The first thing to know about The Tragedy of Julius Caesar is that director Shana Cooper has unleashed it “like the dogs of war,” as Mark Antony warns, with such thought that it is extraordinarily well-spoken—not to say well-exhorted. Unlike too many stateside Bard renderings, the language is a pleasure to bask in.
The second thing to know (which perhaps should have been the first thing mentioned) is that the opening scene borders on the ludicrous. Rowdy cast members charge the stage in unwieldy white fright wigs, masks and frayed shorts and go into a threatening drill. The loud start could instantly put off the most tolerant observer on the worry that this is going to be another of those William Shakespeare takes determined to be as iconoclastic as all-get-out.
Taking in Sybil Wickersheimer’s set while waiting for the classic play to begin may have already put some (many?) observers on guard. This representation of Rome in the years 60-50 B. C. E. appears to be constructed of two- or three-storey high pieces of greyish drywall that’s been severely damaged in many places. (Throughout the two-hour-40-minute running time, pieces fall out, thereby symbolizing the political and eventual combat deterioration.)
So it will help to know that these early omens must be borne but not for too long—not unlike the foul weather on which the characters comment in gorgeous Shakespearean descriptions. and sound designer Paul James Prendergast and lighting designer Christopher Akerlind enhance with proper menace. Once Cooper’s actors start speaking the poetry and prose—if not trippingly on the tongue, certainly grippingly—things go quite well.
Okay, Raquel Barretto’s costumes also take some suspension of huh-what? Among the weird stomping, gesticulating savages first scoped come a few men in contemporary suits, and then more of the focal figures arrive in dullish jerseys and trousers. They resemble a road gang going about its sweaty business.
As a result, there are times when a spectator might think that this Julius Caesar—honored by the outstanding manner in which it’s declaimed—would make a surpassing radio play. But no, Cooper sees that a good part of it is worth watching as well as listening to.
Chalk that up to the performances of, to begin with, Jordan Barbour as Mark Antony, Brandon J. Dirden as Brutus, Matthew Amendt as Cassius (“lean and hungry look” has infrequently looked this lean and hungry), Rocco Sisto as Julius Caesar, and Stephen Michael Spencer as Caska. Even though Calphurnia (Tiffany Rachelle Stewart) and Portia (Merritt Janson) both fall to their knees before their domineering husbands, they, too, are not above deliberate hen-pecking. Granted, the circumstances do call for solid emoting.
Keep in mind that throughout Cooper intentionally directs all the players as furious. This translates, for instance, into not only Brutus’ eulogy after Caesar’s assassination being proclaimed in high dudgeon (and from atop the imposing wall) but also Mark Antony’s slyly understated rebuttal delivered in madman mode. When Caesar addresses the plotting Senators, he’s in extremis. Cassius and Caska excoriate unrelentingly. Perhaps only Cicero, played by Emily Dorsch and referred to as “she” is less than furious. (If Cicero is a she, why isn’t she called Cicera? Oh well, inconsistency is often more amusing than consistency.)
Strife is the order of the sinister day and night, and Cooper pulls no punches. She sees bloody times and consequently stages a very bloody “Et tu, Brute” sequence. Eventually, Caesar’s blood-soaked T-shirt is held aloft with the tear Brutus made exposed. She also contrives an especially brutal, bloody end for Cinna the poet (Galen Molk) when he’s mistaken by masked plebeians for Cinna the plotter (Armando McClain) .
Extremely instrumental during these segments is choreographer Erika Chong Shuch, who puts the cast through those opening paces but returns through the five acts (one intermission) to conjure several more mesmerizing routines. The most impressive are the battle scenes when the army Brutus and Cassius lead confronts the army Mark Antony and Octavius Caesar (Benjamin Bonenfant) head. It’s not that stylized battle is new for the many conflicts Shakespeare inserts in his works. It’s that Chong Shuch shapes them with such thrilling urgency. The opening number may startle too annoyingly, but those that follow are horrifically terrific.
Whatever the pros and cons of Cooper’s Tragedy of Julius Caesar, I had a reaction to it. I’d never experienced. It’s a marvelous play. That still stands. But is it a thoroughly well-written one? There I have to suggest it has drawbacks that never previously occurred to me.
The misgivings center around the reason for the conspirators planning their group murder. The word that presses them on is “ambitious.” Even after Caesar puts by the offered crown three times (not seen but accurately reported), they persist in believing him “over his skis,” as the current saying goes, if aiming to be king.
But is he? My take is that Shakespeare leaves it to the viewer/reader to take his (and the characters’) word on Caesar’s ambition. Only at the very end does Mark Antony explain that with the exception of “noblest Roman of them all” Brutus, the bloody knife-wielders were no more than envious. If so, Shakespeare doesn’t write them or Caesar plainly enough. Perhaps Shakespeare intended to render Caesar’s intentions as vague. If so, that places the noble Brutus in a questionable bind: Before taking his life, he regrets the repercussions of his act but not the considered impetus.
Never mind. This Tragedy of Julius Caesar is in sturdy hands for most of its course. That’s the good news from this forum.
Julius Caesar opened March 28, 2019, at the Polonsky Shakespeare Center and runs through April 28. Tickets and information: tfana.org
