"So I to her and so she yields to me," claims Petruchio as he prepares for his first encounter with the notoriously scalding Katherine. The spirit of this line implies a certain amount of reciprocity not as easily apparent elsewhere in the original text, but this 1929 take on one of Shakespeare's more widely adapted comedies seems to take that mutuality to heart.
While not one of Shakespeare's "problem plays," The Taming of the Shrew remains problematic both for those who would adapt it and those who would experience it. For one who wrote so eloquently of love, Shakespeare's matrimonial tale of female subservience and the crude tactics employed to achieve it may ring discordant, especially within a modern context. Is the play sincere or satire? An endorsement of such attitudes or exaggeration for the sake of criticism? Perhaps it is the challenge such a question presents that has inspired the multitude of responses across the centuries and from various forms of media. Writer and director Sam Taylor's version from the early days of classical Hollywood cinema opts for a sort of compromise between straight adaptation and exaggeration that allows for a more freely enjoyed sojourn in Padua.
Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, who famously (or infamously) were experiencing marital difficulties of their own during production, take on the roles of our purported tamer, Petruchio, and the "intolerable curst" Katherine. Both of their performances are marked with an abundance of energy that, at times, borders on excess. Indeed, we are introduced to Katherine following a projectile-aided outburst that throws the household into chaos. The camera climbs the stairs and slowly surveys the damage before settling on the title's namesake. Our first shot of Katherine involves her staring wildly about her, out-of-breath, and whip in hand. In keeping with the zoomorphic theme established by the dialogue, we frequently catch her in the midst of some restless pacing like a caged "wild Kate" as Petruchio unashamedly puns later on during his nominally successful wooing. The over-the-top kinetic style can, perhaps, be attributed as a remnant of the silent era, especially since the film was originally intended as such. The exaggerated deliveries could also serve as a reflection of the satirical tone adaptations frequently adopt.
Speaking of adaptations, with a relatively brief running time stretching a little over an hour, it is hardly a surprise that the final product is pretty streamlined. The focus rarely deviates from Katherine and Petruchio, and characters such as Lucentio and Tranio are excised completely or combined with others. The subplots are retained as far as they are useful for initiating the main story. As a result, the sometimes overshadowing storyline of Bianca (Dorothy Jordan) and her love life hardly play into the proceedings.
Far from being a criticism, narrowing the focus to the two characters allows for greater depth in exploring Katherine and Petruchio's relationship. During the wooing scene, Katherine pushes against Petruchio and subjects him to slaps and blows from her whip. He is immovable and "shakes not, though they blow perpetually." Here and elsewhere, Katherine's resistance is stifled because not even her will can overcome the nature of things, namely society, physical needs, and even nature itself. After arriving at Petruchio's home soaking wet from the rain and mud-splattered, she contemplates escape. The wind blows her back, and Katherine has no choice but to go inside. Later, she initially refuses Petruchio's blusterous summons to the dinner table, but, alas, hunger wins out. Interestingly, each instance is countered with a reversal of sorts. Katherine has the final word in the wooing scene with the addition of a soliloquy not present in the original text. Petruchio's speech outlining his taming tactics is overheard by Katherine, and she is then equipped to match his deception with her own.
What results from this give and take is the impression that these two do seem oddly suited for each other rather than one being ensnared by the other. Fairbanks and Pickford infuse the relationship with an unconventional, unexpected chemistry. However, while Petruchio may believe his wife tamed according to his standards, what Katherine does learn is how to play the game without revealing herself as a contender. The delivery of Katherine's final speech, an opportunity to demonstrate the play's interpretive flexibility, represents this quite nicely with a knowing wink and smile directed at Bianca, but another more telling incident occurs minutes before. After Petruchio is knocked down by some airborne carpentry, Katherine begins to comfort him. While he moans off-screen, we see her take up her whip, regard it and her dazed husband for a moment, and then toss it into the fireplace. After all, she no longer needs it.
Accompanied by suitably grand production values and the distinction of being Shakespeare's first talkie, this Taming proves itself to be a surprisingly enjoyable or, at the very least, palatable rendition of our dear "madly mated" pair.
While not one of Shakespeare's "problem plays," The Taming of the Shrew remains problematic both for those who would adapt it and those who would experience it. For one who wrote so eloquently of love, Shakespeare's matrimonial tale of female subservience and the crude tactics employed to achieve it may ring discordant, especially within a modern context. Is the play sincere or satire? An endorsement of such attitudes or exaggeration for the sake of criticism? Perhaps it is the challenge such a question presents that has inspired the multitude of responses across the centuries and from various forms of media. Writer and director Sam Taylor's version from the early days of classical Hollywood cinema opts for a sort of compromise between straight adaptation and exaggeration that allows for a more freely enjoyed sojourn in Padua.
Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, who famously (or infamously) were experiencing marital difficulties of their own during production, take on the roles of our purported tamer, Petruchio, and the "intolerable curst" Katherine. Both of their performances are marked with an abundance of energy that, at times, borders on excess. Indeed, we are introduced to Katherine following a projectile-aided outburst that throws the household into chaos. The camera climbs the stairs and slowly surveys the damage before settling on the title's namesake. Our first shot of Katherine involves her staring wildly about her, out-of-breath, and whip in hand. In keeping with the zoomorphic theme established by the dialogue, we frequently catch her in the midst of some restless pacing like a caged "wild Kate" as Petruchio unashamedly puns later on during his nominally successful wooing. The over-the-top kinetic style can, perhaps, be attributed as a remnant of the silent era, especially since the film was originally intended as such. The exaggerated deliveries could also serve as a reflection of the satirical tone adaptations frequently adopt.
Speaking of adaptations, with a relatively brief running time stretching a little over an hour, it is hardly a surprise that the final product is pretty streamlined. The focus rarely deviates from Katherine and Petruchio, and characters such as Lucentio and Tranio are excised completely or combined with others. The subplots are retained as far as they are useful for initiating the main story. As a result, the sometimes overshadowing storyline of Bianca (Dorothy Jordan) and her love life hardly play into the proceedings.
Far from being a criticism, narrowing the focus to the two characters allows for greater depth in exploring Katherine and Petruchio's relationship. During the wooing scene, Katherine pushes against Petruchio and subjects him to slaps and blows from her whip. He is immovable and "shakes not, though they blow perpetually." Here and elsewhere, Katherine's resistance is stifled because not even her will can overcome the nature of things, namely society, physical needs, and even nature itself. After arriving at Petruchio's home soaking wet from the rain and mud-splattered, she contemplates escape. The wind blows her back, and Katherine has no choice but to go inside. Later, she initially refuses Petruchio's blusterous summons to the dinner table, but, alas, hunger wins out. Interestingly, each instance is countered with a reversal of sorts. Katherine has the final word in the wooing scene with the addition of a soliloquy not present in the original text. Petruchio's speech outlining his taming tactics is overheard by Katherine, and she is then equipped to match his deception with her own.
What results from this give and take is the impression that these two do seem oddly suited for each other rather than one being ensnared by the other. Fairbanks and Pickford infuse the relationship with an unconventional, unexpected chemistry. However, while Petruchio may believe his wife tamed according to his standards, what Katherine does learn is how to play the game without revealing herself as a contender. The delivery of Katherine's final speech, an opportunity to demonstrate the play's interpretive flexibility, represents this quite nicely with a knowing wink and smile directed at Bianca, but another more telling incident occurs minutes before. After Petruchio is knocked down by some airborne carpentry, Katherine begins to comfort him. While he moans off-screen, we see her take up her whip, regard it and her dazed husband for a moment, and then toss it into the fireplace. After all, she no longer needs it.
Accompanied by suitably grand production values and the distinction of being Shakespeare's first talkie, this Taming proves itself to be a surprisingly enjoyable or, at the very least, palatable rendition of our dear "madly mated" pair.