Much Ado About Nothing

Performed at the Festival Theatre, Stratford, Ontario, Canada on September 14th, 2012

Summary Four stars out of five

A superlative Beatrice and Benedick, the former played with spirited vaudeville comedy touched with sadness, the latter with a proud intelligence blunted by adolescent petulance, upon a lavish South American-style stage. An exceptional entertainment with some strong supporting performances except for an uninspired Dogberry and a bland comic-relief Watch.

Design

Directed by Christopher Newton. Designed by Santo Loquasto. Lighting design by Robert Thomson. Compositions by Jonathan Morris. Sound design by Thomas Ryder Payne. Choreography by Jane Johanson.

Cast

Richard Brinsley (Dogberry), Michael Blake (Borachio), Stephen Russell (Leonato), Ben Carlson (Benedick), Juan Chioran (Don Pedro), Deborah Hay (Beatrice), Bethany Jilliard (Hero), Claire Lautier (Margaret), Roy Lewis (Verges), Gareth Potter (Don John), Andrea Runge (Ursula), Tyrone Savage (Claudio), Timothy D. Stickney (Friar Francis).

Analysis

Christopher Newton's main stage production of Much Ado About Nothing features a gorgeous, apparently Brazilian scenic design, dominated by a curving marble staircase at center stage that rises to an above left balcony. The graceful curve of stairs is flanked by a grand piano, potted palm trees, wicker chairs and tables, plus marble-like flooring and a three-dimensional backdrop upstage. The Brazil setting, although not developed beyond a heated ménage-à-trois tango dance between young set-changers, is well-used and pleasing to the eye. Newton begins with the sound effects of gunfire and galloping horses in the distance, as Beatrice emerges in the gallery and one of two piano-players plays a melody on the grand piano. Another keyboard, oddly enough, is just offstage, down left, sometimes used by the other pianist, and just before intermission both musicians find themselves on the same piano bench, stage-shocked at each other's presence as if within a burlesque revue.

Deborah Hay portrays Beatrice with a ditzy comical flair a la Lucille Ball along with a subtle sense of melancholy. Matronly and thin with curly hair, wearing a necklace and clutching a little book, she appears dangerously close to an old maid. She stands 1.1 halfway descended down the stairs, watching passersby and a pair of young waiters moving the piano offstage. When Benedick returns with his fellow soldiers 1.2, Ben Carlson's baby-faced Benedick puffs out his cheeks and sighs deeply at the prospect of encountering Beatrice - "there's her cousin" - but he and Beatrice immediately gravitate toward each other, physically switching places onstage as if in orbit of one another. Carlson's Benedick vents some frustrated anger by jerking an accusatory thumb at Claudio - "he's in love" - then lumbering like a moose in mock impersonation of him.

Played by an actual husband and wife acting team, the chemistry between Benedick and Beatrice is dynamic, and Benedick exits whistling 1.2, but Hay's Beatrice bests him during the 2.1 masque. The men wear animal masks and the women masks on long sticks, and the revelers dance to a jaunty piano score. Carlson's poorly disguised Benedick really only delivers an early insult - "my Lady tongue" - before being buffeted, and he stomps off in an adolescent huff.

The Hay-Carlson interaction is certainly the best feature of the show, but Newton culls some interesting supporting performances of the brothers Don Pedro and Don John. Gareth Potter's vaudeville-villain Don John all but twirls his mustache, silencing one of the piano players with a throat-cutting gesture 1.3 before dropping an animal carrier to the stage. After the animal inside emits a squeal, Don John gives the carrier a boot, then seethes in psycho-frustration when he fails to loosen his collar. He glares at the gangly musician in vested linen suit and straw hat, chasing him from the stage, then groans again when the piano player re-enters, intent on playing. Don John seems intimidated by the tall Borachio, in his fleece sailor's uniform: Potter's Don John smokes a cigarette European style from a black holder 2.2, and when he notices Borachio towering over him, he steps up onto the stage so he is taller than his henchman. Even more amusing, if very subtle, is Don John's eager pre-wedding presence, the only guest seated onstage in many rows of chairs for the marriage of Hero to Claudio, apparently looking forward to the emotional trauma and reality-show histrionics he has himself masterminded. Also well-executed is Juan Chioran's stately Don Pedro, an almost regal military commander with a booming voice, implacable even at Claudio's false accusations of stealing Hero: he calmly stands on the curving staircase 2.1, sipping champagne and quietly explaining until calls for "speech!" are made from fellow soldiers onstage. His barely-concealed glee at the trickery of the now love-struck Benedick is a delight: "we are Love Gods!"

The centerpiece eavesdropping scenes are the high points of Newton's production, with both Carlson and Hay providing engaging and funny moments. Contemplating love, Carlson's Benedick descends the stairs 2.3 with a demitasse of coffee as the set is changed - by a shirtless young man flirting with two young ladies, dancing with one then the other, before they both run off giggling and leave him by himself - sending a servant for a book but then ignoring it once it is brought. He addresses the audience directly, with knowing looks regarding the subtleties of love and relationships - "rich, she shall be" - his pomposity disappearing with the arrival of the Love Gods. Carlson's Benedick ducks and peeks over the stair railing at them, then drops and breaks his cup at the mention of Beatrice's love for him. At one point he dives headlong behind the stairs upstage - "oh!" - then crawls around to scurry back up the staircase like a monkey on all fours. Stephen Russell impresses in his understudying the role of Leonato - confused and rubbing his head in their trickery, his voice nervous and sometimes high-pitched - and the men exit in triumph, pumping their fists. Carlson leaps to his feet, pointing accusingly into the audience: "this can be no trick!" Hay's Beatrice follows, twitching visibly and blinking rapidly in poorly concealed anger that seems to border on revulsion as Carlson's Benedick crosses his legs and poses manfully.

The deceit of Beatrice is contrived by an increasingly confident Hero - in an interesting touch, earlier, she had turned to Leonato for her father's consent before kissing Claudio - who shoos away one of the piano players and instructs her accomplices. Beatrice's mid-stride shock on the stairs when hearing of Benedick's love for her is a laugh-out-loud moment, as she drops to the stairs in an amazing wide-eyed Lucille Ball-style pratfall, bouncing down several steps before stopping her bumpy descent by clutching the stair railing. Beatrice continues her bumbling, lining up behind a palm tree so poorly she is visible from either side, then crouching behind a wicker chair, her astonished expression visible through the weave as if through prison bars. After sitting a moment in stunned perplexity - her friends concealing laughter - Hay's Beatrice rises to the newfound emotions - "Benedick: love on!" - and gives a spinning dance move at the top of the stairs: "I...believe it!"

Less successful is the comparatively nondescript portrayal of Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, partly due to the exuberance of Carlson and Hay, but mostly due to the low-key portrayals. The humor is visual, costuming rather than performance: Dogberry sports brown and white wingtips, suspenders, checkered pants, a striped shirt, glasses and mustache, along with oiled-down hair and bow-tie; and Verges looks like a forest ranger and gifts the new Watchmen with big matching forest-ranger hats. Jokes prove flaccid - Dogberry points 3.3 at his eyes and advises the Watch to "be vigilant," so they show their understanding by nodding and gesturing to their own eyes - with but a few inspired moments, like when they bump the piano into a resounding chord while eavesdropping on the drunken Borachio and Conrade, or 4.2 when everyone whistles softly and looks away when Dogberry is called an "ass." The interval is placed after their 3.5 discussion with Leonato, being dressed in spats and tuxedo while suffering the foolish Dogberry.

Newton's production is fueled almost entirely by Carlson and Hay. The 4.1 disaster of a wedding includes Claudio calling Hero a "rotten orange" and shoving her violently into the first few rows of guests, tossing chairs aside as he pursues in a fury, and Carlson's Benedick delivers a droll "this looks not like a nuptial." Once alone with Benedick, Hay's Beatrice moves from angry - "I confess nothing" - to nearly hysterical - "kill Claudio" - to pleading, and although Benedick initially refuses - after a long pause: "so, farewell!" - he indeed complies with Beatrice's wishes. In 5.1 he seizes Claudio by the shoulders and shoves him backward, then brusquely hands Don Pedro a letter of resignation - "I can no longer be in your service" - and by 5.2 he is replacing the set-changing boy and his two girlfriends at the grand piano, plunking out chords and crooning a "God of Love" ballad that is so awful the passing-by Ursula must hold her hand over her mouth to conceal a giggle.

The happy ending comes after the contrition at the midnight memorial, Claudio and Don Pedro joined by monks with torches who chant and sing, eventually giving way to the straw-hatted piano-player and a jaunty tune as the mood - "another Hero!" - becomes celebratory. The final moments are fittingly Carlson and Hay, with Benedick unable to utter the word "marriage" and Beatrice struggling to lift her wedding veil, both to the amusement of the minister. They then play keep-away with each other's love poems, the incriminating papers held over heads and between legs, and when Benedick growls, "I will stop your mouth" he fails to do so because Beatrice kisses him first. The production concludes with some good-natured kidding, the Love Gods making bull horns with their fingers and grunting like great beasts, and Carlson's Benedick even offers the melancholy Don Pedro some suddenly sage advice: "get thee a wife."