Reviewed
by Will Stackman
The
dramaturg for this production suggests that directors shy away from what may be
the Bard's most popular play because they have nothing new to say about it.
This observation reinforces the current notion that the playwright can't be
allowed to speak for himself but must be reinterpreted from a new, or
supposedly original, viewpoint. The result in this case is a loveless
production played at full bellow on a formalist stage in eccentric modern
dress. Israeli director Gadi Roll, replacing Hungarian Janos Szasz who left to do a movie,
has emphasized the violent subtext of the play to the exclusion of humor and
romance. The action plays out on a rectangle of dark sand with the audience on
two sides of the stage with cast braying their lines, perhaps in attempt to be
heard more than understood. This layout is the worst acoustical arrangement for
the Loeb Auditorium, particularly since the stage covering itself is sound
absorbing, everything is open above, and the entrances at either end are steel
grates, thanks to over-praised designer Riccardo Hernandez No wonder the cast seems to be
getting hoarse, though dusty particles from the sand may also be part of the
problem.
There's
no reason why this cast couldn't do a better job of presenting what many suggest
is Shakespeare's most carefully wrought and systematically developed plot.
ART/MXART grad Mickey Solis has potential as quirky Romeo, the part he was promoted
to when the black actor originally cast left over creative differences. Blond Annika
Boras, a RADA
grad, doesn't need to gallop about the stage in cowboy boots--worn
throughout--to demonstrate her youthful exuberance. Molly Ward, seen in December as Masha in
"Three Sisters" is acceptably tomboyish as Benvolio, played
gender-switched if somewhat irrelevantly. Solis had the part originally. Che
Ayende might
make an interesting Mercutio if he wasn't yelling every line. ART veterans fare
only slightly better. Multiple award winners Karen MacDonald and Thomas Derrah find ways to modulate their
roles as the Nurse and Friar Lawrence, though left to their own instincts, they
might show more range and some humor. Jeremy Geidt and Will LeBow as Montague and Capulet are
solid if perhaps too stiff, and Remo Airaldi as Peter is predictable. LeBow
finds some justification in Capulet's frustration given how his family behaves.
Some
roles have been interpreted more eccentrically. Elizabeth Hess' Lady Capulet has been turned
into a brassy upperclass tart with a drinking problem, while John Campion's Prince Escalus has developed a
stammer, perhaps suggesting a similar inability to control his city. Marc
Aden Gray's
Tybalt is a barechested thug, with no indication why even his family would miss
him, unless perhaps he and Lady C. have had somethiong going on. Mara Sidmore has been gender switched into
Balthazar, Romeo's page played as a girl, which further suggests that our hero
has issues. The whole production falls somewhere between current barebones
techniques and directorial excess. Scene changes add to the problem, as minions
in black unroll and reroll carpet runners in the dark, also removing and
resetting furniture much too often. DM Wood's lighting is part of the mix as
various chandeliers, bare bulbs, and flood lights descend and disappear from
above. The production is a collection of moments, consistent only in their
imposed formalism not much improved by David Remedios' mix of jazz, hip-hop, and
baroque.
Last
fall, the New Rep inaugurated their new venue with a modern dress production of
this same play, which had its problems, but was much more satisfying,
reinvigorating the tradition while finding contemporary nuances. There have
been various productions around the area, from a four man adaptation seen at
the Devanaughn to MIT staffers doing the show in a coffee house, to
Commonwealth Shakespeare's Parks tour, and of course several versions by
Shakespeare & Co. out in Lenox from which their school touring reductions
benefited. These interpretations all managed to find traditional core of the
play rather than dwelling solely on its violence. The ART, with its tradition
of "No More Masterpieces," has followed its usual course to the brink
and over the edge. A new slogan, "No More Auteurs," may be in order.