is a very different beast...more global capitalism than Globe theatre.
With all the iridescent shimmer of the crystal wine glasses the cast drink from, this adaptation has immediacy and sweeping, restless energy having been filmed in Whedon's home town of Santa Monica in just twelve days.
Spikily insouciant Beatrice (a very fine Amy Acker, reminiscent of a young Diane Keaton ) and arrogant Benedick (an uneven Alexis Denisof ) are going to be pushed together by manipulative friends and family, in spite of her claims of independence and his to unyielding bachelorhood—they verbally joust until realising they are as well-matched in love as wordplay.
The other couple, Hero (Jillian Morgese) and Claudio (Fran Kranz) are young and gauche, particularly Hero, and meet their fate in a different way thanks to the machinations of Don John (Sean Maher) who represents the greed of the patriarchy. His plans to undo the bonds of trust are where the film plays to its strengths, picking apart the tasteful plush fabric of the bourgeoisie where handshakes and kisses become signifiers of impending backstabbing.
Unfortunately, the darker elements are diluted by the constant tone of high-camp comedy, especially in scenes with a preening, posturing Benedick trying to win over Beatrice, and the slapstick is cringe-worthy with too many visual gags becoming a distraction.
Certainly, when the film gets over itself and relaxes into a slower tempo, there is much to appreciate: the candle-lit funeral procession for the death that never was is stunning, as is the party with trapeze artists and masked dancers. A confrontation in the lake, complete with scuba diving mask and cocktails, satirises the decadence of the bored rich. The misogyny inherent in Leonato on discovering Hero's supposed loss of virginity is incendiary, with Hero suddenly becoming the most compelling character in the tale, driven mad with desire and unjust punishment; here, Morgese cuts loose and shows she can do more than be merely fawning.
However, the froth far outweighs morals and manners and the result is a yearning for more straightforward set pieces to let the ticklish verbal inter-play speak for itself. A pricking of the pomposity associated with Shakespeare would be fine but Whedon simply is not equal to the task, and it feels more episodic than whole narrative.
To paraphrase a breathily familiar advertising voiceover: "This is not just Shakespeare, this is JW's Shakespeare.'' And Luhrmann's poignant, beautifully rendered original adaptation wins the battle of the Bard, hands down.
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