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The Taming of the Shrew (1929)
"And where two raging fires meet together "
"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.
Romeo & Juliet (2013)
"Prepare thy brow to frown"
The above sentiment may come from Coriolanus, but like so many of Shakespeare's words, it just as easily finds itself applicable elsewhere. Aside from a few bright spots in the cast and the visual perks of filming in Verona and other Italian venues, director Carlo Carlei's 2013 update of Romeo and Juliet does little to distinguish itself as anything more than what can generously be described as lackluster.
"These violent passions can have violent ends" is the warning Friar Laurence, as portrayed with skill and endearing sincerity by Paul Giamatti, imparts to young Romeo (Douglas Booth) and Juliet (Hailee Steinfeld) shortly before their wedding. The line proves to be revealing concerning screenwriter Julian Fellowes's regard for the source material as the original line reads "These violent delights have violent ends." That change and others are relatively minor, and the idea of editing or cutting Shakespeare's material is not the problem. After all, the time it takes to watch two films of respectable length would still fall short of Hamlet's full running time if left unabridged. However, the discernible reasoning behind some of the alterations is questionable and, at times, hints at condescension towards its audience. "By the hour of nine" is changed to "Nine o'clock" during the balcony scene. "Best intentions pave the way to hell" is groan-inducingly added to Mercutio's death. While the changes may be minor, they accumulate quickly and accomplish much in diminishing the poetry of the dialogue. For those familiar with the play, the added scenes are particularly glaring. The inexplicable jousting scene comes to mind. A romantic subplot between Benvolio and Rosaline, played by Kodi Smit-McPhee and Nathalie Rapti Gomez respectively, is hinted at then thankfully dropped. Juliet and Ed Westwick's Tybalt share a scene where the latter growls about honor, blaggards, and he-who-must-not-be-named-in-this-house. Interestingly, the death of Paris (Tom Wisdom), so often cut, is left in. The motive behind this inclusion seems indicative of a film desiring another action sequence rather than for the sake of the character considering his earlier scene with Friar Laurence and Juliet is absent. To be fair, some of the additions do strive to anticipate some questions about the plot such as why the newlyweds would part so quickly after the ceremony or how the messenger was waylaid on his way to Mantua. While the intentions may have been good, well, the film itself has something to say about that.
In any case, the talk about "violent passions" is altogether misleading in that the most passionate performance comes not from either of our "star-cross'd lovers" but arguably Damian Lewis's Lord Capulet. Indeed, when the scenes most likely to draw a tear from the audience are the Nurse's (Lesley Manville) and Friar's reactions to Juliet's death, something is amiss. Most of the cast seem plagued with a sort of lethargy. This is acceptable early in the film when Romeo is still pining over Rosaline, but it becomes less so as the plot progresses. Booth's delivery of "O, I am fortune's fool!" hardly warrants the exclamation point. Perhaps he was aiming for a numb, subdued interpretation, but it comes across as a sort of stilted, blank realization. Hailee Steinfeld, who rightfully met with much acclaim in True Grit (2010), seems to struggle to transcend more than a passing interest in the proceedings. Where the teens in Zeffirelli's 1968 adaptation could hardly keep their hands off each other, this couple errs on tepid infatuation. Tybalt is reduced to a sneering, one-dimensional antagonist who utters such inane taunts like "Come settle with me, boy!" which basically amounts to an antiquated "Come at me, bro." Christian Cooke's Mercutio is a particular source of disappointment as his truncated Queen Mab speech contains only the barest hint of energy or wit, and his death is made disconcertingly brief considering what actions the event catalyzes.
Of the film's virtues, it can be said that the settings are quite beautiful and beautifully shot. The walled city of Verona provides a striking backdrop, although, one does wonder where all the people go when they aren't gathered to hear the booming tones of Stellan Skarsgård's Prince or attending a funeral. The families' houses are wonderfully ornate, and the costumes at the masquerade are appropriately sparkly. However, one cannot help but think that the aesthetics take a few cues from Zeffirelli's version. Much like the 1968 adaptation, the Moreska is danced during the masquerade. The circle that the dancers form fluctuates and folds in on itself in a way that seems to clumsily mirror its elder counterpart.
In short, if one removes the passion of Franco Zeffirelli and the daring inventiveness of Baz Luhrmann, the viewer is left a bit regretful of having spent "two hours' traffic" with this lamentable stage.