For a person like me who grew up surrounded by terribly boring (Italian) books, lacking the taste for the irony of life, too often preoccupied to be serious pieces literature than to venture into more less formalistic realms, Shakespearean plays exerted an incredible fascination. Though the settings were quite alien to me, because they were too far in the past even, I felt the characters were very relatable in the terms of their passions. And what I couldn’t understand rationally I could simply enjoy by diving into the liquid magic of poetic metaphors. A bit like reading a children’s story that talks about nymphs and dreams and monsters and what have you. Other times, as it happens in the comedies, the characters and situations can be so silly that you wonder wether this is really dusty old theatre, such is the freshness it displays. Maybe I was witnessing a children’s puppet show, and I didn’t know it. Even in written form that world is so enticing that you cannot help be intrigued by the idea of seeing it acted out, directed and staged.
So it happened that one day I watched “The Tempest” as a film directed by Julie Taymor (this movie also has a great bonus: there’s Ben Whishaw in it, with his remarkable abilities and person to make you happy for the entire duration of the show. Yes, I’m a fan). Director Julie Taymor is better known for “Frida“, a bio-pic about Mexican painter Frida Khalo. The Tempest is most definitely a different type of material: it is a comedy, I should say bitter-sweet with dips into the nightmarish, recounting the story of the banished duke of Milan and his daughter as they are living in shelter in a forgotten island. Despite years having passed, the noble man is still looking for his revenge against his brother who nearly killed him and forced him to flee from his own castle. Dearest relatives, poisonous relations, you could say.[ct_video title=”” type=”youtube” id=”DDyGl2uIQ-Q”] [/ct_video]
When Taymor sat down deciding who should play the lead role she found herself a little at a loss: “I didn’t really have a male actor that excited me in mind, and yet there had been a couple of phenomenal females—Helen Mirren being one of them—who [made me think]: ‘My God, does this play change? What happens if you make that role into a female role?‘” And so she did, she cast Helen Mirren as Prospera, and altered the original play a bare minimum to accommodate this modification (Prospera is the wife of the Duke, whose death happens without any violence to cause it. The duchess is accused by her own brother to have killed her spouse with sorcery and then forced to flee. After this point the story proceeds as in the original).
In watching the film I was absolutely astounded by Mirren performance, but most of all, I noticed how her gender didn’t make Prospero/a sound odd. The original duke was in fact uttering words that made as much sense as in coming from a woman’s mouth. No fit of fury, no token of self-doubt, no display of affection toward the daughter sharing his fate was out of place. Prospera and the other characters relate to one another as peers, neither there are hints of affectation neither he/she ever seems too macho or too stupidly aggressive. Angry and vengeful yes, but never the stereotypical man seeking to avenge his stolen manhood through ridiculous and trite proofs of valour (i.e shall we learn how to sword fight and save the damsel in distress of the day?). If any of this was in the play, Mirren as Prospera would have betrayed it.
Changing the gender of the main character has of course a certain impact on the relationship between the duchess and Miranda, as they are mother and daughter in this version. As fierce as she is, Prospera is also a loving parent who holds her daughter as her most precious treasure. When love enters in the figure of a young and handsome prince, the duchess displays more ambivalence than in the original Shakespearean text. She is of course wary of the intentions of this young suitor, but she is quick enough to recognise the amorous feelings her daughter harbours, as something she might lived time before. As we hear Prospera speaking, we can also see how in-between lines there is a subtle sense of identification and understanding. She is protective, at times a little belligerent, but she is more inclined to happily accept Miranda’s choice. Even if it feels uncomfortable – though in earnest historically accurate – to see a parent give their child to her future husband, it is quite clear that it takes the form of a ritual: Miranda is eventually released and free to take charge of her life with a new companion. It is so much her decision that she was ready to outright do the servants’ job and carry heavy logs to be with the person who has captured her heart. She doesn’t sigh or swoons, nor she tries to be a lady fairy or a cross mistress. Ferdinand in turn, loves her just as the kind, agile and wild goddess she is in his eyes.
The whole play is an ode to magic, dreams, nightmares, fools, slaves and gods. No role is obvious: each character is at the same time overbearing and overborne, every god is a fool and a slave, savages are as wild as noble men. Poetry can inhabit even the darkest hours. Every reality is an illusion and there is no rule that cannot ever be overthrown. After all we are made of such stuff as dreams are made on…(Act 4, Scene 1). Julie Taymor directs this film owning the original material, leaving us perfectly confused and lost in this fantasy world that resembles very much our own. As an extra treat, the end credits feature the final monologue of the play transformed into a mellow and moody rock song interpreted by Helen Mirren. Couldn’t ask for more.
Lisa Dal Lago
