Barry Avrich’s realization of Gary Griffin’s original stage production strongly enhances one of the Bard’s weaker scripts, employing five cameras (deftly overseen by director of photography, Joseph Interisano) to advantage before George Roulston’s superb editing skills bind everything into a visual whole that could never have been witnessed by audience members who, necessarily, choose their own points of view.
The upstairs- (largely Caesar’s domain) downstairs (virtually all things Egyptian) set along with spot-on lighting (discreet or bold, a backlight doing double duty as a moon image/metaphor in Cleopatra’s tomb), keep the pace moving forward as steadily as the lies, deceits and double-crosses drive the narrative.
The drum-laden, reed-rich original score is at one with the period, settings and fight-to-the-death warmongering (with the actual battles reported upon rather than seen—something unheard of in an actual screenplay treatment where copious amounts of blood keep producers delighted with every gash and beheading) and works hand in hand with the frequent fades to or (e.g., after intermission) extended moments of blackout to let viewers’ imaginations do some of the work on their own.
In the first half, it seemed there were far more reaction shots than in the second—a tricky technique to execute when filming live performances, no doubt, but more of those can only help broaden the characterizations of the major players.
Griffin’s staging is somewhat cinematic in its own right (hardly surprising since he must have known that his production was bound for the big screen) as the principals frequently circle one another’s bodies with the same intensity as their raging, raving, rebelling minds. A few sprinkles of sexual innuendo (Antony mischievously tweaking the eunuch’s bare nipple; Caesar planting a far-beyond-brotherly kiss on his, apparently, frigid sister’s lips; a thinly disguised meaning to the word “sap” just before another royal union) add a bit of naughty fun between the ever-shifting fortunes of those who purport to rule the world (ever so appropriate in this U.S. election year).
The acting is up to Stratford’s increasingly high standard since getting back to its Shakespearean roots just a few years ago. Geraint Wyn Davies is readily belligerent, boisterous, conniving, fatalistic and boyish as Antony while Cleopatra has a most worthy advocate in Yanna McIntosh whose ability to roll with the ever-changing situational punches would be the envy of any monarch.
Tom McCamus digs hard and deep into the perpetually troubled Enobarbus, turning and twisting between masters until he runs out of anything to truly believe in. As “boy” Caesar, Ben Carlson employs just the right tone of nefarious, studied reason to perfectly balance the histrionics to the title couple.
And special mention to Antoine Yared’s stoic performance as eunuch Mardian, notably his lying scene with Antony, proving just how much he has learned about duplicity from such accomplished tutors.
By journey’s end, with shallow victories on the field tarnished by late-in-the-game purposeful leavings of the planet rather than endure being put on show to falsely hold peoples together, the Clown’s most telling line, “I wish you all joy of the worm [deadly asp],” seems wisdom indeed for those who have thoughtlessly sent many, many innocents to early graves. JWR