Summary 
Traditional Roman tragedy executed with disparate emphases: on one hand a slowly paced, unemotional political drama, and on the other hand a witches-and-sorcery tale of evil influence. Neither works well, burdened with feebly choreographed battle sequences, an awkwardly impressionistic assassination scene, and the unintended comedy of a monstrous puppet as the ghost of Caesar.
Design
Directed by Douglas Campbell. Designed by Martha Mann. Lights by John Munro. Compositions by Louis Applebaum. Sound by Jim Neil. Battles choreographed by John Broome.
Cast
Stephen Russell (Caesar), Bradford Farwell (Octavius/Ligarius), Benedict Campbell (Antony), Jeffrey Renn (Lepidus), Ian Deakin (Cicero), Zaib Shaikh (Publius), Tom McCamus (Brutus), Stephen Ouimette (Cassius), Keith Dinicol (Casca), Robert Persichini (Cinna), Robert King (Flavius), Brad Rudy (Marullus/Artemidorus), Laurel Thomson (Soothsayer), Michael Therrialt (Lucius), Xuan Fraser (Pindarus), Chick Reid (Calphurnia), Lally Cadeau (Portia).
Analysis
Douglas Campbell directs a traditional Julius Caesar upon the expansive Festival Theatre stage at the Stratford Festival of Canada, replete with white-marble ionic columns upstage, sculptured eagles over entranceways, and an array of carpets, oil lamps, and hanging torches. A series of ropes and pulleys transform an elevated upstage platform into a besieged castle tower, and heavy curtains are draped over the balcony and from poles to become Brutus' battlefield headquarters. The Roman men, aristocratic in demeanor, wear colorful multi-layered robes with sashes and belts, while Calphurnia and Portia are clad in clinging - and revealing - gowns with bracelets, necklaces, and rings. General citizenry wear less colorful and more non-descript clothing but conceal themselves behind white theatrical masks to literally become a faceless mob.
Caesar, in a lush long-sleeved burgundy-colored robe and wearing close-cropped hair, is played by Stephen Russell as a stiff and precise sovereign, always seeming to be in thought and focused elsewhere, rather than on people or events around him. Extremely long purple banners hang from the upstage fly during the assassination scene. Once stabbed, Russell's Caesar staggers into the hanging drapery, twisting himself among the fabric, and finally falls to the stage as the banners break free and tumble down around and on top of him. The poetically impressionistic assassination plays as an oddity within the impassive period drama, and the peculiarity continues when the assassins gather around Caesar's corpse to bathe in his blood but merely cover their forearms with stringy red yarn intended to represent human entrails. The effect, far from a gruesome image of unity amongst murderers, is self-consciously arty and incongruous.
After a convincingly expert 3.2 manipulation of the masses by a shaggy-haired, full-bearded Antony - gladiatorial Benedict Campbell seeming as if he has just emerged from an arena within the Coliseum - the 4.3 appearance of a "monstrous apparition" is disconcertingly ridiculous. The apparition is simply an oversized white toga-clad Caesar puppet with long out-stretched arms. The puppet, with a sad expression behind a golden mask, thankfully does not speak, yielding to a ghostly return by Russell. Campbell stages the ensuing battle scenes more realistically but with a decided excess of stern-faced posing: soldiers in full armor stand around - onstage and throughout the audience - trying to appear menacing, stomping their feet and banging the shafts of their spears upon the stage to represent marching armies. Sound effects and trumpet flourishes resound amid much shouting, Campbell creating rather awkward stage pictures as soldiers and horsemen rush onstage then stop and pose, then rush off again.
Perhaps the production's most effective sequences are those most anachronistic and out of thematic tone with the rest of Campbell's concept. Campbell begins this rather stodgy Julius Caesar with sinister music among crickets chirping at night, lightning glowing in the distance, and faint peals of thunder. The eerie soundscape is enhanced by the appearance of a wild-haired and wild-eyed female Soothsayer, who with her pair of similar-in-appearance priestesses, seems as if she has just emerged from tempting Macbeth on the blasted heath. The three witches toss what appear to be human bones in a chilling game of chance or a sordid attempt at reading the future, and they appear later in the production, cackling to harass Caesar - "beware the ides of March!" - and accompanying the comical ghost-puppet to in turn harass Brutus. More effective - perhaps due to welcome subtlety - is the portrayal of Caius Ligarius as a wraith-like ghoul, hobbling along on two canes. The creepy character, emaciated with shoulders stooped, is thin of hair and wild of eye. The actor portraying Caius Ligarius pointedly doubles as Octavius Caesar - the opportunistic politician who fills the power void left by the murder of Caesar and the suicide of Brutus - and at the conclusion, he gives a chillingly sadistic smile in approval of the final cries for vengeance.
The leading roles, played by exceptional performers, vary in effectiveness in this production, with Brutus solid but overly restrained and undramatic. Tom McCamus portrays Brutus as a dignified politician, obviously articulate and intelligent, but in his expressionless demeanor he seems stoic to the point of icy boredom. Stephen Ouimette fares better as Cassius, not seething but at least earnest in his speeches, subtly apprehensive of the extremes to which his words take him, then guilt-ridden over what he has wrought. It is the best performance of the production, but apart from a relatively strong 4.3 in which Ouimette and McCamus clash and appear likely to come to literal blows, there is little chemistry between them. They seem to be acting in different plays, quite unlike the brilliant Waiting for Godot within the Festival's black-box space, in which McCamus and Ouimette charm and delight in their superb interaction.
The traditional scenic and costume design, coupled with a detached lead performance and emphasis on turgid political drama, certainly make for a less-than-compelling Julius Caesar. The confusingly passionless production disappoints, undermined by all the clumsy and protracted battle sequences and the undeveloped and inapt witches-and-sorcery subtext.