this...though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve

When my kids and I decided to return a second year to the Utah Shakespearean Festival, Twelfth Night was the real draw for me. I’ve loved this play ever since I first saw it at BYU back in the 1970s. I’ve watched every stage, film, and tv version that I could, including the BBC one with Felicity Kendal, Kenneth Branagh’s tv version, the CBC’s taping of the Stratford Festival production in the early 1990s, and Trevor Nunn’s 1996 film with Imogen Stubbs.

Before we went and saw the play, I attended a seminar on it. Ace Pilkington was again the moderator. I didn’t ask any questions, as is my wont, but went to listen and be enlightened or enraged, as the case may be. During the discussion, Prof. Pilkington mentioned that he didn't like Trevor Nunn's film. He thought Imogen Stubbs looked too much like a boy, and the point was that Viola wasn't supposed to look like a boy – she was supposed to look like a girl disguised as a boy. But if that were the case, I said to myself, wouldn’t everyone who takes her for a boy look really really stoopid for not seeing through her disguise?

He also didn't like the cuts or vocabulary changes made in the film, or the addition of the shipwreck at the beginning. He thought the Festival's production was much better. I was going to defend the film and ask him if he'd read Nunn's published screenplay, in which the cuts and changes are explained, but I was too shy. However, I formulated some very good arguments in my mind and feel confident that I would've won the debate.

Anyway, I had the highest hopes for this production, and therefore I was the most disappointed with it of the three I saw. The sets and costumes were very nice, as usual. The acting was pretty much good all around – my favorite, Gary Armagnac, played Sir Toby and he did very well. He wasn't as completely bitter as his character was in the film or in Kenneth Branagh's tv version. I know the current thing is to bring out the dark side in Shakespeare's comedies, but I like the comedies to still be comedies. This Sir Toby was drunken and opportunistic, and the audience was uncomfortable about his treatment of Maria, but in the end he did the right thing by her, and his final rejection of Sir Andrew sort of fizzled out as he realized that he himself was just as much an idiot, so they went off to be "dressed" together.

Sir Andrew was a bumbling, clumsy fool, much funnier and more likeable than this production's Feste. But I have a soft spot in my heart for Sir Andrew's character. I usually find him to be one of the funniest characters (in a bittersweet way) in the play, and this time was no exception. His duel with Viola was absolutely the most hilarious of any of the ten productions of Twelfth Night I've seen.

The actor who played Malvolio got him just right, I think – not too serious, not too silly. Well, as you know, I have pretty definite ideas of how things should be, and my idea of Malvolio is that he's not to be taken too seriously, that his imprisonment and ordeal shouldn't be too horrible, so that the audience should feel sorry for him in his predicament at the end, but only until he says he'll be revenged on everyone. I conclude from this that he's more of a fool than anyone else in the play and hasn't learned a thing about himself, so he, as a character, doesn't merit our continued sympathy. I also believe he shouldn't win over the audience by being so funny that people enjoy his scenes over all others (which I've seen done, too). Anyway, this Malvolio was not too tragic, not too comic.

So I'd have to say this play belonged to the "secondary" characters. The main characters (with the exception of Olivia, who was passable for the most part) were all disappointing. Feste was way too jolly and so lost all his distinctiveness. Orsino's characterization was one of the blandest I've ever seen. It doesn't help that he disappears during the whole middle of the play, but this time I hardly missed him. And the gal playing Viola basically repeated her performance as Marina in Pericles, i.e. Shakespearean heroine as sitcom bimbo. (Except for the duel, but she didn't have to say anything during that.)

One particular moment I found disappointing was at the end: when Orsino discovers that Cesario is really Viola, he says she will now be her master's mistress and he's about to embrace her but sort of pushes her away on his line "Let me see thee in thy woman's weeds", as if he's reluctant to show affection to a man. This got a laugh from most of the audience, but not me. I thought it was important to show Orsino overcoming his Romeo-like silliness about love, but it turned out to be posturing the whole way through. (In fact, in the very first scene, when Orsino said, "If music be the food of love" I almost groaned at the actor's declamatory style of delivery. It was my first hint that things were not going to go as I had hoped they would.)

Well, anyhow, there were quite a few children in the audience, and they appeared to like Sir Toby and Sir Andrew and Malvolio and Fabian and Maria as much as I did. But, as she had done after the USF production of Hamlet, Megan again echoed my sentiments when she said that, although she liked the play, she enjoyed the movie more.

A little grave, a little little grave

I hope for three things when seeing a Shakespeare play, and maybe the first two lead to the third, so maybe I only hope for one thing, or maybe two things to reach the one thing. Or maybe I hope too much. Anyway, they are 1) an emotional connection, where I sympathize with at least one character (and it's really the best when it's my favorite character), 2) a sense of intellectual, or maybe I should say aesthetic, appreciation, which is easy enough to achieve when the actors understand what they're saying; and 3) a combination of the emotional and intellectual appreciation into a third what I guess I would call spiritual (though I'm not sure that's the best word) heightening, the sort of reaction that makes me feel how wonderful it has all been, how glad I am to be alive and be able to experience something like that. That's the rarest reaction, but it sometimes happens.

I'm sorry to say (for my own sake) that none of the three Shakespeare plays I saw at the 1997 USF did it for me, although I found Hamlet to be somewhat enjoyable on an intellectual level because most of the major characters could perform Shakespearean text, and I even had an emotional connection with one or two characters in the play.

One feature of the Utah Shakespearean Festival is that they have various free seminars throughout the day. They have one about costumes, where they detail the process of building the costumes, from the design sketches to the finished product. They have actor seminars where you can ask questions of the actors; they have literary seminars where they discuss the previous day's plays, and music seminars where you can talk to the musicians and ask any manner of question. I think it's a marvelous idea. Anyhow, one day they had Martin Kildare (who played Hamlet) with Ace Pilkington (he taught at, I think, Dixie College in nearby St George, and has written a book on Shakespeare on film).

Several people in the audience told Kildare that his was the best Hamlet they'd ever seen. I thought he did rather well, but for two things: 1) too much of the play was cut. I didn't realize until seeing Branagh's 1996 film how integral to Hamlet's character each scene of the play is, how much it reveals and how it ties in with the other scenes to give you the whole picture. But that wasn't Kildare's fault; I just don't see how you can say his is the best Hamlet you've ever seen if you didn't even see the whole play. 2) I didn't sympathize with him. I don't think I'm being entirely fair to him, because I couldn't help comparing his performance to the impact that Branagh's had on me. I know Branagh's Hamlet is far from perfect, and I think what he does with Fortinbras' invasion at the end is ludicrous, but there it is. Anyway, when I most appreciated Kildare's Hamlet was when he was being funny, as in making fun of Polonius and Rosencrantz & Guildenstern. (What does that say about me?)

As for the play itself, on the whole it was pretty good. It was directed by Howard Jensen (who, incidentally, played Hamlet at the USF back in 1961). It was set on a raked stage, which - as I learned from one of those helpful seminars - was the set designer's attempt to show the imbalance of the Danish court. I don't see how one can walk around decently on a stage like that, but I guess one gets used to it. The set consisted of two side panels about 15 feet high (made to look like stone), depicting muscular winged men, nearly naked, holding up swords - I immediately thought of 1930s Nazi Germany, but I was told the set was inspired by the Holocaust Memorial in Washington, DC. Between these two panels was a recessed area with another panel of the same material at back with a bas-relief, larger-than-life crucifix. I thought at first it would serve as the chapel where Claudius attempts to pray, but it wasn't. They put curtains across its opening for Claudius and Polonius to hide behind; later, Polonius was stabbed through one of those curtains, and the Ghost appeared there during Gertrude's closet scene. They also used the area for exits and entrances. There was also a metal staircase stage right leading up to a balcony that extended the width of the stage, the balcony being supported (apparently) by the wall panels depicting the winged men.

The costumes looked like they were set in World War I era Europe (although someone told me it was supposed to be the 1920s). There were uniforms for the soldiers, naturally (but Fortinbras and his men wore red berets, which I thought made them look very modern), vests and jackets and baggy trousers for the civilian men, floor-length dresses for Gertrude (hers rather opulent as befits a queen) and Ophelia.

Photo of Claudius, a pouty Hamlet, and Gertrude, from the USF website

I was hoping that setting the play in that era, whichever it was, would give some added insight to the play, but it didn't to me (however, I'm pretty dull on picking up things like that on my own). On the other hand, it didn't detract, either, except that everyone carried rifles instead of swords and went around pointing them at each other. That made me kind of nervous. It's a lot easier for an itchy finger to accidentally shoot a rifle than for it to stab someone with a sword. Hamlet was reduced (in two senses of the word) to carrying a switchblade. He stabbed Polonius through the curtain with it four or five times - enough times to kill someone with a 4-inch switchblade, I guess, but I have no personal experience in those matters. What bothered me about it was that Hamlet never held on to Polonius, and it seemed to me that Polonius, after the first jab, could've run off, and I wondered what kept him from fleeing. Except that he wasn't supposed to.

Polonius was pretty good as the doddery, foolish type who didn't seem to care over-much for his children or anything else except serving the king.

Gertrude (Fredi Olster) was very good, as good as Kildare at speaking Shakespeare, except that her voice was a little too mannered in the closet scene. But it was interesting to see her change in feeling toward Claudius after that scene. You could tell that what Hamlet had said made a difference to her, and she and Claudius grew farther apart as the play progressed to the end. I thought at first that they'd even have her figure out that Claudius was trying to poison Hamlet and that she'd drink the wine on purpose to save her son, but they didn't do it that way.

Claudius and the Ghost were played by the same actor, and he did well enough. He had dark, slightly greying hair and a dark beard as Claudius, and wore a dark blue military uniform. As the Ghost, he wore a white tuxedo and had white hair and a white beard. I learned that the white or pale makeup was applied over his regular makeup, which had some sort of fixative (is that a word?) over it to keep it from getting messed up when the white stuff was removed. He had to do quite a few quick changes, and I was impressed with the timing of it all.

Ophelia deserves special mention, but everyone else ranged from adequate (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Horatio, and Laertes before he went to France) to slightly irritating (Fortinbras, Osric, and Laertes after his return from France).

Polonius and Ophelia, from the USF website

Other than Hamlet when he was being funny, Ophelia (Victoria Adams) was the one I felt the most for. She did well in the early scenes. Her description to Polonius of Hamlet's madness was somewhat by rote, meaning she did the whole "act it out while you tell it" bit and she didn't really sound too upset, as her words indicate she is. But her submission to her father (when Polonius says, "Look to it, I charge you" and she answers "I shall obey, my lord") was very sad, as was the nunnery scene with Hamlet. After Hamlet leaves her, when Claudius and Polonius come on to discuss whether Hamlet is mad or not, they both essentially ignore poor Ophelia, who is sitting there on the ground, dejected and rejected. I think here they missed an opportunity, though, to show Claudius' and Polonius' preoccupation with Hamlet as his behavior relates to their own survival at the sacrifice of Ophelia's emotional needs. She reached out her hand to her father, who said, "How now, Ophelia? You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said. We heard it all," but he didn't take her hand. She then gathered up her scattered, broken "remembrances" and exited too quickly. This could have been a more pointed, poignant moment, but wasn't.

It reminds me of something I think it was Bernice Kliman said, in her book about the various depictions of Hamlet, that one production she saw indicated that Ophelia overheard the king's and her father's plans for Hamlet, and that she understood he was being sent away to his death, and that this contributed to her madness. I almost thought they were going to do it this way, but Ophelia gave no indication that she even heard, let alone understood, what her father and the king were saying. Alas.

The Mousetrap scene, where Hamlet jests cruelly with Ophelia, was also well done - quite heart-rending reactions from Ophelia. Actually, and this kind of surprised me, it was her mad scene that was her weak point. She didn't seem mad, didn't even act mad. She acted like she was acting mad. The only convincing sign of her mental imbalance was that she wore a hideous purple dress - no one in her right mind would put on such an outfit.

And this brings me to another complaint I have. Ophelia changed into that dress for her mad scene, and Gertrude changed into a nightgown for her closet scene, but at no other time did any character at all have a change of costume! It really bothered me that, two months later (or however long it was) Ophelia and Gertrude were wearing the same old dresses, and Laertes came back from France in the same suit he left Denmark in.

The gravediggers were funny, but I think it would be hard to mess those characters up; you'd have to work at it. Anyhow, they bring me to my third (and last) major complaint. Ophelia's body was let down into a partially lowered trap door (about four and a half feet down, I'd say), then Laertes jumps in after her, wanting to embrace her one last time. Fine, I can handle that. Then Hamlet, not to be outdone, jumps in with a resounding thud, and he and Laertes have at one another, back and forth and back and forth within the narrow confines of the grave, and I'm thinking in shock, "Poor Ophelia! They're trampling her to smithereens!" I mean, I knew she wasn't there, because I could hear the wooden floor under their feet, but still . . .

The fight choreography for the duel was very good. My two younger children had gotten rather restless by that time, but they were riveted during the duel. Hamlet and Laertes fought up the staircase and across the balcony then back down again.

Everyone died well enough, but poor Hamlet and Laertes were so overworked from their duel that you couldn't help noticing them breathe.

Martin Kildare got a standing ovation from perhaps two-thirds of the audience, but not from me. First of all, I think there's ovation inflation, and second of all, good as he was, it just wasn't the best Hamlet I've ever seen.

This whole earth may be bored

After our wonderful experience with The Winter's Tale, my kids and I decided to go back to Cedar City the next year and see three of the Shakespeare plays in the 1997 festival schedule. Two of them were among my favorites: Twelfth Night and Hamlet. Twelfth Night had been a favorite of mine for over 20 years, and I had just recently come to appreciate Hamlet the year before, while preparing for Kenneth Branagh's 1996 film. The third was Pericles.

Because we were to see two of my favorites, and because I had enjoyed the low-budget Pericles I'd seen a few months earlier, not to mention our immensely favorable experience with The Winter's Tale, I really looked forward to our visit.

You know how when you're a kid and Christmas is coming, and you let people know very specifically what you want, and then you wake up all excited on Christmas morning and you're about to burst with anticipation and excitement, and then, after the presents are all opened, you feel horribly let down and about as crumpled in spirit as a piece of discarded wrapping paper because you didn't get anything you wanted plus you have to do the breakfast dishes?

Yeah.

The first play on our agenda, Pericles, I saw by myself. I thought the kids might be bored. I didn't reckon on my own boredom. Okay, to be fair, the costumes were fantastic. I read that there were about 145 of them in this production. And Gary Armagnac, who played Pericles, did very well. It was a pleasure listening to him speak. The guy who played Gower was good, too, and I think that's a real compliment because I think Gower can be a drag if you're not careful. But the women were a real disappointment.

The actress who played Marina looked good in the costumes (who didn't?), but when she opened her mouth it quickly became irritating, because her voice tended to shrillness. It was like she didn't have enough control for speaking clearly in a large space and had to resort to shouting, which did away with any modulation of tone or expression of emotion. Everything sounded the same. Everything.

I was also disappointed in Thaisa, who, besides Pericles, is my favorite character in the play. That's what happens when you see a really amazing performance of a character. It spoils you for lesser actors in the same part.

My last complaint was with the director, Michael Addison, and that's because of how the scenes of the attempted murder of Marina and her experiences in the brothel were handled. I didn't think they were harrowing enough. They were played farcically (a safer approach?), like, let's make the audience laugh and maybe they won't notice she's about to be violated. This is not to say that the Bawd and Boult can't be very funny characters, which they were, but it was hard to feel any real sympathy for Marina when her problems were treated as not much more serious than what you'd find in an episode of I Love Lucy . There never seemed to be any real threat to her. I thought it would have served the play and the character better to have the circumstances be a little more on the anxiety-inducing side.

Well, if only I were in charge.