Branagh’s Romeo & Juliet, my review

ROMEO AND JULIET by Shakespeare,         , Writer - William Shakespeare, Director - Rob Ashford and Kenneth Branagh, Set and Costume Designer - Christopher Oram, Lighting - Howard Hudson, The Garrick Theatre, London, 2016,  Credit: Johan Persson
ROMEO AND JULIET by Shakespeare, , Writer – William Shakespeare, Director – Rob Ashford and Kenneth Branagh, Set and Costume Designer – Christopher Oram, Lighting – Howard Hudson, The Garrick Theatre, London, 2016, Credit: Johan Persson

Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents’ strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

These are the opening lines of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. The Chorus pulls no punches in his brief summary of what the audience is about to see. The Chorus could hardly be clearer, thought I suppose we could break it down to one sentence. Two noble families discover that their ongoing feud brings about in the death of each houses’ child and in this tragedy finally find peace.

You could argue that the Chorus is offering the first “trigger warning” as he mentions the word death twice, notes the lover’s “end” and let’s us know they will “take their life”.  The play is supposed to be a double warning about passion; old feuds make for new deaths and if not checked, lead to dangerous and rash decisions. In other words, passion, whether it is fueled by rage or by lust, can lead to bitter consequences.

You’d think these lines would be sufficient for the audience’s understanding of Shakespeare’s intent, but you’d be wrong. Time and time again directors ignore the playwright’s overall double theme of passion, so much so that Romeo and Juliet is now thought of as the western canon’s greatest love story. The biggest problem with this idea (besides offering the greatest love story as a double suicide) is in its execution; if this play is the west’s greatest love story, why then do so many productions fall short of offering a great love story? Why are audiences and reviewers always so critical of what they have just witnessed? I argue it is because we view the play much as Plato viewed forms; while the abstract is always pure and perfect, any attempt to recreate it into base matter will always result in some pollution and never fully measure up to our ideal play. Romeo and Juliet may be thought of as the perfect love story, but in reality it is far from the perfect love story. The audience’s expectation is never fully met, yet some how this play continues to draw both crowds and directors who are convinced that ‘This time it will be great!”

Take for example Kenneth Branagh’s latest adaptation, produced for the Garrick London stage. The play should have been a hit as it offers Branagh as co-director and two young actors, Lily James and Richard Madden who wowed audiences in Cinderella. Yet critics find little to love in about this play. The Guardian says, “The plot is slapdash; the coincidences preposterous; the main characters not interestingly conflicted, just doomed”. The Telegraph thought James saved the play (they must have seen it on a different night than I) but finds Madden “ordinary” and saw no value in Derek Jacob version of an older Mercutio: “He’s generations older than his pal Romeo, this refined gent who minces into view, in mock attitude of an old groover, silver-topped cane (sheathing a sword) a-twirl. He might have stepped out of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and there’s little sense of a life cruelly cut short when he hobbles off, bleeding to death”.

Both reviews found the play lackluster, and though both could point to some specifics, each noted that there was something amiss but couldn’t quite pin down exactly what it lacked. For me there is little doubt what it lacked. It lacked focus and the passion the play is supposed to represent.

The beautiful verses Shakespeare wrote fall flat when uttered by James and Madden. The Guardian notes, “Their speaking is earthbound”, and I have to agree; in fact most of the actors fall short of delivering anything that resembles passion. As my friend noted, Juliet’s father spoke his lines as if he was reading from cue cards, or at least yelling from cue cards.

In order for this play to work as any kind of love story the two characters must show the passion they have for each other along with the emotional instability brought on by a lost love. Shakespeare uses the word “death” 48 times in the play but balances these lines with some of his best flowery speech about love. Both Romeo and Juliet foreshadow their deaths several times but gush over each other with equal measure. But James stumbles and mumbles Juliet’s famous lover’s vow, “My bounty is as boundless as the sea. My love as deep. The more I give to thee,. The more I have, for both are infinite” yet emphasizes her fear of living without Romeo crying out, “Come, cords, come, nurse; I’ll to my wedding-bed; and death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!” The constant stress on death was so over the top that my friend turned to me and quipped, “Hey you think Romeo is going to die? This constant stress on death made the play less of a love story and more like an inevitable head on collision.

And here in lies the problem with this play. While the audience is being primed for the inevitable end so are the characters. It seems like the two know they are doomed from the start so any declaration of love rings hollow especially given the two actor’s lackluster performances.

This version of the play is a perfect illustration of my argument against this being a love story. The coincidences that result in the double deaths are absurd and when emphasized make for a strange and silly story (what is Paris doing in Juliet’s tomb in the middle of the night?). Shakespeare tells us right up front that this is warning to those who continue to fight and the consequences of hate. Yet for some reason we’ve convinced ourselves that this is a love story; one that is told rather badly time and time again. No wonder audiences and critics are always let down.

But if you really feel the need to see this version, it runs through August 3rd.

 

How I declared my independence from stuff

President Thomas Whitmore giving his famous speech in Independence Day
President Thomas Whitmore giving his famous speech in Independence Day

“We will not go quietly into the night!

We will not vanish without a fight!

We’re going to live on!

We’re going to survive!”

Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!

Today most of American is celebrating independence from British rule, not by taking up arms against a sea of oppressors, but by uniting in a love of grilled food and firework displays. I’m not sure what this tradition signifies other than to serve as an example of how for Americans a holiday is not a holiday unless something is roasting on a fire and loud booms are heard by evenings end. Hell, we cherish this tradition so much so that weekend long civic events center around it, with neighboring towns taking nightly turns setting off fireworks.

While most of my friends and neighbors celebrated with food, fire and more fire, I chose to celebrate the holiday in a non-traditional way. Well, actually, now that I think about it, in a very un-American way: celebrating British culture by binge watching both Hollow Crown series (or as we say in America, both seasons) and by declaring my independence from stuff. In other words, I spent my three day weekend days purging my house of unused material goods and my nights with 5 of England’s Kings. I can only hope my American readers can appreciate the almost comedic irony in this.

I didn’t pick this particular weekend, this particular holiday, to engage in my un-American activities, it just lent itself to my purposes. Many close friends are aware that I’ve been struggling with the idea of a self-imposed purge for a couple of months. Our conversations have focused around the morbid topic of “Who’s in charge of your stuff once you are gone?” What happens to all of the clutter, the household goods, and “treasures” we hold onto in life after we shuffle off this mortal coil? I am not comfortable with the idea that my son, who would be busy grieving, would also have to go through and decide what to do with stuff that I was attached to, and by degree, stuff that he would now be attached to because of me. I recently saw a friend go through this with her mother. Dealing with loss of her mother was hard enough, but cleaning out her mother’s house was almost unbearable. The thought of leaving this task to my son now seems cruel and a little selfish. You may ask why at my age would this become important. Surely this sort of purge can wait? A fair question, yet given my recent health issues, it is a topic worthy of contemplating and planning.

What caused me to pick this particular weekend had less to do with my morbid thoughts than with necessity; I’m getting a roommate, someone who has committed to a year’s lease, maybe longer (jokingly we say we may become the real life Golden Girls) and in return I committed to making extra room for her stuff. I have a deadline to get this done, so this is how my holiday became a holiday of purging. I had no idea that this endeavor would turn out to be the catalyst for my independence from stuff. But a wonderful thing happened on the way to the dumpster. I learned to let go.

How many of you are familiar with the American TV show Hoarders? If you’ve watched even just one or two episodes you may have found yourself shuddering at the thought of clinging to mounds and mounds of garbage and unused goods. These poor souls are vexed with mental and emotional anguish at the mere suggestion that there are some things that are not worth keeping. Some to the point of flying into rages as they are asked to throw away moldy garbage or old containers. As viewers we may feel for them but also relieved to know we are not like them. But, I suspect in one way or another, all of us share their fear of letting go of our stuff. Oh we may not call it fear; we find ways to justify our need to keep things we do not use, but underneath is the fear of letting go. This fear underlines many of our justifications: What if I need this… (fill in the blank) later? I paid good money for this…., why should I give it away? What if this…is worth something later? No, seriously, I’ve given …. away before, only to turn around and buy another just like it, I won’t do it again! I may not have a use for …now, but I have plans for it later when I have more time. I’d bet that you’ve had one or two of these thoughts. Would it surprise you to learn that hoards use these same arguments? Once I figured out these were my main arguments it became easier to let go, and it all started with closet space.

I promised my new roommate I’d clear the guest bedroom closet for her use. The bedroom she will be using does not have enough space for her cloths and I wanted to start clearing out stuff anyway; why not start with an extra closet I rarely use? Besides, it would push me to clear out my bedroom closet space, as the stuff in the guest bedroom would have to go somewhere. Turns out, most of it went to charity.

I started with the top shelf of my bedroom closet and made a plan to work my way down. Some of the stuff on the top shelf had been there for years. Determined to rid myself of a few items, I decided to view my goods as I do my TBR bookshelf (for those of you new to my blog, I’ve written about my bi-yearly purge of unread books here). I started with items that had not been touched in two years or more, finding to my chagrin, things I had completely forgotten I even owned! Apparently years ago I found a Catholic nun doll so adorable I just had to bring her home and set out as an ironic keepsake. At some point I lost all my mirth with her and placed her back in her box and up on my top shelf. I had forgotten all about her. What else would I find lurking in my closet? I went at the purge with all the intensity of a pirate digging for buried treasure. Sadly, I didn’t find anything of real value.

By the time I finished cleaning out my closet I had a mound of purses, scarves, plastic flowers, belts, hats, vests, (when did I wear vests?) a vase and trivial odds and ends, most of which I had completely forgotten I owned. Looking at the pile I had a moment of panic. Am I a hoarder??! If not, what was I doing with this pile of forgotten useless pile of material goods? As I stood rooted in fear, gently nudging the pile with my foot as if I were nudging a wild animal in order to ascertain if it was dead, or just mostly dead, a light bulb went off in my head. Like most of those who have been raised on consumerist dogma, I’ve never had a problem purchasing new items that appeal to my sense of style (like a shiny new purse or coat) but it never occurred to me to recycle whatever item I was replacing! It sounds like such a simple concept now, but two days ago this was a revelation. I could no longer use the argument “I paid good money for that.. I don’t want to give it away” because in order to believe that, in order for that to be true, I would have to also believe it would be a waste of money to replace it with something new. Ahh, I was starting to let go. But this was only the beginning of my independence.

Once I realized just how much unused stuff was in my house, a new mission was born. I would rid myself of the tyranny of material possession and shake the bonds that tied my sense self-worth (for what other reason do we own more stuff than we use?) to those things that I owned. Once free of these mental chains I spent the weekend going through and evaluating everything I owned.

Here is a list of some things that went:

Pillowcases Every new set of sheets comes with matching pillow cases and though over the years I have replaced a few sheet sets I’ve never rid myself of their matching cases. Out went 6 case sets. I am now down to matching sheets and cases.

Sheet sets My son has been gone for 5 years, yet I’ve never gotten rid of his double bed sheet sets. Why? His bed is gone and my guest bed does not require more than two sets. Out went four sets of sheets.

Old bath towels I’ve replaced several old worn or stained bath towel (yes, some how I managed to get bleach on some of my good towels) but god forbid I get rid of the old ones. They ended up in the linin closet, just in case I needed an old towel for one on my mad painting projects. I kept 3 and got rid of 5.

Comforters I’ve changed my bedroom decor three times since moving in and each time I replace my comforter to reflect that change. But did I get rid of the old ones? No. Why? Because, damn it, I paid good money for them and might use them again. Gone are two big comforters that took up way to much closet space.

Vases I dated a guy who was in the habit of giving me flowers; lots and lots of flowers, often in a vase. Now that he and the bi-weekly gift of flowers are gone I am left with a kitchen cupboard full of vases. No more! 10 vases out.

Dish set My friend who lost her mother couldn’t quite bring herself to pack up a nice set of sunflower dishes as they were a favorite of her mother’s. I took them off her hands and assured her they would be loved at my house. They are nice, much nice than my old set, so out that went. What the hell, shouldn’t we eat off the nice dishes all the time?

Books Over a year ago I gathered together seven boxes of books, (you can read about it here) five of which still sat in my guest bedroom. As hard as it was to admit over the years I’ve spent way too much money and so kept them, off they finally went.

Kitchen goods I went though my kitchen cupboards and found a collection of jars. I kept some, but most went out. I don’t make homemade mayo, why do I need these jars? The same with kitchen utensils and gadgets; duplicates and in some cases, triplicates were tossed. I had three garlic presses. Why? Why?! Seriously, I may need a kitchen gadget based intervention.

And on it went. The more I purged the better I felt. I emptied cupboards, shelves, drawers, and garage space. The more that went the less I wanted in the house. It occurred to be that when I was young I vowed I’d never own more than would fit in my Mustang (with the top down of course) and now I am faced with the fact, that over the years I’ve broken that vow time and time again.

I used to laugh at the George Carlin joke about buying a house just to fill it with stuff, and once filled, buy a larger house for more stuff. I am not laughing anymore. Now I understand his joke. We buy houses then fill all the empty nooks and crannies with stuff and call ourselves free. We are fee to buy what we need, free to buy what we want. But in the end, all of this stuff weighs us down and becomes a burden not to just ourselves but to those who must purge it after we are gone. No more will I buy something just to have it. No more will I fill all the empty spaces I now have in my home. In this, I am declaring my independence from stuff.

I not only declare my independence from unused stuff and thereby burdening my son with the task of clearing it out, I declare that from now on when I decide to replace an item I will do so only after I get rid of whatever item its replacing. We will have no more mismatched pillowcases!

 

Happy 4th of July