Shakespeare Adaptations Mini-List Discussion + Suggestions

[bottled spider]

Three favourites:
The Tempest (Jarman, 1979). Fun, quick, tender, joyous. With Karl Johnson as the definitive Ariel, and Elisabeth Welch as Herself.
A Midsummer Night's Dream (Peter Hall, 1968). Helen Mirren! Judi Dench! Diana Rigg! Ian Holm! Ian Richardson! David Warner! Assisted by the most adorable & hilarious band of children playing the fairies.
A Performance of Macbeth (Philip Casson, 1979). An RSC production starring Ian McKellen and Judi Dench.

I'm honour bound to tout a couple Canadian productions:
King John (Barry Avrich, 2015). A recording of a live performance at the Stratford Festival. A traditional production -- period costume, a nearly bare stage of the kind that projects into the audience, text unabridged. Highly recommended for the excellent performances all round, and some deft staging. Impeccable comic timing/delivery where humour is warranted. It's a good play, very readable, nowadays regarded as minor, but from what I understand more popular historically.

(There's also a good Stratford Festival live recording of The Tempest with Christopher Plummer as Prospero. It's been a long time since I saw it, so I'd have to revisit it before commenting on it).

Private Romeo (Alan Brown, 2011). Romeo and Juliet set in a military academy, performed by an all-male cast. It begins with the cadets reading from Romeo & Juliet in class, and practicing lines in the hallways and locker rooms, but then weirdly morphs from rehearsal of the play to enactment of it. This would fall under Domino's category of So Perverse an Adaptation That Nothing Else Really Matters. I'll have to revisit it before deciding if it belongs on a top ten.

[therewillbeblus]

Romeo + Juliet (Luhrmann)
This is better then every other Luhrmann I've seen, but I suspect that is a technological concern more than anything else. This also makes much more clear his connection to Jarman's sort of queer experimentalism though his immature broism, compare this to the critical approach of Jubilee, is so annoying that it defeats what potential good could come from it. Also everyone is shouting all of the time and it is the most annoying thing ever.

This is spot on. There are some impressive ideas executed in form, but little else of interest. I like Claire Danes fine in her role but young Leo and the rest of the cast, particularly the offenders of this “immature broism” make too much of the runtime unbearable. It can’t help that I don’t particularly care much for the play to begin with, though its significance isn’t lost on me.

One of my favorite Shakespeare plays, and perhaps my favorite depending on the day, is Macbeth, for its depiction of the destruction of the psyche by way of isolating the individual from the social. In the promise of power, perspective narrows leaving Macbeth psychologically impotent and a vehicle of external harm. The way each adaptation chooses to explore the psychology in performance and action, as well as the degrees of destruction caused, is worth considering for effect, and the adaptions by Polanski, Welles, and Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood will all likely make my list.

Polanski flaunts an impressive production design and takes his time maintaining a pace that allows for characters to develop naturally. There is ample room for all elements to breathe, giving the space for actors to toy with idiosyncratic interpretations of minor expression in their performances, and providing a pretty faithful adaptation for a while. This film pulls no punches with the dark places it goes, and in one scene we are shown so many grisly images within such a short time span as all our ‘anti-protagonist’ characters stand or sit still in apathy. It’s a horrific scene that allows Polanski to shock as he does best, with a deliberate build making the flush of horror even more disturbing. The deviations from the play work effectively in their executions of brutal violence, and as the film progresses Polanski moves from a methodically slow pace to the shakily shot camerawork disrupting the safety in form of the first half. At the end, all bets are off for a safe and friendly adaptation, but this is for the best as it plays to Polanski’s strengths as well as the mood of the play perfectly.

I tend to like Welles’ adaptation more than most do, but that’s likely due to my love for Welles and the way he shoots films. Macbeth, more than most plays, and certainly more than the Henry IV (parts one and two), benefits from the disorienting camera tricks and sound design Welles is so strong at utilizing at the right moments to indicate psychological deterioration. He begins in the very first scene and never really let’s up, utilizing shadows and fog particularly well, though this is still one of his weakest efforts in both final product and technique, which still means it’s better than most films. Othello is a more striking adaptation and a better use of his skills, though Welles does amplify one of his signatures here to great effect. More than most Welles, the camera angles are sharper in their vertical degree, occasionally looking down from the heavens, but more often pointing upwards, not just capturing ceilings a la Citizen Kane but the skies, mountains, rocks, and castles that emphasize the mortality of man. The use of sets, specifically framing a character against the backdrop of these strikingly large figures seems to represent the futility and weakness of humans in their attempts to become gods, as well as the inevitable destruction by the physical, the inanimate object that will survive and remain strong long after the human death. Much more theatrical than a film, and though I like Welles’ acting in Shakespeare, he doesn’t convince as Macbeth as well as other actors who’ve taken the title role. Welles can play a madman but not to the specific degree this play calls for to be a true success.

Throne of Blood is one of Kurosawa’s best films, and while Mifune is excellent at exhibiting the acute paranoia of his character, it is Isuzu Yamada as our ‘Lady Macbeth’ that is forever branded into my memory. In one of the eeriest flat performances I’ve seen, she turns this film into the realm of horror for uncomfortably long increments of time in her calm interactions clashing with the anxiety of Mifune. There are several scenes that are showstoppers, like the entire mid-setpiece and the cleanup afterwards (here the implication of violence and its effects are arguably more horrific than if the violence was shown), to Yamada’s breakdown, and finally the famous arrow scene of the finale, which never gets any less intense especially with the knowledge of the dangers that went into its filming.

Of the three, I think Polanski’s may be the best adaptation, creative liberties and all, a complete shock upon a revisit as I expected it to fare the worst of the three. Whether or not it trumps the value I see in the respective elements of the other two films is questionable, but it has a fighting chance.

[knives]

Romeo + Juliet (Luhrmann)
This is better then every other Luhrmann I've seen, but I suspect that is a technological concern more than anything else. This also makes much more clear his connection to Jarman's sort of queer experimentalism though his immature broism, compare this to the critical approach of Jubilee, is so annoying that it defeats what potential good could come from it. Also everyone is shouting all of the time and it is the most annoying thing ever.

This is spot on. There are some impressive ideas executed in form, but little else of interest. I like Claire Danes fine in her role but young Leo and the rest of the cast, particularly the offenders of this “immature broism” make too much of the runtime unbearable. It can’t help that I don’t particularly care much for the play to begin with, though its significance isn’t lost on me.

I do want to give Peter Postlewaite credit for almost accomplishing the impossible task of doing exactly the sort of performance Luhrmann seems to want while also giving a real Shakespearian performance.

[therewillbeblus]

While he’s been in some questionable films, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Pete Postlethwaite give a bad performance. I appreciate actors who can do that blend of natural and Shakespeare, and would extend that skill to Ethan Hawke too, now having seen him in another adaptation.

Hamlet (Almereyda, 2000): One of my favorite plays, up there with Macbeth, this is another successful modern-set adaptation from Almereyda. While not as bold as Cymbeline on surface-level execution, I may prefer this film in its admirable creative liberties to manipulate the story to connect with present day anxieties. Choices such as reference to Denmark as a corporation have implications for how capitalism in modern America functions in oligarchical fashion. Similar to how Welles’ Macbeth pitted characters against large structures to reveal their powerlessness, objective and subjective unimportance, and fatalism, this film uses a production design of industrial, corporate, and technological iconography, photographed in flushed out stale colors, to create a displacement between human beings and their social world. Specifically striking is the “To be or not to be” speech while walking through a video store. The use of technology is intelligent in its function as barriers between accessing truth in discovering the intent of people, or really ‘knowing’ others or even ourselves, that Shakespeare is so talented at exposing. As Hawke watches himself and others in video footage, or listen to one another with audio surveillance equipment, it’s symbolic for how characters in the play see one another but through filters of inauthentic means, which reinforce isolation and preoccupations with ‘truth’ that are really cognitive distortions masking as that which they seek. While Hawke continues to demonstrate his ease at delivering Shakespeare’s language, I also like the supporting casting all around, from Bill Murray as Polonius to Kyle MacLachlan as Claudius. Between this and O, Julie Stiles reminds me of why she was such a sought-after actor during her more active years.

O (Tim Blake Nelson, 2001): I’ve always liked this adaptation of Othello, partly for the film itself but also for nostalgic gratitude, as it greatly helped me appreciate Shakespeare when I was in high school. The film serves as one of the best applications of Shakespearean concepts and story outlines into very realistic settings. The resentment spawned by male competitiveness, or as the result of not being seen or validated, is a powerful emotional response. Shakespeare noticed it and Tim Blake Nelson and his team execute it perfectly here. Hartnett is great as the bruised, portraying a character both sympathetic and deserving of our own resentment. By giving him the voice opening the narration and initiating the story through his perspective, we can’t help but align with him even slightly by design. It’s an uncomfortable angle to shift the play in for us but more impressive for how it pulls this off. I love Welles’ Othello, far more than his Macbeth, but this may be the best adaption of the work, and will surely land a spot on the upper ranks of my list.

[ando]

Very intriguing thread so far with much to respond to, but I'll work my way backward.

Choices such as reference to Denmark as a corporation have implications for how capitalism in modern America functions in oligarchical fashion. Similar to how Welles’ Macbeth pitted characters against large structures to reveal their powerlessness, objective and subjective unimportance, and fatalism, this film uses a production design of industrial, corporate, and technological iconography, photographed in flushed out stale colors, to create a displacement between human beings and their social world. Specifically striking is the “To be or not to be” speech while walking through a video store. The use of technology is intelligent in its function as barriers between accessing truth in discovering the intent of people, or really ‘knowing’ others or even ourselves, that Shakespeare is so talented at exposing.

Well, you've pinpointed the film's major conceit and chiefly why it doesn't work for me. First of all, I don't believe Shakespeare was interested in knowing the truth of people as much as he was having fun watching how people behaved in unusual circumstances. The problem I have with modern adaptions is with their consideration of inherited power and kingly status (monarchy) vs. contemporary power structures and community. The oligarchy argument might work for me if Shakepeare's play was called Denmark, not Hamlet, but the play considers how the succession of a single seat of power and authority is implemented when the rules of the society which support it are violated from within. It's no accident that it was written toward the end of the reign of Elizabeth I, who had no clear successors and subjects who were increasingly anxious about the future of their country. Now, of course, European princes, barring wars, kept power within their extended families, I grant you, but the singular state is what is continually at threat in Shakespeare's Hamlet, particularly the corrosion from within. The displacement you speak of in Almereyda's film is an extension of the abstraction of the self disintergration in Will's play. I don't see the power of the oligarchy explored as much as I see the increasing fragmentation of any notion of self. Of course technology, its intrusive pervasiveness and inevitable failure in producing a cooperative, would figure prominently in a film where the monarchy (or, the soverignty of the self as an existential corollary) is shelved. And, for me, without the prospect of a disintergrating state in the particular form of monarchy the story loses much of its force.

O (Tim Blake Nelson, 2001): I’ve always liked this adaptation of Othello, partly for the film itself but also for nostalgic gratitude, as it greatly helped me appreciate Shakespeare when I was in high school. The film serves as one of the best applications of Shakespearean concepts and story outlines into very realistic settings. The resentment spawned by male competitiveness, or as the result of not being seen or validated, is a powerful emotional response. Shakespeare noticed it and Tim Blake Nelson and his team execute it perfectly here. Hartnett is great as the bruised, portraying a character both sympathetic and deserving of our own resentment. By giving him the voice opening the narration and initiating the story through his perspective, we can’t help but align with him even slightly by design. It’s an uncomfortable angle to shift the play in for us but more impressive for how it pulls this off. I love Welles’ Othello, far more than his Macbeth, but this may be the best adaption of the work, and will surely land a spot on the upper ranks of my list.

Nice. I'm about to watch it again (seemed impossible to find a decent streamer; luckily APrime (STARZ) currently has it for a spell). Thanks for the reminder. I still favor Olivier's minstrel monstrocity mostly because I feel the play is one - so it gets what it deserves, but O is definitely a frequently overlooked film which remains intriguing.

[therewillbeblus]

The displacement you speak of in Almereyda's film is an extension of the abstraction of the self disintergration in Will's play. I don't see the power of the oligarchy explored as much as I see the increasing fragmentation of any notion of self. Of course technology, its intrusive pervasiveness and inevitable failure in producing a cooperative, would figure prominently in a film where the monarchy (or, the soverignty of the self as an existential corollary) is shelved. And, for me, without the prospect of a disintergrating state in the particular form of monarchy the story loses much of its force.

I appreciate your response ando! Those are fair criticisms of the modern-day adaptations. I wasn’t very focused on the monarchy angle, but just offered it as an example, nor do I think the film was too focused on it either. Most of the feeling of capitalism came from its isolators in technology and, as you say “increased fragmentation of any notion of self” which hits on some of the existential themes I believe technology helps facilitate in the film. However, I did think the presence of technology and other details from the modern industrial setting served as a powerful barrier between the characters. I tend to view Shakespeare in terms of psychology and the relationship between the individual and the other people and forces in their social environment, though in that process I often miss other themes that may not work in these adaptations, which is why I always appreciate more well-versed users fleshing out the work and allowing me to see the other focal points for analysis.

Henry V (Branagh, 1989): Not one of my favorite plays but Branagh delivers a competent film. My favorite scene in the play, where he figures out the plot against him and switches attitudes from playing dumb towards a merciless tirade revealing many capabilities, is done well but as you’d expect from Branagh’s pretty serviceable but not particularly striking style at tackling the Bard.

Much Ado About Nothing (Whedon, 2012): Black and white cinematography aids in stripping this film of any visual distractions so that we can focus on the language and character dynamics. The film is sharpy photographed and the actors all play their parts quite well. I enjoyed this far more than I anticipated. I have no idea if this is the best version out there of the play, as I haven’t seen any others, though I hear the ‘93 version is quite good, but this worked well for me. Here the modern setting isn’t too intrusive, mostly expressed through dress, the architecture of the house and briefly changing some background plot details; however since the relationship dynamics are center stage this hardly matters.

I’m not well-versed on this play, but Whedon seems to have effectively combined some characters into one to make the film work better. I’d love to hear anyone’s thoughts as to how this does or doesn’t work, here or in other examples where a filmmaker combines characters to in an attempt to make the adaption more successful.

[ando]

I tend to view Shakespeare in terms of psychology and the relationship between the individual and the other people and forces in their social environment...

Well, you're quite right in doing so, especially with regard to the pervasiveness of technology in contemporary life: it's intrusion in private affairs as seen in Almereyda's film mirrors the presence of actual bodies eavesdropping on proceedings at court in Kozintsev's 1964 version of Hamlet - a perverse and comical touch not found in the Olivier wartime version by which it's obviously influenced. Almereyda, however, is deadly earnest which casts a somber pall over everything. It doesn't help that many of the actors whisper lines meant to be declamatory - and in confidence with each other - they're often delivered like bizarre and embarrassing confessionals: Big Brother Hamlet. Works for some, evidently!

Henry V (Branagh, 1989): Not one of my favorite plays but Branagh delivers a competent film. My favorite scene in the play, where he figures out the plot against him and switches attitudes from playing dumb towards a merciless tirade revealing many capabilities, is done well but as you’d expect from Branagh’s pretty serviceable but not particularly striking style at tackling the Bard.

This is one of my favorite Shakespeare films - and one of the few that I attended upon its initial theatrical run. It's Branagh's most successful Bard film, imo, chiefly because the older, vicious, almost choleric Henry suits Branagh's own temperament (much like his Jimmy Porter in the 1989 film, Look Back in Anger or his Benedick in the 1993 film, Much Ado About Nothing) and the vision (the look of Oliver Stone's Platoon weighing heavily) with which he conceived the project is well realized.

[ando]

Throne of Blood is one of Kurosawa’s best films, and while Mifune is excellent at exhibiting the acute paranoia of his character, it is Isuzu Yamada as our ‘Lady Macbeth’ that is forever branded into my memory. In one of the eeriest flat performances I’ve seen, she turns this film into the realm of horror for uncomfortably long increments of time in her calm interactions clashing with the anxiety of Mifune. There are several scenes that are showstoppers, like the entire mid-setpiece and the cleanup afterwards (here the implication of violence and its effects are arguably more horrific than if the violence was shown), to Yamada’s breakdown, and finally the famous arrow scene of the finale, which never gets any less intense especially with the knowledge of the dangers that went into its filming.
questionable, but it has a fighting chance.

Agreed that TOB is one of K's best. Yamada's Asaji nearly derails the forward pace of the film, however splendid the scenes which feature her are. I feel the Noh treatment works better with the witch in Cobweb Forest than with the wife of Mifune's Washizu, who is traditionally an ally in Macbeth's reach for power. She's comes across almost as a foil to his secret ambition to reign supreme as her advice appears closer to "the instruments of darkness" than would benefit Washizu. But perhaps K wanted to show that the two were indistinguishable - or that darkness ultimately comes from within. Perhaps the whole ordeal is merely a flowering of what was dormant in their marriage all along. K certainly goes further in Shakespeare's exploration of the marriage by having Asaji inform (or fabricate to) Washisu of her pregnancy. Nothing comes of it, of course, but that move at least reinforces her allegiance to him.

What does work beautifully is the mental chess between Washiru and Miki (Macbeth and Banquo, respectively) played out in front of the forts. The silences between the suspicious Miki and the scheming Washizu are eerily palpable. That apect of the play is played down in the Polanski and Welles' film versions, which follows, as Kurosawa has Washizu driven paranoid by the serpentine Asaji.

[therewillbeblus]

Agreed that TOB is one of K's best. Yamada's Asaji nearly derails the forward pace of the film, however splendid the scenes which feature her are. I feel the Noh treatment works better with the witch in Cobweb Forest than with the wife of Mifune's Washizu, who is traditionally an ally in Macbeth's reach for power. She's comes across almost as a foil to his secret ambition to reign supreme as her advice appears closer to "the instruments of darkness" than would benefit Washizu. But perhaps K wanted to show that the two were indistinguishable - or that darkness ultimately comes from within. Perhaps the whole ordeal is merely a flowering of what was dormant in their marriage all along. K certainly goes further in Shakespeare's exploration of the marriage by having Asaji inform (or fabricate to) Washisu of her pregnancy. Nothing comes of it, of course, but that move at least reinforces her allegiance to him.

What does work beautifully is the mental chess between Washiru and Miki (Macbeth and Banquo, respectively) played out in front of the forts. The silences between the suspicious Miki and the scheming Washizu are eerily palpable. That apect of the play is played down in the Polanski and Welles' film versions, which follows, as Kurosawa has Washizu driven paranoid by the serpentine Asaji.

This is another very helpful dissection of themes and how each film plays into or ignores elements of the play! Re: ToB, I like your questions posed, and there’s probably more to unpack from them, but I always took Yamada's advice as “instruments of darkness” to be exactly that: her stance is another example, along with many variables in the film that push Mifune into the fate of madness that he was dealt with the prophecy. He doesn’t take as smooth a path to flow into the state of paranoia and cognitive dissonance, but rather all these outside forces more aggressively push him into that state. There are many moments in the film where Mifune acts like a classic protagonist in a horror film, aghast at the direction he is being driven towards but unable to stop or escape the hands of fate. His wife as conspirator is a very intense example because he’s trapped with her, unable to achieve reprieve from her presence or influence. By using the metaphor of magic and enchantment to preclude the paranoia of power, the film works precisely because Mifune tries to resist cognitive dissonance as long as he can, thus forfeiting naturally progressing psychological deterioration for this mechanism grating against one’s conscious will, making it far more horrific and unconventional of a reading for this process.

[ando]

By using the metaphor of magic and enchantment to preclude the paranoia of power, the film works precisely because Mifune tries to resist cognitive dissonance as long as he can, thus forfeiting naturally progressing psychological deterioration for this mechanism grating against one’s conscious will, making it far more horrific and unconventional of a reading for this process.

Haha. What's that quote from Bela Tarr's Damnation (Kárhozat); (paraphrasing) "People are either in a state of disintergration or resurrection". Well, I can't say that the psychological recourse that you suggest Washizu takes would ever veer in the direction of a resurrection (though Shakespeare's second meeting of the king and witches works like an emotional resurrection) but it's true that, aside from Asaji's "fake news" Washizu uses, really, whatever strange or unusual befalls him (the jarring bird infestation, for instance) as a sign to resist the inevitable end. But, to me, it has always seemed more foolhardy than horrific, or even "tragic", that Macbeth starts grasping at straws to validate and reassure himself and those who remain loyal to him that his reign will endure. One of the mistakes, I believe, that Orson Welles makes with his Macbeth after he becomes king is to make him into something of a drunken buffoon. And only when he he realizes that he is the victim of his own machinations (hiring incompotent cutthroats who bungle his assasination order) that he completely succumbs to the juice and becomes truly pitiable. Then he's merely a wretch. Kurosawa never does that to Washizu. Mifune plays him, certainly, as self-deluding but never does he descend to pitiable - which is why his comeuppance is so powerful.

[therewillbeblus]

Good points! I think it’s less pitiable and more self-deluding overall yes, and most of the horror I’m talking about comes from his keen awareness as he snaps into reality at certain moments and comes face to face with the disintegration rather than fall under its spell gradually unaware. It’s not particularly “tragic” or “horrific” in regards to what happens to Mifune, definitely feeling “foolhardy” as you say, but my point is that these moments with Yamada emphasize the ‘horror’ in isolated moments in parts of the process vs ‘horrific’ as a term of encompassing his fate. Horror here marks steps on the path not the end result.

[ando]

I see. On the subject of "horror" it's interesting that we do not see the initial murder as Macduff has when he returns from Duncan's stabbed corpse with the words on his lips. Nor, do I believe, are we meant to. It's one of the theatrical violations that Polanski commits with his film. How does the film benefit from the showing? We have to retain some sympathy, yes, for even the murderous Macbeth - after all, Shakespeare knew that Elizabethans would certainly chalk half of his imputus to kill to witchcraft. Modern audiences (who go to Shakespeare productions, anyway) need something more than the wish to screw (or be screwed by) him, e.g. Jon Finch's Macbeth, in order to retain sympathy for the usurping thane. Watching him do it makes us complicit, not sympathetic with his grasping.

[ando]

Private Romeo (Alan Brown, 2011)...This would fall under Domino's category of So Perverse an Adaptation That Nothing Else Really Matters. I'll have to revisit it before deciding if it belongs on a top ten.

I've got a suggestion for Domino's category that would make PR look tame by comparison. Not that I dislike the boy-boy romance but the actors are clearly not experienced with verse - or movement, for that matter, so our fun (those who know Romeo & Juliet, anyway) is somewhat limited. I'd argue that one of the most perversely pleasurable film takes on The Bard is Peter Greenaway's Prospero's Books.



John Gielgud, as (nearly) the sole voice in the piece dubs all the roles, struts and parades as Prospero - the exiled Duke of Milan, tempest-tossed on an unknown island where his only possessions (aside from magnificent robes and fancy head gear) are his books. The story of The Tempest is still in place but Greenaway's curiosity about and exploration into what the Duke's books contain is all fun. The film proceeds along the lines of a rolling tapestry, mimicking the experience of reading several of Prospero's fantastic tomes; Shakespeare's text is interwoven with an itinerary and brief description of the books that come alive through (frequently nude) human figures, inanimate objects and animals of all kinds that pass before us as the adventure unfolds. The late Roger Ebert was probably right when he wrote that the film "exists outside criticism" but the narrative is very much in tact; just re-imagined, embellished and embalmed like the old wizard's books might have been in Shakespeare's head and boasting one of the most fun soundtracks in the English language.

[therewillbeblus]

Perhaps it’s novelty but after reading King Lear several times in the last four days I’m ready to declare it my new favorite Shakespeare play. Both a tragedy and comedy, Kent and the Fool steal scenes, as does Lear himself, and the prose is far more accessible and exciting than the majority of what I’ve read. The way the story moves and characters deeply connect and reconnect as well as scorn allows for some optimism to combat the nihilism. This may be tragic and bleak and certainly the filmic adaptations demonstrate this feeling, but the play also read as a beautiful and humanist work to me. The Fool especially serves as the wisest character in the play (hardly an original thought) and the way he uses riddles to provoke existential irony is intelligent and far more thematically dense to analyze in only a few readings. The key to the film’s themes are in his words, and while many of these thoughts are non-answers, that’s true to life in the lack of clarity or tangible applicability many actual ‘truths’ bring. This vague attitude mirrors Lear’s misreading of placing his value in tangible surface-level expressions of love and devotion that marks his end. This feels less like a deconstruction of the family and people as selfish and untrustworthy, and more of a deconstruction of the tools we use to measure trust, affection, love and other intangible emotional connections with tangible means. As the Fool demonstrates, providing a clear tangible answer to wrap this up with a neat little bow is impossible, so we are left with a presentation on the complexity of internal psychology, the impossibility of achieving our wants and needs through the means we have, and the difficulties of finding and holding onto connection with others, rather than a solution to this issue that plagues us all. Lear’s worldview of meaning is shattered by the only real truth which is that the ‘truth’ we know is not truth.

Peter Brook’s 1971 adaptation is excellent for the acting and as a faithful text, but most interesting are the camera choices as Brook makes filmic decisions on how to frame and capture moments that are not very theatrical in their technique. The angles ranging from god’s eye looking down, to claustrophobic close-ups and the blocking of actors, all work effectively to emphasize the speaker or subject’s emotion by way of physicality and space. Brook seems to have a deep understanding of the significance to meditate on in each scene and every shot feels deliberately planned and executed perfectly. The film is also terribly bleak, with even the comic moments containing a bite of seriousness to them. Even if this is not how I chose to read the play (which allowed for more mood switching to dark comedy in parts) this is an appropriate reading that makes sense within the tough and brutal physical and psychological atmosphere of the story.

Kurosawa’s Ran always affected me in the execution of its expansive vision, which is impossible not to impress, but not in many other ways. After reading King Lear, I can appreciate its thematic value more, especially in its view of human nature as brutal, and connectivity between invisible sociological customs, even the concept of family, as weak. The theme of the rules, or rather absence of rules, from the natural world and our socially constructed world within is emphasized in both outside scenes with characters commenting on, or interacting with, physical nature, and in inside man-made spaces. The fact that the same attitudes and actions are present in both is significant, and I appreciated the use of physical nature here to stretch the scheme to further explore the themes of the play. This film certainly made me wonder if this idea works to signify an absence of god or man’s suppression of god, more than the play did. Kurosawa’s take is quite nihilistic and the battles look like those that would take place at the time of Shakespeare’s plays. I was grateful for the amount of time spent with the older man trying to interact with or understand the younger generations and this changing world, and this relationship between a man and uncontrollable nature is far more interesting than if the focus had been solely or more pointedly on his relationship with his sons, or other humans. This is still present, but by giving space to that more existential focus the film succeeds in these meditative aspects of the play. Tatsuya Nakadai’s face and general demeanor reveal a man who’s lost any grasp on signifiers of value in an environment he doesn’t understand, resulting in a striking presentation on powerlessness, for the power that comes with cognitive and philosophical comprehension vs the tangible qualifiers of power.

And now for Godard’s film…



King Lear (Godard, 1987)
I don’t really know where to start. There’s definitely a thread of commentary on isolation in the self and the image, attempting to freeze the image to stop the inevitable manipulation that comes from the image’s movement, and “attempting to discover what is lost” by our main character. One could extend this to an attempt to create something tangible from the intangible, creating a fantasy in attempt to uncover truth. Still images are falsehoods, those measures taken to become gods, freeze and control time and attempt to assign meaning to something which is artificial, yet the image is of something real.

In a way this is the ultimate film adaptation of Shakespeare on a meta-contextual level, a bridge between art and its signifiers (film, words) and reality. This bridge according to Godard is “no thing.” Making a film is an attempt to make truth tangible, and Godard understands the futility while continuing to try because, well what else is he going to do? In a way, he acts as the Fool, and perhaps always has: providing non-answers to prove the falsehoods inherent in answers. Asking the questions is what’s important but seeking answers even when there are none that are tangible is human nature. Godard has been trying to re-invent film to discover truth, and perhaps still is, ever since Weekend. Thus Godard embraces hypocrisy in the irony of existence through an art form that can combine all intangible elements of expression to try to express meaning tangibly.

The only truth he arrives at in his film is the same as we get from Shakespeare’s play, that of the emotion provoked from the image, from that which cannot be created. Lear eventually, and Cordelia first, find truth only in authentic emotion that can’t be put into words. Their social systems cannot create truth and are not themselves created by god, neither is the image an objective source of truth. Only subjectivity is true. “Nature is above art in that respect.” We get a lovely scene toward the end of our protagonist in the trees watching a bird that we’ve only heard off screen the whole film, finally in nature outside of closed spaces and embracing the image, provoking that emotion. Then we get close ups of flowers, beautiful and full of color that’s been drained from most of the film, provoking more emotion. But then the irony seeps back in (unnaturally, Godard’s attempt to control the image again) as we see Shakespeare the 5th’s hands move into the frame and start crafting these flowers, putting petals on, trying to create nature, that which cannot be created, like the image. And back to bird calls off screen. In the end perhaps Woody is holding “the present, the future, and the past” in the physical tangible film, but it means nothing in the shots of his hands fondling this film, nothing without that emotional provocation, useless without subjects to give it subjective meaning.

In an effort to halt redundancy, I’ll stop, but there’s so much to analyze in this film not only in relation to Godard’s own intentions but those intentions in conjunction with Shakespeare’s and the themes of this work in particular, beyond the few pages actually adapted, layers of symbiosis. I’d love to hear other people who are admirers of both Shakespeare and Godard’s film comment on this work, or tell me if I’m completely off base in my analysis. What a rabbit hole the dissection of false truth brings, no wonder the king went mad!

[Mr Sausage]

Kurosawa’s take is quite nihilistic and the battles look like those that would take place at the time of Shakespeare’s plays.

I thought so too, but pretty much no one agreed.

Oh, and David Bevington has died.

[ando]

Oh, and David Bevington has died.

Thanks. I was never a follower of Bevington but I just picked up his Shakespeare's Ideas and - in lieu of the thread topic - here he is discussing contemporary film versions of Hamlet.

[bottled spider]

King Lear (Trevor Nunn, 2008).
Made for television, adapted from a theatrical run. Nominally set in Imperial Russia, using minimal sets.

The villains stick it to the goody two-shoes with gratifying relish. Rather fun, all things considered.

Recommended for the excellent performances from most of the cast: Lear (McKellen), Edmund (Philip Winchester), The Fool (Sylvester McCoy), Goneril (Frances Barber), and Cornwall (Guy Williams). Oswald, Gloucester, Regan, and Cordelia are also good. The two weakest performances are Edgar (a difficult role) and Jonathan Hyde as Kent, who has a rather antiquated manner of speechifying.

10 Things I Hate About You.

No.

[Michael Kerpan]

therewillbeblus -- Hope you can also track down Kozintsev's Lear (probably my very favorite Shakespeare adaptation).

[domino harvey]

10 Things I Hate About You.

No.

But Alex Mack's belly-baring prom dress is peak Delia's catalog 90's A E S T H E T I C, a detail Shakespeare would have surely included in the source text had he been a true artist

[knives]

It's definitely the only version of Taming of the Shrew I'll vote for since Kiss Me Kate is ineligible. I think it is a great movie and one of the best version of that updating lit classics to bubblegum which was so popular in the '90s.

[swo17]

I thought the last domino said was that he needed to rewatch it before ruling on eligibility

[bottled spider]

I think it is a great movie and one of the best version of that updating lit classics to bubblegum which was so popular in the '90s.

You're confusing '10 Things I Hate About You' with 'Clueless'. '10 Things I Hate About You' was the one with the terrible acting, incoherent characterization, and cringe-makingly lame attempts at comedy.

[bottled spider]

Cymbeline (Almereyda, 2014): This was just terrific, and undeserving of its critical dismissal. Almereyda gets your blood pumping right away from one of the best beginnings to a film I've seen lately, using the opening credits, or rather the introduction of story points, bluntly spliced with brief images of the characters set to a mild yet creeping intense beat, effective in its foreboding. The cast is great, with Hawke showing a particular knack for taking this material and making it feel natural, which makes sense since he’s been doing Shakespeare and theatre for a long time. The brooding intensity of the cinematic choices, especially using still shots with little camera movement and an intrusive sound design, is everpresent, and the decision to condense the play into 90 minutes creates a rapid pace that just barely keeps up with the presentation of new characters and plot twists spun throughout the narrative. Choosing to utilize Shakespeare’s language in this gritty modern setting emphasizes its power in juxtaposing the well-spoken intelligence of speech and thought with the violence and thin moral coating of these characters, exposing the meaning behind these words in eliminating realistic aspects by aggressively breaking the laws of film. Never has it been so fiercely apparent from an adaptation of one of his plays how little it takes to break trust and project anger with action against those who have unknowingly, or often who we have misperceived as having, attacked our egos.

Yeah, I was surprised to find that both the critical and public response to this were generally lukewarm or hostile. I just watched it again tonight, and was even more impressed than before. Even if this were set in a language I don't speak and unsubtitled, it would still be visually and aurally arresting. The play itself seems very good in plot and language, and I'm itching now to read it and savour some of the individual lines. I hated Almereyda's Hamlet for much the same reasons that Ando gave, but this one will make my top ten. Maybe being a late play and a Romance makes it better suited to the Almereyda treatment than the more "classical" Hamlet, maybe the cast is stronger, or maybe Almereyda just got better. Regardless, it's good to see a fellow enthusiast.

[therewillbeblus]

Even if this were set in a language I don't speak and unsubtitled, it would still be visually and aurally arresting. The play itself seems very good in plot and language, and I'm itching now to read it and savour some of the individual lines.

I haven’t read the play, nor am I even remotely on the verge of being a Shakespeare expert, but it seems that many consider this to be a weaker play of his, though modern re-evaluations (Harold Bloom?) have hypothesized that it’s Shakespeare being self-reflexive in poking fun at himself. This reading is interesting especially considering that

SpoilerShow

the play is essentially a combination of several of his own tragedies but ends like his comedies, with deux ex machina and happy endings for all.

This idea allows the play, and the film, to work for me even more, especially considering its audacious potency. With all the elements so wonderfully exaggerated, it’s a fitting depiction to take itself both seriously and bare itself naked as perhaps the most fantastical execution of one of the Bard’s most fantastical plays. I’ll have to read it for myself, but I like the possibility of that dual reading.

[knives]

I think it is a great movie and one of the best version of that updating lit classics to bubblegum which was so popular in the '90s.

You're confusing '10 Things I Hate About You' with 'Clueless'. '10 Things I Hate About You' was the one with the terrible acting, incoherent characterization, and cringe-makingly lame attempts at comedy.

Clueless is the best. I said one of the best. If just for Larry Miller 10 Things gets my vote.