Cymbeline and Much Ado About Nothing: Reviews

            Of the five plays TLC and I saw this past weekend at the Stratford Festival, three were really superb: Much Ado About Nothing and Cymbeline, both by Shakespeare, and Sophocles’s Elektra. This Much Ado, set in early-twentieth-century Brazil, showcased one of the Festival’s particular strengths: really superb performers in all the roles, as opposed to a few strong actors in principal roles who are then shored up with a middling-to-adequate cast. The principals were, indeed, superb; Beatrice and Benedick were played by a real-life couple and I can’t say if that helped the chemistry between them, but it certainly didn’t hurt. Both Ben Carlson and Deborah Hay are almost preternaturally likeable, and that made their characters’ repartee absolutely enthralling. Furthermore, Ms. Hay was a remarkably delicate, vulnerable and sweet Beatrice, and Mr. Carlson’s affability kept Benedick’s tirades against her from sounding cruel, as they easily could have been in the hands of an actor with a harsher demeanor.

            It is worth repeating that the supporting roles were filled with remarkable actors. Juan Chioran as Don Pedro was leonine, warm and sexy, with a voice I could bathe in, and Gareth Potter played the Duke’s bastard brother Don John with determined malevolence that verged on downright gleeful. Tyrone Savage gave the usually foolish and bland Claudio real depth, and even managed to make me feel sympathy for a character whose actions often seem inexcusable. His jilting of Hero at the altar seemed more a sudden loss of nerve than premeditated cruelty. Hero herself was the only weak point in an otherwise stellar cast, as Bethany Jillard seemed flat almost unto wooden, and somehow managed not to give any life to this text that shines even on the page. However, as Hero never carries the text nor the action, this didn’t damage the overall production too badly, and the tropical setting set off the play’s fast and witty action perfectly, filling the stage with sunlight, Latin music and dance.

            Cymbeline is tonally much darker, although the plot also deals with the disgrace of a virtuous woman through baseless accusations. It’s a tricky play to stage, as it’s one without a clear protagonist, and the action at different points is carried by any one of a number of different characters. There are a lot of characters and a lot of plot, but there is also a lot of heart, and it’s one of my favorite plays in Shakespeare’s canon. This production was perfect. The director, Antoni Cimolino, has a rare gift for coaching his actors until the verse sparkles, and we see the comedy in the dramatic moments and the melancholy in the comic relief. Every member of the extensive cast was superlative, and in a less perfect production, any one of them could have been a stand-out performer. Cara Ricketts was a dream as Innogen, playing her with a backbone of steel but also with a generous plenty of gentleness and loyalty; as an added bonus, she passed as a very credible boy in the play’s second half. Tom McCamus found the pitch-perfect balance of sleaze and sensuality as Iachimo, and I easily believed that a less virtuous woman than Innogen could have fallen prey to his charms. (For the record, I am far less virtuous than she. Mr. McCamus: call me.) Mike Shara went full balls-to-the-wall on making Cloten an unlikeable boor - it was a strong choice, but an effective one. Posthumus is, by virtue of plot necessity, somewhat doltish and easily misled, but Graham Abbey managed to make his devastation at his wife’s perceived infidelities as heart-wrenching for the audience as it was for the character. Mr. Abbey has an impressive knack for shredding through text at a gallop and keeping every word clear, sharp and specific; he also has a particular strength in stage combat, and his swordfight in the battle toward the play’s end was superb. The fight scenes as a whole were exemplary and some of the finest I’ve seen onstage.

            Another shining moment in the play was when the exiled princes, played by E.B. Smith and Ian Lake, mourn the apparent death of the disguised Innogen. It’s a beautiful piece of text, full of grief and tenderness, and the work of Mr. Lake and Mr. Smith heightened the beauty of the verse. I cried real and copious tears for their loss.

            The staging was spare but evocative; although I generally don’t care for multiple-era settings, the mixture of Elizabethan, Roman and pre-Christian British elements was tasteful and effective, and I did not find the pastiche in the least jarring. The pacing was tight and even, and did not falter even in the hugely unwieldy final scene during which the plot’s many threads are unknotted and brought to a tidy conclusion. My only complaint with the play is that it was over far too soon; after the curtain call I would have willingly stayed in my seat and watched the whole thing over again. It was, on the whole, a brilliant piece of theatre, and I am unlikely to see anything nearly so good again anytime soon.

            Coming up soon: I’ll discuss Elektra, and I’ll also offer some thoughts on the two productions I saw that were somewhat less successful (although it is worth noting that both of those were merely good, as opposed to the other three, which were downright outstanding).