The Taming of the Shrew

July 10, 2009

Last night we went to see the Crescent Theatre Company’sshrew3 touring production of The Taming of the Shrew, at St Nicholas Place in King’s Norton (a fantastic venue). The Shrew is a controversial play, as I remember from studying it at school – the idea of “taming” a woman who is considered too wild for anyone to marry her, and her subsequent humiliation and final acquiesence is sometimes difficult for modern audiences to stomach.

However, the director, Dave Hill, opted to play an adapted version which removes what the programme describes as “the senseless ridiculing of Christopher Sly” as well as “some of the darker moments”. I have to admit I have some reservations about taking liberties with Shakespeare; some critics, for example, have suggested that the induction frames the play as somewhat farcical and not to be read as misogynistic as it might at first appear. However, having returned to the text today, the production didn’t remove as much as the programme suggested.

What the Crescent production did, however, is to raise it to the levels of sharp comedy that those who call misogyny on the play tend to forget. In this early play with the sparring relationship of Katherina and Petruccio we see the forerunners of Beatrice and Benedick in Much Ado about Nothing, and this production brought that out well; Jo Mason and Mike Baughan play Katherina and Petruccio with lashings of confidence and a hint of irony (particularly in Katherina’s “how to be a good wife” monologue at the end) and with a sense that their relationship has, or at least will have, some love in it.

Moreover, the sharp wit of Katherina (honed, one suspects, on her annoyingly good sister) mixed with the banter of Petruccio, came across very well, and certainly reminded me how enjoyable Shakespeare’s quick-fire dialogue can be. In a delightful contrast to the lovesickness of Lucentio and Bianca, their fighting comes across as humorous and thoroughly enjoyable.

Though audiences are often uncomfortable with the notion of “taming” a wife, when set in context and played in such an appreciative manner, it becomes more a work of art and less an icon of political incorrectness. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was very impressed with the performance (and enjoyed the strawberries and cream in the interval!)


The face of Shakespeare?

March 12, 2009
I find it very encouraging that in this world of removing apostrophes from street signs (thanks, Birmingham City Council), a potential new portrait of Sshakespeare_500262ahakespeare is still considered important enough to make the front page of the Sunday Times (if not any other paper…) The portrait has been owned by the same family for centuries, unsure of whom it depicted, but new research suggests it is likely to be Shakespeare, painted in 1610 while he was still alive.
It’s great people care enough about Shakespeare to be so interested in what he looked like – but why does it matter? I’m fascinated too; somehow it does matter what our greatest playwright looked like, but why? Of course, the Victorians practised the art of phrenology, believing one could read character in a face, but it’s hard not to be sceptical about this, as another article in the Times has recently suggested.

A generation is growing up now convinced that he looked like Joseph Fiennes in Shakespeare in Love (could be worse, I suppose!) so it’s great that this portrait is newsworthy. Stanley Wells is convinced that this recently discovered portrait is Shakespeare, and his word should be good enough for most people, even Shakespearean scholars (which I am not). It does strike me, though, that all the portraits we have of Shakespeare do look broadly the same, even though we know some were painted by people who didn’t know him. Perhaps the point is that portraiture as an art needs to be done from life in order to capture the essence of a person (or at least we feel that to be the case), and so by viewing a portrait known to be painted from the Bard himself, we feel we can somehow access a bit of Shakespeare-ness. Perhaps this could start a new trend for neatly-trimmed goatees. I think the man himself would have loved it.


O, reason not the need!

June 28, 2008

Recently I went to see King Lear at the Globe. One of my favourite A-level texts, I went with the some school-friends to relive our A-levels, and we were amazed by just how much we could still quote – we were obviously taught well! Lear is an odd play, I think. A slightly silly plot (man gives away property to daughters based on how much they claim to love him; war and madness ensue), it seems like the end of a Shakespearean comedy rather than the beginning of a tragedy. It seems less about filial affection, and property, than about reason, madness and human nature, to me. The programme talked about homelessness being central to the plot, which I suppose it is, but only in the sense of what we need – one of those things, we assume, being a home (emotionally and mentally as well as physically). And yet Lear claims (in his madness) that we need none of those things we assume we need:
O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous.
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man’s life’s as cheap as beasts.
David Calder’s Lear was perfectly judged – venerable yet vulnerable in his madness, he was a traditional yet utterly believable Lear, opening himself to the heavens on the heath (at which point it obligingly rained). The Fool, played by Danny Lee Wynter (Joe’s Palace, Hot Fuzz), so difficult to get right, was both unnerving and comic, echoing Lear’s madness and attempting to get him to face it. I was however slightly disappointed by Edgar and Edmund – the former seemed to lack the gravitas needed, particularly in the closing lines of the play, while the latter was, well, not quite sexy enough for the dastardly villain he plays – but this may be because our teen-age minds were clouded somewhat by seeing Adrian Dunbar as Edmund at the Royal Court in (I think) 1993…. The mark of conviction in a performance is when you know what’s going to happen (here, Gloucester’s eyes; Cordelia’s fate) and you are still on the edge of your seat somehow praying for a reversal of the inevitable, and I certainly felt that here.
I’ll resist deconstructing the play itself, but suffice to say I highly recommend this – it shows King Lear as everything it should be – tragic, funny, moving, unsettling, cathartic; and indeed the Globe itself, with its attempts to give an authentic experience, with only the faintest whiff of commercial tourism.


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