National Theatre Live: Coriolanus

Dear Readers,

While I love to do reviews of films, my heart really lies in theatre.  The stage provides a more intimate interaction between the audience and the performer.  There are fewer gimmicks, which causes the actor to carry a larger burden of the storytelling.  This, in turn, enables the audience to see more clearly both the actor and the character that he or she is animating.  Personally, I am most fond of more minimalist stage productions.  Place the person on the stage; do not overwhelm them with an overabundance of props, effects, or scenery.  Let the performance be about the character and how he relates with the story.  I had the privilege of enjoying just such a show at the end of January in the National Theatre Live’s broadcast of the Donmar Theatre’s production of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus.  The show was everything one could wish for in a play: well acted (for the most part), well staged, with an emphasis on character development.

When I first read Coriolanus, in preparation for viewing the performance, I was less than impressed.  I had just finished reading King Lear, and the contrast between the two plays was very obvious.  While Lear is subtle in the development of the characters and their motivations, Coriolanus was almost painfully obvious.  Each character’s motivations were clear from the outset: Volumnia by pride, the tribunes Brutus and Velutus by ambition, Menenius by fatherly affection, Cominius by nationalistic fervor, Tullus Aufidius by jealousy, and Caius Martius Coriolanus by honor and pride.  The remaining characters are less individuals, and function more in the fashion of a Greek chorus, outlining the various incidents and speaking with the voice of the masses.  Their motives are stark, and I was never under the impression that any individual was conflicted in his actions, but was simply acting according to the call of his nature.  Within the story, this personification of the characters makes sense, as the whole premise of the play lies upon Coriolanus’ inability to bow his nature to any inferior calling.  What the Donmar Theatre production was able to do was to round out the characters, giving them personalities beyond the most obvious trait of their nature, while at the same time retaining and emphasizing that dominant characteristic.  This was done through highly effective costuming, use of the theatre space, and moments “between the lines” of the original script.

The costuming for the show was brilliant: simple and effective in portraying each character as an individual, classical, but with a modern twist.  The characters of the chorus: soldiers, citizens, servants, and senators, played multiple parts, so their costumes were designed to change according to the status of the character: how a shawl was worn would distinguish a senator from a plebian.  This enabled the characters to play multiple roles without having to undergo an entire costume change, a necessary factor due to the rigorous pacing of the show and the rapid scene and set changes the venue calls for.  The costumes of the more important characters also emphasized their positions.  The most ambitious characters, Brutus, Velutus, and Volumnia wore more extravagant clothing: Brutus in a silk shirt, Velutus and Volumnia in purple.  Aufidius, Cominius, and Coriolanus all wore leather breastplates, bracers, and gloves to demonstrate their martial status and to separate them from the other characters on the stage.  The most distinctive costuming, however, was for Menenius.  A loved patrician, Menenius was costumed more modernly than most of the other characters, trousers and a cardigan covered by a moth eaten jacket and a long brown scarf.  The jacket had large pockets, which were constantly filled with papers.  Both the ragged nature of the costume, and the presence of the papers signify Menenius as humble and concerned about government, without seeming to be ambitious.  The highlight of the costuming, however, came with Coriolanus.  One of Shakespeare’s bloodiest plays, the impeccable changes in costume allowed Hiddleston to portray the character in bloody glory in fight scenes, then quickly return to regular clothing, despite the extremely brief nature of these costume changes.  This technique is used to particular effect at the end of the play when (spoilers) he is hung upside down and then has his throat cut.  The hanging enabled the costume designers to play a squib in the top part of the leather breastplate that Coriolanus wears.  When his “throat is cut,” the inverted position causes the blood in the breastplate to run over Coriolanus face and drip to the ground without actually dirtying the costume.  The resultant scene is dramatic and bloody, but also causes a minimum of repair and cleaning for the small cast and crew.

The single most brilliant and ironic uses of the costuming came in the scene in which Coriolanus presents himself to the people of Rome to beg for their “voices.”  As is traditional, Coriolanus appeared before the people in a “garment of humility,” in this case, a roughly woven tunic that came down to the knee.  The scene is a fascinating one, because Roman traditions calls for Coriolanus essentially to prostitute his body to the people of Rome, selling a glimpse of his battle scars for their “voices.”  This aspect is emphasized in the play by having the female chorus members be the ones to ask to see his scars, less than subtly indicating the sexual perversion of the scene.  The costumers, however, were able to add another dimension to this performance, by placing Hiddleston (recently named sexiest man of 2013) in a slightly transparent shift, then lighting him from behind so his naked legs could be seen underneath.  The (mostly female) audience joined with the voices of the people begging to see more, only to be denied by Coriolanus’ unwillingness to degrade himself for the common public.  It was a subtle twist, bringing the audience into a quick association with the plebian class before returning them to the perspective of the patricians, and I applaud costuming, lighting, and director for the artistic choice.

Not only was the costuming for the show excellent, but the use of the theatre space was highly effective as well.  The Donmar Theatre is a warehouse that was converted into a theatre; the space has a distinct character, but is lacking in much of the backstage and preparatory space usual to a theatre.  Because of this lack of backstage space, the show is limited in the use of scenery, and large props.  Instead of a curtain at the back of the stage, there was a simple blank wall with “Roman” graffiti projected onto it that changed according to the focus of the scene.  The stage itself was mostly bare, except for black chairs that were moved toward and away from the wall according to the needs of the characters, and a podium used in the senate and forum scenes to emphasize the political nature of the play.  The sparse background focused the performance on the characters, eliminating external distractions and subtly emphasizing critical moments.

What really drew the whole show together, however, were brilliant performances by the majority of the cast.  Both Elliot Levey and Helen Schlesinger were excellent in the role of Brutus and Velutus.  Because a woman played Velutus, the dynamic between the two tribunes was changed.  There was an added romantic aspect in their interactions, in which Velutus was the more powerful of the two, with Brutus acting the role of the obedient husband.  The relational nature of their mutual ambition enhanced the malevolence of their attacks on Coriolanus; instead of representing the opinion of the people and their hesitancy toward the proud soldier, the two tribunes seem to represent only their own interest, to the detriment of patrician and plebian.  The three standout performances, however, were from Deborah Findlay as Volumnia, Mark Gatiss as Menenius, and Tom Hiddleston in the title role.  Findlay did an excellent job portraying Coriolanus’ ambitious mother.  She brought a strength and dignity to the role that made Coriolanus’ affection and dependence on her seem natural.  Instead of portraying Volumnia as a bossy woman who intimidated and smothered her son’s natural character, she brought to life the similarity between the two, the indomitable sense of self that brooked no argument.  She has all the strength and ambition of Coriolanus, however, the position of women within her society has forced her to channel those characteristics into her relationship with her son, pushing him to achieve her ambitions and demanding obedience through the force of her presence.  In stark contrast, Mark Gatiss embodies the benevolent and good-natured patrician in his portrayal of Menenius.  While Volumnia is aggressive and unyielding, Menenius is amiable and affectionate; well liked and admired by members of every level of society.  He represents everything Coriolanus is not; humble and willing to compromise to achieve his goals.  A romantic relationship is hinted at between Menenius and Volumnia, and the two, while contrasted with each other, are also set up together in opposition to Brutus and Velutus; peerless ambition matched against indomitable self assurance, and the “voice of the people” versus the “voice of Rome.”  For the democratic viewer, the contrast is unsettling.  The models of democracy, the two tribunes, are self-serving rogues who alienate one of Rome’s most powerful defenders in order to preserve their own power.  While the audience might not like Volumnia and may find her overbearing, they cannot help but admire her indomitable will and her strength of character, and Menenius is both likeable and respectable, genuinely concerned about the fate of Rome, representing the ideal of a benevolent governing class destined to rule from birth.  What can be seen as the strength of tradition in an older generation like Volumnia and Menenius, however, is reduced to grossest pride when embodied in the younger form of Coriolanus.  A representative of the oligarchy forced to deal with increasing democratic power, Coriolanus is unwilling to compromise his beliefs, and is in turn broken by the newly empowered commons.  Tom Hiddleston does a brilliant job of bringing the soldier to life, and making even his abhorrent hatred of the common people seem reasonable and natural because of his situation.  He is also able to compellingly demonstrate subtleties in Coriolanus’ character; his love for his wife, his affection and respect for his mother, his respect for Aufidius as a soldier and his disdain for the tribunes as voices of the people, and bring together these various aspects into a single personality in whom the uncompromising character is both natural and admirable.  It is easy to see why those who know Coriolanus call him “Mars among men;” he, like the Roman deities, is a force, unable to act out of reason, but driven on by the sheer force of his personality, the physical embodiment of a single characteristic: what it is to be a great soldier.  Born into a warrior class, raised with the expectation of military glory, and shaped in the crucible of many wars, Coriolanus’ nature has been refined into a draught so powerful it cannot be diluted by watery words of wisdom from his friends, or even by his own reason.  And so the play draws on towards its dramatic conclusion, leaving the viewer with the terrifying belief that the hero had no choice; there is no way in which he could have acted other than as he did, any more than it is possible for lightning to strike other than the highest point.  In this way, he is the epitome of the classical hero: his greatest strength is also his deepest flaw, and by nurturing the one, he strengthens the other, enabling him to reach heights of greatest glory before flinging him down into the depths of tragedy and death. 

While most of the performances in Coriolanus were excellent, there were one or two that, especially in the contrast with the brilliance of their fellow performers, fell flat.  The first of these was Hadley Fraser as Aufidius.  Aufidius is a confusing character in the play; beginning as Coriolanus archenemy, then becoming his friend and ally, only to betray him in the final act of the play.  Part of this confusion can be clarified by understanding the intimacy of ancient warfare, and the relationship developed between soldiers as they faced each other in a personal struggle between life and death.  It is easy to understand how such men, who feel they have come to know each other across the points of swords, could come to be good friends outside of a battle.  This aspect, however, is never clearly emphasized in the play, causing Aufidius’ acceptance of Coriolanus to seem either a momentary hint of madness, or a despicable play to cause, not merely the death of his enemy, but the most violent and painful death he could envisage.  If all he sought was Coriolanus’ death, why pretend to be his friend, when Coriolanus obviously asked his help expecting and resigned to being killed?  His motivations, unlink those of the other characters, are not developed beyond the scope of the play, and thus, seem uncertain and shallow in comparison.

The second performance that was decidedly disappointing was Birgitte Hjort Sørensen as Virgilia.  While Coriolanus’ wife is not as strongly written a character as his mother, it is entirely possible to develop her into such a character.  Prolonged exposure to the strong presence of Volumnia, along with the struggle of coping with the loss of her husband could have created strength of character within Virgilia that would then have emerged in her confrontation with Coriolanus at the end of the play.  Instead, the character is left annoyingly flat: her only purpose seemingly to walk around the stage crying, and to kiss Coriolanus whenever he comes by.  It is no great feat of acting.  Indeed, half the girls in the audience of the show were thinking to themselves, “I can cry and kiss as well as the next girl… why not me in the next show?”  All around, it was a lackluster performance that failed to produce in the audience any affinity with or concern for the character.

I will finish by noting that this play is not for everyone.  The extremely graphic nature of the violence in the story is upsetting for those who are unused to the sight of blood in a dramatic production.  The play is long, requiring an intermission partway through, and because the modern ear is not used to Shakespearian language, it can sometimes be difficult to understand.  I would recommend reading the play before going to view it, if only to have an acquaintance with the main characters and the basic plot.  At the same time, if you are considering seeing the play because you admire the work of Tom Hiddleston or Mark Gatiss, or any of the other actors, but you are hesitating because it is Shakespeare, I would wholeheartedly recommend you go.  The greatest part of any Shakespeare play is seeing it performed, and when you know and admire an actor performing in that play, it provides a point of entry, a piece of the familiar as it were, to guide you into an unfamiliar culture or language.  Allow the brilliant performance of these actors to pull you in, and you may find yourself beginning to enjoy the wider world of Shakespeare.