Fiennes and Okonedo: Antony and Cleopatra on Fire

I just spent the past three plus hours transported to Rome and Egypt along with Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, in the guises of Ralph Fiennes and Sophie Okonedo. Director Simon Godwin has created a modern, yet still timeless world for Shakespeare's characters to spring to vivid life in, and while overall the cast was excellent, with superb performances by (nearly) all, the show is aptly named for this formidable couple. Shakespeare did well with his titles, eh ? 

Fiennes' Antony is one of surface bravado but with deep and myriad underpinnings of ego, self doubt, jealousy, delusion, loyalty and genius. An interesting, and telling choice, was to portray Antony as an alcoholic, subtly but effectively putting his choices and actions in a light I'd never considered before. When Caesar sends Thidius to "steal" Cleopatra, and seeing through Caesar's intent, toys with the boy, he begins kissing her. Antony staggers in, waving a half empty bottle of Bulleit bourbon (my old favorite!) and his rage seems fueled by the whisky, orders the boy whipped and beaten, and unleashes his rage upon his queen, including what sounds like a liberty taken with the line "Ah, you kite!" (you can imagine what's in its place). Fiennes moves like an aging dancer, elegant one moment, clownish the next, crawling on the floor, all with abandonment of regard of to how he appears. He simply (or not so simply) . . . just "Is."

As his Cleopatra, Sophie Okonedo is . . . formidable seems too slight a compliment for her performance. As many shades as Fiennes' Anthony presents, Ms. Okonedo seems to go even further. She is regal, elegant, sexy, a swaggeringly dangerous beauty, loud of voice and character. She gives such depth to a character already complex on the page that it is difficult not to be overwhelmed by her, which is as true of the viewer as it is of the many characters in the play. 

While their scenes alone and with others felt daringly theatrical, together Fiennes and Okonedo created fire. The Johnny Cash/June Carter song lyrics "We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout" kept springing to mind. The pair almost seem to have a secret language in each other's company that goes beyond words and gestures and straight to the passion and soul of their partner. Godwin had a gift in the pairing of these two formidable actors and the result of their work together is thrilling, almost always on edge and, even for someone knowing the play well, full of constant, welcome surprise,  

Some criticism was made of the initial run (back in 2018) of the length of the play and how Godwin's production - setting each scene in its own locale, rather than a unit set - added unnecessary stretching to an already long work. Similarly, criticism abounds about how Shakespeare knew not how to end this play, a good half hour between the deaths of Antony and Cleopatra. Nonsense. We've moved into an era where plays are frequently shorter than ever, while we easily spend three hours at the cinema watching planets explode, with trite dialogue wanly delivered by beautiful actors afraid of their voices, in films with quick cuts geared toward those with Attention Deficit Disorder. This is not Shakespeare's fault . . . it's ours. If one can give oneself over to the glory of language that speaks beyond the obvious, that is rendered from the hearts and minds of superb artists, on a stage that serves all of it up splendidly, i can think of no better use of a few hours of one's time.  

The film of this live performance is available on several pay streaming platforms presently, and, happily as of today, free on YouTube. Go watch it. Now.  

John Adams: Still Going Strong With Antony and Cleopatra

 

After reading Zachary Wolfe’s dismissal of John Adam’s latest opera, Antony and Cleopatra, referring to it as his “dullest” and how its three long hours “slump(s) to a subdued finish,” and ultimately damning it as “a dreary disappointment,” I was uncertain what to expect.  

Insomnia bade me to give it a whirl tonight, and I thought, at worst, it could cure this sleeplessness.  The effect, however, was entirely opposite of that.  While there were several moments in the first act that had me wanting to push the whole thing forward, most of it grabbed me, propelling its way to a rather thrilling conclusion that, orchestrally at least, hinted the Act One finale of  Doctor Atomic.  What I was not prepared for, however, was how its longer second act felt as though it passed before my eyes and ears in a matter of minutes.  

Indeed, through its tautness, sheer theatricality and best of all, magnificent performances by a terrific cast, Adams second act bounced, danced, wriggled and writhed, exploding from strength-to-strength. Indeed, I felt breathless for its first forty-one minutes (hitting pause to get some water, so noticed the time).  While its pace at that point, slowed down, it did so appropriately to the storytelling, all the while ever gaining in intensity up until its tragic, and literal, denouement.  

Antony and Cleopatra frequently finds Adams more traditionally lyrical than in the past, but anyone acquainted with his output is never at a loss as to whose music this is.  There are moments of turgidity, fire, and horror, too, if different than those we experienced in his other operas.  A genius of orchestration, the composer brings in his old friends the cimbalom and hammered dulcimer, which introduce a slight tang that musically highlights the exoticism of the storytelling.  I’d happily pit this score (no pun intended), after a single hearing against any of his others for sheer expressiveness of sound and beauty.  Music Director Eun Sun Kim, leads the San Franciscans in a reading that captures every nuance of the complex score, weaving it and holding it together with marvelous fluidity, nuance and strength.

San Francisco Opera clearly pulled out all the stops for this centenary celebratory work, from the powerfully dramatic direction of Elkhanah Pulitzer, to Mimi Lien’s never less than stunning 1930's pseudo-Hollywood design which morphs instantly from minimalistic and intimate to theatrically overpowering with near cinematic seamlessness.  

That commitment extended to the cast which, I cannot imagine being bettered.  Gerald Finley’s voice is one of those that seems ageless, and at 62 remains one of the most beautiful baritones I’ve ever heard, with that unique sense of clarity of sound that allows text to sound as clear as though it were being spoken.  Finley is marvelous as Antony, and captures the complete essence of the heroic romantic warrior from first to last.  Here is every aspect of a complex persona, his hubris, humanity, bitterness, jealousy, fear, rage and despair all worn, as Iago says, “upon his sleeve for daws to peck at.”  

Then there is the Cleopatra of Amina Edris.  Having never heard of the soprano before, and knowing she was a late substitute for Adams’ favorite Julia Bullock, I had reservations. They were dashed about as quickly as she opened her mouth.  Add to the fact she’s a lovely singer in face and figure, her being Egyptian born seemed to add an additional frisson to the proceedings.  Edris’ crystal clear soprano, immaculate diction (in sung Shakespeare, no less) made her Cleo the perfect match to her Antony.  Adams’s writing for the character is of a certain “all over the map” style requiring the singer to wrestle with the language at both the top and bottom of the range, and Edris never – not once – faltered.  Even at the top her diction was flawless, rendering the titles unnecessary.  As to that last statement, this was fairly true of the entire cast.  She fairly owned the second act, and her scenes at Antony’s demise, and at the hands of Caesar’s rubes, and ultimately her suicide found this young soprano clearly making a mark for the big time.  

Paul Appleby’s Caesar offered him in one of the best roles I've seen him in.  His power-grab scene rousing the masses played off brilliantly and horrifically with a sense of showing how little the world has really changed.  Ever.  

Alfred Walker has never disappointed me and here, as Enobarbus, he only makes me wish he’d get more prominent assignments in our houses.  Hired for Masettos and Crowns this is a voice with Wagner and Verdi stamped all over it.  

The balance of the cast, Elizabeth Deshong, Taylor Raven, Brenton Ryan, et al., contribute and help complement the evening into a worthwhile operatic experience.

I’m pleased to learn the opera is a co-production of several companies, including the Metropolitan Opera, which means I may actually get to see this one live.  Until then, I’ll do my best not to fall on Antony’s sword.

Coen's Magnificent The Tragedy of Macbeth

 

There should be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Joel Coen’s magnificent adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedy will receive nominations for virtually every category in every filmic award.  In truth, it should sweep all of them.

While very much a film, Coen’s Macbeth is simultaneously wholly original, yet also a hybrid combining the best the worlds of cinema and theatre have to offer.  It does not exist in any sort of reality, but (if you’re like me) resembles far more the abstractions of a dream – or nightmare – than places actually seen or visited.  Shot in the Academy frame, entirely in black and white one enters into, from its earliest frames, a world of startling, horrific beauty.  At first, I was reminded of the visual style of Olivier’s Hamlet and other films of that stark mid 20th century style, but Coen actually gives us even less in the way of those ornate and antiquated settings, as his sets and costumes figure into no real sense of history, though have the feel of a story told a thousand or more years ago.  

Stefan Dechant’s physical production is amazing. each setting sitting stunningly in every frame.  It is all angles and shadows, rooms that open into forests, bodies of water that appear and vanish as if by sorcery, staircases and halls that stretch on for eternity, mazes of battlements which seem to have no entrance into nor exit from. It is a world that is never really night or ever really day.  Dechant, along with the art and lighting teams. painstakingly painted surfaces, costumes, shadows into the sets, and more to achieve this gloriously ungodly place.  The closest references I can think of are the great silent German expressionist films, and indeed, their influence is strongly felt throughout.  Additionally, I was fascinated to learn they did not use movie lighting, but rather theatre lighting for the entire project.

Initially, I was put off, if only mildly, by the accents – The American actors, notably Denzel Washington and Frances McDormand as Mr. and Mrs. Macbeth, speak with “American” accents while the U.K. cast speak with their native dialects.  It only took a minute or two to settle in, and that issue was, until now, quickly forgotten.

In the title role, Mr. Washington gives a commanding performance, but several times falls into that Shakespearean trap of rushing words too quickly. I’m not certain what sequence the film was made, but those incidents happen exclusively in the Thane of Cawdor’s opening speeches – then never again.  But I am picking at nits here.  His Macbeth is evil and tragic, a pretender, in that while he believes the witches predictions, he is nonetheless tortured., and elicits a self-doubt which he attempts to eradicate with bravado, a quality that, of course, serves to do him in. 

Ms. McDormand is nothing short of miraculous as Lady Macbeth, a scheming, selfish, and brilliant, horror of a woman, cloaked in elegance and poise, while her manipulations of all around her, husband included, cannot disguise her desperate grasp for power. She is the ultimate, self-entitled bitch. McDormand’s appearances find her beautiful, hardened, and finally pitiful. While she holds nothing back throughout, it is in the final, Sleep Walking scene where she weaves together all of the disparate elements of her Lady in the penultimate tragedy of the story. 

Together, McDormand and Washington are glorious, beautiful savages, feeding off one another. Having now seen them together, I cannot imagine one’s performance without the other.

Corey Hawkins, Brendan Gleason and Harry Melling are all equally excellent as McDuff, Duncan and Malcom.

Alex Hassell’s performance as Ross stands out in a way that makes the role even larger in scope than it feels in the play. Ross' incredible, flexible face beams out humility, sincerity, rage and evil from one scene to the next.  He’s clearly having a field day (or however long the shooting process was) here, and the payoff is huge.

Playing all three Witches, Kathryn Hunter is entirely terrifying and fascinating in a performance that must be seen to be believed. Each of her appearances as The Weird Sisters is, for anyone familiar with the play, something to anticipate. Her ability to morph into several characters, not to mention manuevering her body in inhuman ways, is something to behold.  Of this startling performance I will not say more.

Shakespeare’s tale requires an immense supporting cast of some thirty actors, each role weighted with significance, integral and inherently important to the telling of this most nightmarish of tales. In these parts Coen and his creative team have assembled a roster of talent that makes every single one characters pop, coming vividly to life.

Composer, Carter Burwell has worked on a number of Coen family projects, and here aides in setting Macbeth’s tone with his highly atmospheric, but unobtrusive score, never seeking to manipulate the story or us, nor pushing things forward for its own sake, but rather an integral cog in the greater machine.

Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnell has also worked with the Coen’s before, and his work here offers a perfect example why this guy has been nominated for. and won, a ridiculous number of international film awards. It is spectacular to behold.

Macbeth was my introduction to Shakespeare, I was only six years old and understood little of it, but it scared the living daylights out of me then, and still does over fifty years later.  As a boy, I didn’t know why, but I now I see this is ultimately as much a horror story as it is a tragedy.  It is the story of the way the world was, the way the world became . . . and the way the world remains..

Wes Anderson's Beautiful Moonrise Kingdom

I just finished watching Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom, which is, hands down, one of the most whimsical, magical films I've encountered in many moons. An Anderson fan, I hesitated to see this when it was released as mixed reviews (which usually happens in Anderson films anyway) many discounting it as "a series of poses and postures" often singling out the "awful" acting of the two leads discouraged me. Well, I was a silly goose, and those critics, as earnest as they may have been, couldn't have been more wrong in describing this thing if they'd tried.

The leading couple, Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Hayward) are a pair of emotionally challenged 12 year olds who fall in love during a performance of Britten's Noye's Fludde. I couldn't imagine either role cast better than here, nor more nuanced performances coaxed by a director who actually "gets" kids - particularly troubled ones. The story begins when Sam, a highly decorated, though not well liked cadet Sam flees the confines of Camp Ivanhoe and his Khaki Troop (think Boy Scouts of America) to run away with unpredictable and misunderstood Suzy. Their inventory for survival includes a kitten in a basket (with accompanying cans of gourmet cat food), a battery operated record player and a suitcase full of stolen library books. My kind of kids. Living on a remote island (about to be hit by the storm of the century) they can't really escape far . . . or can they? Through (several) ensuing chases, unsuccessful captures, and re-escapes the story grows exponentially, layer by layer as it introduces us to the foibles, quirks and ticks of the residents as our Island Romeo and Juliet explore their burgeoning sexuality (all tastefully within the confines of its PG-13 rating).


Speaking of Noye's Fludde, Anderson had me from the start, as any movie that bookends its opening and closing scenes with Britten's Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra, has already got plenty going for it! And Britten's music (in addition to large chunks of Noye) looms large throughout, as does that of Schubert (An die Musick), Mozart (Cosi's Soave sia il vento) Saint Saëns (Carnival of the Animals) and Hank Williams. So, too, does the score by composer Alexandre Desplat who pays tribute to Britten (remarkably directly in the closing credits, where his own "Guide to the Orchestra" is narrated by the film's hero). Rarely does one find film music these days that is this integrally bound to the storytelling that it's virtually impossible to imagine the story without it.

Anderson sets his tale circa 1965 on the fictional New England island of New Penzance. The nod to Gilbert and Sullivan is here more dramatic than musical, but nonetheless unmistakable. The parallels between Moonrise's young Sam, and Pirates' Frederic are plentiful. While entirely original, Moonrise nonetheless feels punctuated throughout as it evokes gauze-covered memories of other things. It was constantly conjuring fleeting instances causing my mind to race to discover connections between it and Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest, The Keystone Cops, Lord of the Flies, and more. Robert D. Yeoman's remarkably nuanced cinematography makes every frame look like a page from an old family photo album, capturing summer camp, skinned knees and emotional secrets barely covered through veils of thin smiles. Moonrise Kingdom, indeed.

Though Sam and Suzy are the heart of the film, Moonrise is truly an ensemble piece and Anderson is able to evoke marvelous, sometimes larger than life, performances from an inspired cast of Bruce Willis, Edward Norton, Bill Murray, Frances McDormand, Tilda Swinton, Jason Schwartzman, Harvey Keitel and Bob Baliban (who serves as narrator/Greek Chorus), and all of whom create the believable, quirky, characters who populate this magical island town.

In my estimation critics who found this "stifling" simply are never going to like films made by the likes of Mr. Anderson, directors who essentially eschew The Hollywood Way, as they put out beautiful, boutique films for small audiences willing (or wishing) to escape into the fantastic worlds they've created for us. For those not willing to do so, I suppose these films really can be, as one critic described Moonrise "a long, dull exercise in alternative comedy." For the rest of us . . . it's a dream.