Twelfth Night – Viola

VIOLA
A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but,
though I could not with such estimable wonder
overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly
publish her; she bore a mind that envy could not but
call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt
water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

I think for many the character of Viola, who becomes Cesario, puts Twelfth Night into the realm of fantasy as much as the fairies do for Midsummer.  Not for me.  Sure, it is far-fetched for a well-bred young lady to dress like a boy and convince everyone around her that she is, basically, her brother… but I feel Shakespeare takes care of the reasons for not suspending disbelief.  Yes, she’s a young gentlewoman – but since their father died (some four years ago, perhaps?) she and her twin brother have been much on their own.  (There’s a fan-fiction there.)  She knows him better than she knows anyone else.  And, since they’ve been alone together since the age of thirteen, she will have had a close view of his process of learning to become a man.  Additionally, there’s never a mention of their mother, so the presumption can be that she’s been gone for a long time, and that for a while before he died their father was raising them alone; she’s had masculine companionship all her life.  If you really wanted to go fan-ficty and conjecture, it’s not so far-fetched that her father and brother have taught her things, like the basics of fencing, which no girl should know.  It’s obvious she’s intelligent, and it’s believable she has had the closest thing to firsthand experience of boyhood a girl can have; she would know how to make excellent use of all of that.  Plus, she says that she is in a way keeping her brother alive by becoming his image –

VIOLA
He named Sebastian: I my brother know
Yet living in my glass; even such and so
In favour was my brother, and he went
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
For him I imitate: O, if it prove,
Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love.

And while such a thing may never have happened, I don’t think it’s my steady diet of fantasies and gothics that make the whole charade a reasonable response for her situation.  The Trevor Nunn film pads the story, making the threat to her bigger and darker, but I don’t think it’s necessary.  I know a bit about how impossible would be the position of a, say, seventeen-year old girl, completely alone in a strange land with only the clothes and possessions salvaged from a sinking ship and what money she had on her

I found a nice little examination of the names used in the play (somewhere): the viola, for example, is also a musical instrument with a deeper tone than a violin, so perhaps our Viola has (or affects) a lower voice than other girls.

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BBC (1980): Felicity Kendal‘s Viola is composed and calm, much like the rest of the production.  She does not begin shaken by grief, and continues largely unperturbed by circumstances.  She loves Orsino, and gazes longingly, and seems to quietly enjoy thinking about him while quietly sorrowing that she cannot at the moment have him.  She does not love Olivia, and shows some frustration there at not being able to shake her off; it is only toward the end that any passion breaks through, when Orsino announces he will kill Cesario – passion to allow her beloved to do whatever he thinks he needs to do to ease his heart.  Which is not to say it isn’t a lovely performance – it is; Felicity Kendal isn’t speaking lines, she’s speaking her character’s thoughts, inhabiting her “poor monster”, softly rueful there.  This Cesario is a young lad, although a bit feminine possibly convincing to someone who doesn’t look at “him” and say “oh, look, it’s Felicity Kendal”.  She does something the others don’t, standing like a boy with feet apart and hands behind back, and putting a boot up on Olivia’s bench and leaning on that knee to address the lady – not like a woman pretending to be a girl pretending to be a boy, but naturally and unaffectedly, as she delivers her lines.  Naturalistic body language.

The costume of the period helps Viola in this masquerade – it’s a very clever period to set 12 in.  The flowing hair and swags of lace and big swaggering boots are both feminine enough (to modern eyes) and ostentatious enough that it can all be hidden behind.  And all of that – the big droopy feather on the hat and the swashbuckling sword on the hip (man, what a great period for costume) – is the first thing someone is going to be seeing.  It’s wonderful camouflage.

This Viola is a cool-headed, logical, calm girl, with a great sense of humor.  She took on the role of Cesario for self-preservation, and is finding herself to be quite enjoying it, and being amused by a great deal of what goes on.

She, Michael Thomas as her brother, and the wardrobe and makeup departments (but especially she) did a good enough job that upon one of Sebastian’s entrances I was near-sightedly startled when he spoke that it wasn’t Felicity.  That’s the only time that’s happened.  Same long, feathered hair – Cavalier style; same clothes, of course; but most of all they coordinated on manner of walking and carriage, and that made what would have been a total lack of resemblance (in face, voice – and height) much, much less ridiculous.  She put on Cesario like a second skin, and played a relaxed, sharp young lad with perfect ease.  There were things I missed – but overall I loved her Viola.

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Trevor Nunn (1996): Imogen Stubbs – cut hair, bound breasts; she has a deeper voice, and husky, so passes as a boy well in that area.  And she’s the only Viola among the versions I watched who pasted on a mustache.  I don’t remember any incidents with it, which, if that memory is accurate, is remarkable: a director passing up the easy laugh.  Good on him.

This is also the only Viola (almost) who follows up on “for I can sing And speak to him in many sorts of music” – we meet Cesario playing Orsino’s piano.

This Viola is bold – she makes the leap of cutting off all that hair.  I know from experience that this is a huge move, and there’s no going back, not quickly.  It’s smart – when men’s fashion is short hair, it would be dangerous to try to hide long hair – and in the setting of this production especially it’s a big deal.  She is physical: she gamely makes an attempt in a fencing salle (which of course gave Trevor Nunn the opportunity to have the fencing master put a hand squarely on her breast), and practices spitting and other such masculine arts.  She plays pool with Orsino (very well), and cards – it’s very much an Edwardian sort of man’s world here, and this Viola fits in as well as could be expected.

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No image is available as pre-Cesario Helen Hunt in L@LC

L@LC (1998): Helen Hunt – wonderful.  I have the suspicion that it’s not fashionable to love Helen Hunt, but when have I ever cared about that?  I loved her in this.  It’s a totally different animal from the Trevor Nunn, this play, a straight-forward on-stage production rather than a full cinematic event.  Helen Hunt has lovely comic timing, and perfect reactions – broad, but appropriate for the stage.  She pulled off a very good impersonation of a young man or teenager, slightly older than many of the Cesarios appear to be – an attractive woman who can be an attractive boy.  The costume and hair made it almost perfect: hair in a sleek ponytail, as is Sebastian’s of course, and a white suit just like his (of course).  The resemblance was the best here,   Great reactions, great comic timing – all the right notes perhaps slightly overplayed for the stage, and sometimes played to the audience.  Viola here is a woman in transition, trying to get her feet under her, and suddenly set upon by love from two angles – here, the everywoman thrown into a thoroughly extraordinary situation.  A viola-like voice, low for a woman, and just right for a young man: perfect.  I still want to see the rest.  Stupid PBS.

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HVSF (2008): Katie Hartke – wonderful.  She pulls off her impersonation nicely (though there’s not so much of a resemblance to Sebastian) – could be a young boy, young enough to make it squicky – but mature for “his” age.  Her hair gathered under her hat.  She’s on edge, emotional – as a woman would be in her place.  There is a wonderful immediacy to this performance: this Viola is absolutely present in the moment, every moment, sharply aware and intent on each line, each scene.

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ATV British TV (1969): Joan Plowright – Not immensely convincing as a girl playing a boy.  It was, in a way, a nice choice to have her witness the end of Orsino’s scene and decide she will serve him.  It explains the decision nicely- because it is a drastic decision … but then it weakens the scene.  She leaves the scene with backward glances (except for the hair, he’s handsome, nice legs, and nice voice).  She is devoid of feeling for much of it, very still, with many soulful upward gazes – not the passion required for some scenes.  She also plays Sebastian, with a hint of facial hair – which solves the mistaken identity casting problem, but …

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Branagh (1988): Frances Barber is sweet, smart, good as a fifteen-year-old boy; lovely emotion.  She is a relief in a mean-spirited production – and it’s a horrible shame: if the whole thing had lived up to her, it would be one of my favorite versions instead of my far and away least favorite.

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Tim Supple (2003): Parminder Nagra

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Image via Wikipedia

 

Twelfth Night – by Tim Supple

Theatrical release
VIOLA: Parminder Nagra
FESTE: Zubin Varla
DUKE ORSINO: Chiwetel Ejiofor
MALVOLIO: Michael Maloney
SIR TOBY BELCH: David Troughton
OLIVIA: Claire Price
SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK: Richard Bremner
MARIA: Maureen Beattie
ANTONIO: Andrew Kazamia
SEBASTIAN: Ronny Jhutti
DIRECTOR: Tim Supple

OK, it’s more than time I got back to Twelfth Night.  In a couple of weeks my blog is going to start to languish even more than it has been, as NaNoWriMo sets in – so. 

The Anglo-Indian Twelfth Night directed by Tim Supple (2006) made some really, really … interesting choices.  Abstractly, I like some of them … concretely, I don’t think I like more than one or two, and those don’t balance the scales.  It’s beautiful to look at – Netflixing it again I’ve taken a ridiculous number of screencaps – but.  
 
It has a modern-day setting, or perhaps the end of the British Raj, or a combination of eras (a classic car, but cd’s, and 60′s-style rock).  It begins with “If music be the food etc.”; a young woman is singing for Orsino (something operatic and, as far as I know, non-Shakespearean).  And it’s right here, right away, that the strange choice of atmosphere begins to become evident: the singer looks afraid.  Jumping ahead in the film, I don’t think there was reason provided for her to be apprehensive, as Orsino never got violent, including when he doubled back on himself with “‘Tis not so sweet as it was before” – but she still looked very unhappy when he stopped her.  (And then she is never seen again.  Which could be ominous, if you want to look at it like that.)  The scene is filled with close-ups and cuts and flashes of other people and times - it couldn’t be more clear that this is going to be Different.  

They cut the first scenes of Act I into each other somewhat, and I didn’t keep track of what went where, but we see the rather alarming Orsino emoting against a lurid sunset.  As he speaks of Olivia, we see a portrait shot of her, sitting cool and gorgeous against a dark background.  And then we see a house somewhere, the family being rousted from it in the night, a young Indian man and woman escaping through a window.  The pair either stow away on a ship or buy an escape aboard it (I have no idea if they were supposed to be there), and then the ship apparently sinks (which I think was represented by a flare of light – like a 60′s low-budget TV show, and yes I mean Doctor Who) and then Viola is aboard a fishing boat being leered at by a handful of sailors.  Not the captain, though; he is the good and true captain he ought to be – although he is lightning fast at pocketing the handful of gold bangles she takes from her arm at “For saying so, here’s gold”.  (Maybe those three sailors were eyeing the rest of the bangles, and not so much her.  Or, more likely, both.)

The captain helps Viola in her transformation: we see him negotiating with a salesman in a men’s clothing store, gesticulating over a picture of Viola and Sebastian together (in order to duplicate Sebastian’s outfit), while Viola sits bereft among the suit jackets.  She cuts her hair and binds her breasts and goes off to serve the Duke – which, as seen in other productions (Nunn, at least) involves washing his back – although this scene involves oil, and I haven’t seen another production that features a full rear nude scene for Orsino (Chiwetel Ejiofor).  That may have been part of the case for Viola’s falling in love with him so quickly … and it is compelling evidence, along with the gratuitous archery sequence (“rich golden shaft”, indeed).  Other than that,  I  was after the first time I watched hard pressed to recall many of his scenes.  (Or Sir Andrew’s (Richard Bremner), for the matter of that.)

 
As the captain speaks of Olivia, there she is again, as Orsino pictured her – and then images of her father, who fades as the captain tells of his death, and then the brother – the first time these two were ever shown in any of these adaptations.  (That would be a fun credit on one’s CV – “I played Olivia’s brother in Twelfth Night.”  “But -?”)  Then follows the image of a car, big and expensive (I would guess a Rolls Royce – I think there’s a hood ornament – but I’m probably wrong) and with horrific damage to the front end – evidently what took the brother’s life. I don’t mind the glimpses of the dead, here and of the twins’ father, but I don’t see that they’re necessary or helpful.  The waking dream Olivia falls into at one point – in which she hears a piano being played, and finds her brother at the keyboard – combined with her breakdown later just makes her very unbalanced: Sebastian isn’t going to have it easy. 

We meet Sir Toby for the first time slumped facedown on a photo album opened to photos of his dead nephew.  Maria chides him for coming in late – which feels odd, since he’s obviously been unconscious where he is for a little while.  Mary is Scots, and by moments passionate with Sir Toby; for what it’s worth Olivia and all of her household – and Sir Andrew – are white while the rest of the cast is Indian (though I can’t say that was played as a Romeo-and-Juliet factor, or indeed played up at all; it felt kind of incidental).  In fact, Sir Toby is played by David Troughton, son of Patrick and father of Sam.  I love that family. 
 
I do not, however, love this Sir Toby.  Or anyone else, for that matter.  Or the production.  At all.  Most of the, to me, unfortunate choices in the film add up to the mood of a grim thriller, a gritty picture about the Indian mafia with a grafting of screwball comedy.  Without changing a word of the script (as far as I could tell – though many, many words were cut and some Latin prayers were added to give Olivia more of a fanatically grieving air) (coals to Newcastle), it managed to come off like a cable underworld drama.  Nearly every drop of humor or joy was sucked out of it by the lighting (very dark, little daylight), the pitch, the tone – even the costumes.  I think I smiled a couple of times at Michael Maloney’s really very good Malvolio, but in truth the comedy of that scene and what little was added by the use of modern technology (I’ll come back to that) made the scene an aberration in the middle of the movie, the only scene played for humor – - for the rest I was a little horrified.  
 

All the performances were good, and some were very good – that’s one thing I absolutely cannot fault.  Parminder Nagra was a natural with the language and a pleasure to watch (almost the only real pleasure); Claire Prince played a lovely, distracted Olivia; Maureen Beattie’s Maria was a spitfire, although … not a nice person, shall we say.   Ronny Jhutti played a sympathetic, if somewhat shady, Sebastian – although his joyous reunion with his sister was undermined for me not only by the muted delivery of the lines but even more by their vastly different profiles: maybe this Olivia really was mad, if she was able to mistake Sebastian for Cesario with that nose.  Or maybe it was meant to be a truly icky they-all-look-alike-to-me thing. 
 
I kind of liked the conceit that Viola and Sebastian were on the run when the ship they were fleeing on sank (or was sunk); one of the quick flashes Supple used throughout showed Sebastian Sr. as Viola’s brother was talking about him to Antonio, and that instant, Ronny Jhutti’s tone of voice, and Andrew Kazamia’s reaction were all that were needed to paint the picture: Father Sebastian was a despotic general, with a great many enemies even years after his death.  It was nice that this was conveyed with line reading and one image.  However, the main impact of this idea was to further propel the movie out of the realm of “comedy” and into “independent gritty drama”.  

One thing I liked unreservedly is that in the “Take away the fool” scene Olivia slaps Feste, hard; I always feel like he has it coming there, and it rarely happens.  Although, again, it’s a choice that adds to the violent side of the scale. 
 
Another interesting choice, not necessarily bad but perhaps odd, was emphasizing that Antonio (Andrew Kazamia) and Sebastian – and, later, Viola – weren’t From Around Here by having their dialogue lapse into – what I’m assuming was Hindi.  It’s something that doesn’t usually get much attention, their foreignness in Illyria, even in Trevor Nunn’s film in which Illyria and Messina are at war – but the problem is that except for Viola’s initial ignorance about the locals and, here, the lapses into their own language, the twins otherwise fit in just fine.  I’d love to see a staging in which Messina really is Other, and any lapses in Viola’s Cesario can be put down to her imported status.  (I don’t believe this Antonio was in love with Sebastian; their scenes had an odd dynamic, but I don’t recall that being a factor.)  
 
What I very much did like was the use of modern techonology – hot tubs – - I mean, er, closed circuit television, especially.  Fabian here was the security officer, manning a station that controlled entry into Olivia’s compound and filled with monitors picking up feed from security cameras all over the place.  Part of Maria’s preparation for the ambush of Malvolio was to plant a new camera and microphone in the tiny garden – which was much more sensible for a realistic film than three people lurking in the shrubberies, however much fun the latter is.  It made solid sense: Maria planted the camera, spoke her lines into it to Fabian, Andrew, and Toby, and scurried off as Malvolio was about to enter – and the exclamations of the three conspirators were out loud and perfectly natural, like those of three men watching a football game.  Er, match.  And then Maria arrives in the control room after it’s all over, simply because it took her that long to get there from the garden; she always hurries away after planting the letter, not hiding with the boys, missing all the fun, and this is the only version that really gives an explanation for that. 
 

The continuation of the Malvolio-bashing, though, pushes the envelope.  He arrives before Olivia in a kilt and the requisite stockings (with matching tie – oh, and a sgian dhu), and the scene provides some smiles, because Michael Maloney is very good - but then when Toby and Maria and Fabian close in on him it’s creepy.  Fabian has a rope.  Toby has a cricket bat and a demented look in his eye.  She pounces on Malvolio and puts a bag over his head.  He fights.  And his imprisonment is horrifying, as he throws himself about the small room (the locked wine … cage) they’ve shut him into, tied up and still with the bag over his head.  The abuse Malvolio undergoes is always extreme to modern eyes (not to contemporary, I suppose), but especially given that Michael Maloney provided the only real glint of humor in the whole thing and that his Malvolio came off proud and arrogant at worst, this was far beyond the pale, grim and unsettling.  At least in more standard productions there isan inkling of why the others hate him so much.  Here, he was in the right – the drunkards’ rock concert was, pound for pound, a good bit louder than the usual party (with an electric guitar and full stereo sound system).  The others were at least as awful as he was – and he wasn’t even that pompous; he’s younger and more attractive than the usual Malvolio, serving a beautiful, rich woman whose uncle is a pain in the ass – who can blame him for daydreaming about marrying the one and putting down the other?  Usually at least Sir Toby among the conspirators has a charm that allows the viewer to forgive extreme trespasses, and usually Malvolio is dreadful enough that there’s no quesion about who you’re going to side with.  Not here.  In this version I was entirely on Mal’s side.  


 
And Feste …Usually Feste is the beating heart of the play, the barometer for the production’s tone, and probably the most memorable character.  Here, though … He seems to be a rock star lingering about the homes of the rich.  He has a good voice, but the music is – unsurprisingly – not exactly upbeat, ever.  Orsino has his CD’s, which takes the character’s place in one scene, and Sir Toby his record (Feste: “The Fool”), which ramps up the noise at the pre-party party, indicating a pattern of turning the stereo up to max in the middle of the night.  This Feste does seem fairly light-hearted, initially, which fights against the rest of the cast and setting, but in the end he comes off as even more mean-spirited than the others.  Not in the least likeable.

It’s the culmination of the Malvolio-bashing that tears it, though. Toby and Maria are depressed by the whole thing as they wish themselves quit of the enterprise – Maria to the extent that she breaks down and sobs in Toby’s arms (which makes Feste’s fooling about, “bringing back” Sir Topas and such, more inappropriate even than usual).  Things don’t pick up from there; yes, Olivia is thrilled that Cesario is, apparently, abruptly receptive, but that leads to Orsino’s discovery of his apparent betrayal by Cesario, uglier here than usual. 
And yes, Viola and Sebastian are thrilled to be reunited – but their reaction is solemn and tear-filled.  And then Olivia, who should be on top of the world, casts a glance at the altar to her brother at which she’s been drooping all movie long – which she despoiled to “return” Cesario’s ring and to give him the locket with her image – and bursts into tears, fleeing from the room (to be followed and comforted by, interestingly, Orsino).  This just a little while after the drunkenly violent kidnapping of Malvolio, and capped by Malvolio’s furious and vengeful re-emergence – it was a grim ending.  Olivia in tears, Viola and Sebastian (bruised and battered) near it, Maria last seen in tears and Sir Toby none too happy himself, and covered in blood when he goes off – he tries to kill Sir Andrew, or give a good appearance of it, and Andrew’s already bloody; Fabian uncomfortable, Feste cold and hard and alone – the only one remotely amused by any of it is Orsino, as the trick played on Malvolio is revealed.  He’s just in there trying to deal with it all; he takes command to a small degree.  Dark and gloomy and violent and threatening – the whole thing wasn’t any fun at all.