Paper Two

Much Ado About Nothing vs. Much Ado About Nothing

Due to the persistent public demand for performances and adaptations of the works of William Shakespeare, innumerable productions of his plays exist that, save for their shared stories and dialogue, are almost unrecognisable from one to the next. When staging or filming a particular Shakespeare play, theatre and film directors are unable to escape the legacy of the text they are working with, and so seek to portray their own interpretation of the play and put their own creative stamp on the material. Such is the case with Kenneth Branagh’s 1993 cinematic adaptation of Shakespeare’s comedy Much Ado About Nothing and the 2005 BBC reimagining of the same play. Though they both tell essentially the same story, the two films are almost entirely different. Which, then, is more faithful to the spirit of the original play?

Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing was released in 1993. An entrant in the 1993 Cannes Film Festival, the film is also one of the most financially successful cinematic Shakespeare adaptations in history. Filming on location in Tuscany,  Branagh retains the Italian Renaissance setting, lending an air of romanticism to the production. After Emma Thompson’s playful reading of Balthasar’s song Sigh no more over a dark screen, we fade in on a painting of a beautiful Tuscan villa. The camera moves, in what Timothy Corrigan refers to as a “pan”[1], to the left, and we bear witness to a lush pastoral landscape that is every bit as breathtaking as the painting. Composer Patrick Doyle’s soothing score, incorporating strings and a classical guitar, helps to create an atmosphere of calm and peace. Leonato, played here by Richard Briers, moves into frame and laughs with contentment as he continues to paint. The camera begins to track left, showing the inhabitants of the villa enjoying a leisurely picnic as Emma Thompson’s Beatrice continues to read the song. The tranquility is disturbed, however, when a messenger informs the party that Don Pedro and his men approach, fresh from their victory in a great battle. During the conversation between Beatrice and the messenger, edited using the “shot/reverse shot”[2] technique, Branagh frames Beatrice against the backdrop of open fields and the artfully designed villa, taking full advantage of the aesthetic advantages of shooting on location. What ensues next is a credits sequence that firmly establishes Branagh’s aspiration of making the film a work of spectacle and grandeur; indeed, Maurice Hindle notes that the famed actor and director made reference to “all the Hollywood that got packed into the film”[3] in promotional interviews for the adaptation.

A montage of close-ups is shown, in which Branagh focuses on individual insert shots, such as a flag flowing in the breeze or the hooves of horses kicking up dirt as they gallop onwards. Barnagh then begins to cut between wide shots of the picnickers running back to the villa and individual medium shots of each of the horse riders. This sequence is shot entirely in slow motion, adding to the grandiosity of the action. As the title card ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ appears onscreen, the camera cuts to a wide shot of all the riders as they throw their fists into the air and cheer. The score, now incorporating booming brass instruments and crashing cymbals, builds to a crescendo to announce the title of the film in a triumphantly exuberant manner. Branagh’s love for the material is palpable, and the shot selection and editing of the sequence seem explicitly designed to announce the return of Shakespeare to the screen in the grandest manner imaginable.

First broadcast in 2005, David Nicholl’s adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing was presented as part of the BBC’s Shakespeare Retold series, which placed four plays by William Shakespeare into a modern day context. The Much Ado About Nothing episode updates the story from Renaissance-era Messina as in the original text to a 21^st century British television studio. Benedick, played by Damien Lewis, and Beatrice, played by Sarah Parish, are recast in the roles of bickering co-anchors of a local news program. This adaptation takes significant liberties with the plot of the original play, most notably in addition of a past relationship between Hero, played by Billie Piper, and Don, played by Derek Riddell.

The opening sequence of the BBC’s modernised version of Much Ado About Nothing is, even without comparing it to Branagh’s adaptation, decidedly low-key and technically unimpressive. Rather than Patrick Doyle’s rousing score, the viewer is instead treated to Tom Jones’ love song Help Yourself. Restricted by a television budget, director Brian Percival eschews the awe-inspiring landscape shots of Branagh’s introductory sequence in favour of cross-cutting between Beatrice and Benedick as they apparently both prepare for a date together. This is a wholly original scene that is not present in the original text, and represents Nicholl’s speculation as to the origin of the “merry war” between the two. The two characters are shown gazing into mirrors in close-up shots as they inspect their appearance, but while Beatrice’s face is wracked with insecurity and uncertainty, Benedick is smug and evidently extremely pleased by the sight of his reflection. This quickly establishes this adaptation’s portrayal of Benedick as a smarmy and self-involved blowhard who comes to redeem himself over the course of the story. Beatrice scatters flower petals on the bed, obviously concerned with romance, but as Benedick applies deodorant to his crotch, it is clear that he is driven by interests that are far more sexual than they are sensual. As Benedick leaves his house, we briefly see the ocean in the background. Percival has traded the vast and vivacious Tuscan countryside for a small, somewhat grotty seaside town in Wessex. This setting, and indeed the whole opening sequence, is indicative of the scope of the entire film; everything is on a smaller scale than in Branagh’s version.

While the Shakespeare Retold presentation of Much Ado About Nothing is a divertingly entertaining affair, it unfortunately pales in comparison to Branagh’s masterful adaptation. The opening sequences are hugely informative in that they establish the tone that each film maintains to their conclusions. Branagh’s vision in his role as director is cinematic and grandiose, and he brings the characters and story of the original text to life in so enthusiastic a manner that passion and joy is evident in every frame, every camera movement and every line of dialogue. It is a film that, while unafraid to be whimsical and amusingly eccentric at times, also explores the complexities of Shakespeare’s play. Conversely, Much Ado About Nothing as produced by the BBC is a light and frothy affair that is lacking in dramatic weight. Though it incorporates intertextuality and self-awareness at times, such as the scene in which Benedick reads his favourite Shakespeare sonnets to Beatrice, it ultimately sorely lacks the subtlety of writing and performance that is abundant in Branagh’s film. It is clear that Nicholl and Percival were aiming to retell the story in a way that would appeal to mainstream viewers who may be unfamiliar with the works of Shakespeare, but this sadly does not excuse its shortcomings as both an adaptation and a film in its own right. It is my belief that in his film, Kenneth Branagh has produced the definitive cinematic adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing, and the Shakespeare Retold version simply does not compare.

Bibliography

Corrigan, Timothy. A Short Guide to Writing About Film. Pearson: Illinois, 2012.

Hindle, Maurice. Studying Shakespeare on Film. Palgrave Macmillan: New York, 2007.

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[1] Timothy Corrigan, A Short Guide to Writing About Film (Pearson: Illinois, 2012), pg. 176.

[2] ibid, pg. 177

[3] Maurice Hindle, Studying Shakespeare on Film (Palgrave Macmillan: New York, 2007), pg. 115.

The Simpsons do Macbeth

First aired in 2009, Four Great Women and a Manicure is an episode of The Simpsons that, as the title suggests, depicts four stories connected by the theme of famous strong women. In one of these stories, Homer has a lowly role in a tree in a local production of Macbeth. Frustrated by her thankless job of washing costumes, Marge concocts a plan to achieve more power for her and her husband and convinces Homer to murder Sideshow Mel and replace him as Macbeth... wait, this sounds familiar.

Unfortunately the only video I could find of this segment is in German, which perhaps makes it more suited for Alyssa's blog, but nevertheless the concept is very interesting. As they try to take control of the Macbeth production, Homer and Marge end up reenacting the story of Macbeth in a story within a story so puzzling that it gives Inception a run for its money. The meta-narrative extends to the visuals of the segment; much like Hot Fuzz appropriated its Romeo and Juliet costumes from William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet, Homer's costume in his role as Macbeth bears a striking similarity to the crown and fur-lined robes worn by Orson Welles in his 1948 film adaptation of Macbeth. The Simpsons is a part of the public zeitgeist just as much as the works of William Shakespeare, and to dedicate a third of an episode to a self-referential parody of one of his plays shows an expectation and level of trust on the part of the writers that their audience will understand their humorous take on the subject matter.

Hot Fuzz

There are countless great moments in the 2007 British action comedy film Hot Fuzz from writers Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg, the same writing team behind 2004's Shaun of the Dead, and one of the most memorable of them is a truly (intentionally) awful performance of Romeo and Juliet. Having pulled a giggling pair of lovers over for speeding, Sgt. Nicholas Angel and PC Danny Butterman are reluctantly roped into attending their amateur performance of the play. What ensues is nothing short of divinely cringe-worthy:

http://www.metacafe.com/watch/an-VrbMJbJnuhu22/hot_fuzz_2007_romeo_and_juliet/

Apologies for the lack of an embedded video but there isn't one available, presumably for copyright reasons. What I find interesting about this depiction of Romeo and Juliet is that the production within the film clearly lifts many elements directly from Baz Luhrman's Romeo + Juliet: the costumes, the appearance of firearms, and even the use of The Cardigans' song Lovefool. This is clearly for comic effect, and the sight of actors who are clearly in their thirties wearing the same iconic costumes as the fresh-faced Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes is hilarious in its bizarreness. The great British tradition of amateur dramatics is not known for its innovation, and Wright and Pegg cleverly mine this fact for humour.

After the actors in the production are murdered, their severed heads placed close to their car on the road to lead the authorities to believe it was a speeding accident, prime suspect Simon Skinner drives past in his car as Angel and Butterman investigate the crime scene. The song playing from his car radio? None other than Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits:

That such attention was paid to detail and intertextuality in a thirty second scene is a key reason why I love both Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead, and I eagerly await the third film in their so called Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy (a title you'll get if you watch the films).

Paper One

Henry V vs. Henry V


“In the wake of cultural materialism, New Historicism, and performance criticism, we have grown used to thinking of a historicized Shakespeare “reinvented” by readers and players with every age,”[1] writes Douglas Lanier. What Lanier is referring to is the popular phenomenon of reinterpreting Shakespeare; directors who choose to work on productions of Shakespeare plays will often apply their own vision and sensibility to the original text. This differentiation may present itself through the tone of the performance or the depiction of characters, but it is not uncommon for Shakespeare plays to be placed within historical, social and political contexts that are entirely removed from what the general public would perceive to be the ‘original’ setting. As Shakespeare plays are constantly being performed to satisfy a perpetual demand to see them, the variations on his works are innumerable. Indeed, it would be near impossible to find two identical productions of the same. Though both Laurence Olivier and Kenneth Branagh’s filmed adaptations of Henry V are ostensibly set within the same time period, they represent two radically different cinematic experiences resulting from two distinctive creative approaches. One can find no better example of the differences between the two films than by looking at how they choose to represent the central character of King Henry. However, the question must be asked: which director is more successful in achieving their aims in adapting the play? Which film is more faithful to the spirit of the original character and text?

Olivier’s Henry V was first released in 1944, and as such was produced and first viewed while World War II was still ongoing. The influence of this global conflict is evident from the first frame of the film, opening with the epitaph, “To the commandos and airborne troops of Great Britain, the spirit of whose ancestors it has been humbly attempted to recapture in some ensuing scenes, this film is dedicated”.[2] Olivier immediately makes his support for the British troops clear, and establishes a patriotic atmosphere for the film. This jingoistic attitude is no accident, as Douglas Brode notes: “Britain needed political propaganda. A spectacular film, recalling past greatness and the ability to overcome against all odds, would aid the war cause. Winston Churchill suggested to Olivier that a Henry V film would be much appreciated”.[3] It is clear that the manner in which Olivier chooses to present the character of King Henry is very much informed by Churchill’s role as a symbol of morale and unity during his time as Prime Minister. Maurice Hindle characterizes Olivier’s King Henry as “a benign and goodly king whose reign is relatively trouble free”.[4]

From the very start of the film, it is clear that Olivier has not produced an ordinary adaptation; rather than simply creating a film version of Shakespeare’s play, Olivier instead presents Globe Theatre production of the play in 1600, with much of the narrative taking place in this setting before transitioning to a more traditional filming style. This meta-narrative means that Olivier is not merely playing Henry V, but is rather playing an actor who is in turn playing the king. The introduction of King Henry in Act I Scene II is indicative of Olivier’s political agenda; as he takes to the stage as Henry, Olivier is framed in a wide shot against a backdrop made up by a rapturously applauding audience. Brass fanfare accompanies the scene as Olivier grandly bows and basks in the adulation of the crowd. This is the first of a series of scenes intended by Olivier to downplay Henry’s status of power over his subjects. Instead, he shapes the film to embody the spirit of everyone pulling together in the face of adversity, mirroring the attitude promoted by British government propaganda during World War II. Olivier’s rendition of Act III Scene I repeats this technique; as Henry delivers his iconic “Once more unto the breach” monologue, the camera pulls back to reveal that he is surrounded by soldiers, standing close enough to the king that they would be able to reach out and touch him if they so desired. Olivier’s Henry is an ordinary man who just so happens to be king, and his attitude towards his men confirms as much.

The patriotism and sunny optimism of Olivier’s film stands in dramatic contrast to Kenneth Branagh’s dark and gritty take on Henry V. Released in 1989, the film represented Branagh’s attempt to “convey the king as a more complex figure than Olivier’s heroic monarch,” according to Hindle.[5] The film’s production and release fell within the final years of Margaret Thatcher’s divisive and controversial prime ministership, and it is possible that like Olivier, Branagh was influenced by the public perception of the prime minister as he made his film. Consider Branagh’s version of Act I Scene II; while Olivier made his way onto a brightly lit stage to the sound of thunderous applause, Branagh’s Henry first appears in silhouette, shrouded in darkness in a gothic throne room. Olivier attempted to portray Henry as an approachable figure not dissimilar from any other British citizen by repeatedly framing the king standing next to or among his subjects, but in this scene, Branagh emphasizes Henry’s power by showing the king’s advisors only in a series of reaction shots as Henry makes his way to the throne. Composer Patrick Doyle’s ominous strings replace the triumphant brass fanfare of Olivier’s film. This emphasizes Henry’s status as king and his position of power over his subjects, contributing to the depiction of the character as domineering and autocratic. Branagh further exploits this dichotomy between the monarch and his underlings in his version of Act III Scene I. Though the British soldiers are initially seen standing close to Henry as in Olivier’s film, Branagh transitions into a close-up shot of Henry as he recites his speech, punctuated occasionally by close-ups of the soldiers’ facial reactions (Timothy Corrigan refers to this editing technique as “shot/reverse shot”).[6] It is important to note that even when sharing the frame with their king, the soldiers are shown from behind and in silhouette, depersonalizing them. Henry’s vantage point from atop his horse also causes him to appear far more powerful and physically imposing than his subordinates. While this scene took place in bright and peaceful daylight in the 1944 version, Branagh’s version of the scene is set at night during battle, with the shouts of men theatrening to drown out Henry’s monologue and fireballs rising up into the sky. All this leads to a decidedly darker and more pessimistic tone to the scene; Olivier’s Henry delivers the monologue from a position of brave optimism, but Branagh’s Henry is wild-eyed and crazed. He appears to fully expect the deaths of himself and his men, but is willing to make these sacrifices in order to protect his name and legacy.

Olivier and Branagh both make distinct choices in their depictions of King Henry, but ultimately, Branagh’s Henry retains the most fidelity to Shakespeare’s original character. Shakespeare’s Henry threatened the rape of women and the murder of children, and was perfectly willing to execute close friends if he felt they had betrayed him. Due to Olivier’s reshaping of the play as propaganda, these more ruthless and morally gray traits of the character are left out of his film’s screenplay. While this serves the intention of his film well, it ultimately leads to a far less compelling character and performance than in Branagh’s Henry V and as such, ends up being the less successful adaptation out of the two films.

Bibliography

Brode, Douglas. Shakespeare in the Movies: From the Silent Era to Shakespeare in Love. Oxford University Press: New York, 2000.

Corrigan, Timothy. A Short Guide to Writing About Film. Pearson: Illinois, 2012.

Hindle, Maurice. Studying Shakespeare on Film. Palgrave Macmillan: New York, 2007.

Lanier, Douglas. “Encryptions”. In Reading and Writing in Shakespeare. Edited by Daniel M. Bergeron. Associated University Presses: New Jersey, 1996.

Olivier, Laurence. Henry V. Eagle-Lion Distributors Limited, 1944.

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[1] Douglas Lanier, “Encryptions” in Reading and Writing in Shakespeare, ed. Daniel M. Bergeron (Associated University Presses: New Jersey, 1996), pg. 241.

[2] Laurence Olivier, Henry V (Eagle-Lion Distributors Limited, 1944).

[3] Douglas Brode, Shakespeare in the Movies: From the Silent Era to Shakespeare in Love (Oxford University press: New York, 2000), p.79.

[4] Maurice Hindle, Studying Shakespeare on Film (Palgrave Macmillan: New York, 2007), pg. 141.

[5] Maurice Hindle, Studying Shakespeare on Film (Palgrave Macmillan: New York, 2007), pg. 147.

[6] Timothy Corrigan, A Short Guide to Writing About Film (Pearson: Illinois, 2012), pg. 177.

Exit Music

I'm going to go in a slightly different direction now and take a look at a song inspired by Shakespearean works: Exit Music (For A Film), an incredible piece of music by one of my absolute favourite bands, fellow Brits Radiohead.

The film referred to in the title is Baz Lurhman's famous 1996 adaptation William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet. Radiohead wrote the song especially for the end credits of the film and went on to include it on their seminal 1997 album OK Computer, though interestingly, the song did not appear on the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack album at the request of lead singer Thom Yorke. In writing the lyrics for the song, Yorke was inspired by the climactic moment in the film in which Juliet, played by Claire Danes, holds a gun to her head. Yorke was also influenced by his personal connection with Franzo Zeffirelli's 1968 adaptation of the play (clips from which form the above music video by YouTube user quarrel84, remarking:

"I saw the Zeffirelli version when I was 13 and I cried my eyes out, because I couldn't understand why, the morning after they shagged, they didn't just run away. The song is written for two people who should run away before all the bad stuff starts. A personal song."

When one takes a look at the song lyrics, this certainly becomes evident:


"Wake from your sleep
The drying of your tears
Today we escape, we escape


Pack and get dressed
Before your father hears us
Before all hell breaks loose


Breathe, keep breathing
Don't lose your nerve
Breathe, keep breathing
I can't do this alone


Sing us a song
A song to keep us warm
There's such a chill, such a chill


And you can laugh a spineless laugh
We hope your rules and wisdom choke you
Now we are one in everlasting peace
We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke" 

Despite the melancholic sound of classical guitar and the gloomy echo effect on his vocals, Yorke's lyrics at the start of the song appear to reflect an attitude of relative hopefulness. He sings in character as Romeo, his youthful impulsiveness leading him to suggest that he and Juliet run away from home and from the oppressive families who would keep them apart. Though his intentions seem to be sincere, the melancholic sound of classical guitar and the echo effect on Yorke's vocals lead the listener to conclude that this story cannot well; indeed, the tragic story of the play is a perfect fit for what some perceive as Radiohead's pessimistic style and outlook. As the song leads to its climax, the instrumentation expands to include ominous, distorted bass and cold, unsympathetic drumming. The lyrics in the final verse become angry and scornful as Yorke almost wails "Now we are one in everlasting peace... we hope that you choke, that you choke". As Romeo and Juliet resign themselves to their calamitous fates, they condemn the war between their families and those who take part in it, for if there were no feud, their story may well have had a happy ending.

On a more amusing note, the song appeared in the final episode of Father Ted, a 1990s Irish sitcom revolving around a group of priests in a remote island parish. Having saved a priest named Father Kevin from attempted suicide, the titular Father Ted cures his depression with the slap bass stylings of Theme from Shaft. However, as he steps out into the world to start his life fresh, an unfortunate incident befalls Father Kevin:

The subtle colour shift in the cinematography of the final shot to a bleak desaturated grey is extremely clever, but the choice of music is most impressive of all. With the episode first being aired in 1998, Radiohead were arguably at the peak of their long and successful career in terms of pure mainstream ubiquity. The use of their music is used as a type of comedy shorthand, as can be seen by the fact that the live studio audience begin laughing as soon as the band name is mentioned on the radio. They know what is coming, and perhaps it is the song's association with Romeo + Juliet as well as Radiohead's reputation for being 'depressing' that clues them in to the joke so quickly.

Monty Python does Hamlet

In this clip, the legendary British comedy troupe imagine how Hamlet would fare when subjected to modern psychoanalysis. I realise I'm not exactly stepping outside of my very English comfort zone with this or my previous post but I think they're both good videos. While this clip ends up parodying modern psychiatry more than Shakespeare, the start is a funny look at how Hamlet might react to his enduring legacy. His gripe is understandable; he is known by the public for his "To be, or not to be" speech and little else. If I were expected to repeat one phrase from my lifetime ad infinitum, I'd probably need psychoanalysis too.

CYAC: The Comedy of Errors

The Contact Theatre is a great establishment back home in Manchester that focuses on producing short-run performances that don't necessarily conform to the rules and constraints of traditional plays. These range from performance art pieces that take over the entire building to reinterpretations of existing works, such as a production of Of Mice And Men cast entirely with actors with developmental disabilities. One of these reinterpretations was performed in May of 2011 - a hip hop version of Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors, performed by the Contact Young Actors Company.

As you can see from this trailer, it's a really fun adaptation of the classic play. Even though my friend Roxanne was a member of the cast, I unfortunately wasn't able to see any of the performances due to undergoing a shoulder operation at the time - but from the trailer alone, it's clear that the creators of the show found a great way to translate the poetic quality of Shakespeare's writing into the extremely modern form of poetry that is rap and hip hop.