Branagh's Labour's Lost: Too Much, Too Little, Too Late
2002; Salisbury University; Volume: 30; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês
ISSN
0090-4260
Autores Tópico(s)Shakespeare, Adaptation, and Literary Criticism
ResumoKenneth Branagh's Love's Labour's Lost (2000) can justifiably be called the De Lorean of film: something that looked good on the drawing board, but just didn't work in the execution. Presumably Branagh was hoping to appeal to a larger audience by including songs from the Golden Age of Hollywood musicals in his film version of one of Shakespeare's lesser-known comedies. Unfortunately, this ungainly hybrid is unlikely to satisfy either Bardolators (to borrow Harold Bloom's term) or lovers of Hollywood musicals. To quote the lyrics of a song, although mercifully not one from Branagh's film, this movie could be described as Too little, late. The first instance of too concerns the performances. Evidently Branagh hoped that if the cast appeared to be having a marvelous time, the viewers could be convinced that they, too, enjoying themselves. Thus Branagh has carefully coached the cast in the showbiz admonition to show plenty of eyes and teeth. The rictus-like grins with which the performers go through their paces, unfortunately, fail to convince that they really, really are deliriously happy. Worse, the perpetual smiles can and often do undermine the performances. Without doubt, the performer most guilty in this regard is Alicia Silverstone. This Valley Girl in Princess's clothing is Clueless when it comes to portraying the smallest degree of emotional depth or of comprehension of her character's personality. For example, when she arrives at the court of the King of Navarre (Alessandro Nivola), he commits a serious breach of protocol, refusing to allow her party entry into the palace. Although the text makes it perfectly clear that the Princess is indignant at the slight, Silverstone smiles sunnily at the King throughout her lines. Later in the same scene (Act 2, scene 1), she shows her deep displeasure concerning the dispute over Aquitaine by briefly ceasing to smile; moments later, with no indication that a significant affair of state hangs in the balance, she resumes her flirtatious simper. No royal umbrage has received a more inadequate treatment. Other performances also give us too much, although in a different way. The character of Don Adriano de Armado as portrayed by Timothy Spall is a case in point. Apparently Branagh counted heavily on the character of Don Armado to supply much of the comedy in the film since, although Don Armado is a relatively minor character, he retains a considerable portion of his lines from the text. Since Don Armado clearly fills the role of the stock character known as the braggart soldier, it is not surprising that his portrayal should be rather broad. Span's over-the-top and lamentably unfunny performance, however, succeeds only in appearing as strained as the omnipresent grins of the rest of the cast. Last but certainly not least in the category of too is the number of song and dance routines Branagh has chosen to include. No one can accuse him of being stingy with the musical numbers. Branagh and musical director Patrick Doyle give us hit tunes (eleven by my count) by musical greats George and Ira Gershwin, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, and Jerome Kern. If these numbers had been performed with the polish and verve of the Astaire/ Rogers musicals, such bounty might have been, despite the excessive cuts to the text, entertaining enough to be forgivable. Unfortunately, the scant three weeks allotted for rehearsals is all evident in the execution of the numbers. Compounding the problem, Branagh deliberately chose not to use professional singers and dancers; he states, [I wanted to invest the singing and dancing with the kind of particular understanding of character which an actor can bring. So I was happy to accept--even encourage-a certain in the singing and dancing provided it came from a very clear understanding of who the people were (Branagh).] This approach can work well; take, for example, the rawness Richard Harris and Vanessa Redgrave brought to their parts in Camelot (1967). …
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