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The taming of the Shrew
The Taming of the Shrew Bell Shakespeare Company at the Playhouse, Sydney Opera House; October 23-November 21, 2009
ADMIT IT there is a vicarious pleasure to be had in watching the taming of a wild thing. If you doubt it, think of the recent popularity of TV shows such as Brat Camp and Ladettes to Ladies and think again. The enduring culture of the rodeo is another aspect of a pleasure that has a firmly held place in human activity. We might baulk at being controlled, being tamed, but we take a sneaking delight in seeing it happen to someone else. “It’s for your own good,” is the moral imperative underlying most acts of subjugation, from the comparatively benign to the outright vicious.
That’s one way of looking at The Taming of the Shrew, another is to consider it in its historical context: when a misbehaving – untamed – wife or daughter was a real threat to a man’s position and future in society. You only have to recall the terrifying spectre that faces the Bennett girls in Pride and Prejudice, through the wild behaviour of their young sister Lydia, to understand what that meant for all of them: total ruin. So, the control of women’s behaviour, as well as the control of their bodies, is set firm in a social context that still resonates today.
How then to present The Taming of the Shrew to a 21st century audience in a way that both entertains and makes sense of its history and context? Bell Shakespeare’s second-in-command Marion Potts took on the task despite, she says, the misgivings and downright opposition of (women) friends; and her deceptively thoughtful production is the result.
”Deceptive” because on the face of it, Potts has devised a comedic romp where the underlying sexual and societal tensions come second to the opportunities for the balm of laughter. But then, she’s cast the play entirely with women and that creates quite different tensions and different laughter. The result is startling, even though most in the audience have already heard about the “all girl Shrew” before they set foot in the theatre.
There’s not a lot of argument about casting the way she has: to the question “why?” the obvious answer is “why not?” The funny thing is, however (and we’re talking peculiar rather than ha ha) that women clearly find it very easy to be men, while very few men can be women. Perhaps it’s the assumption and claiming of power that goes with male territory: give a woman permission to do it and she does, with alarming and charming ease. The opposite is trickier: who ever willingly gave up power? It’s why wars are fought and what lies at the heart of the so-called battle of the sexes. For a man to assume the traditional feminine role is to give up all claim to that which makes him comfortable and secure in the world. No wonder there were a few grumpy men and shriveled corporate willies stalking the halls on opening night!
The story of Taming of the Shrew is of Lucentio and Petruchio who come to Padua seeking their fortune, that is, a lucrative marriage. Along the way they drink, carouse, argue, gamble and basically behave like young blokes on the make. One of Padua’s dons is Baptista, he has a vexed problem: Katherine, his eldest daughter, who is a willful, clever minx and has therefore not snared a husband. This makes it impossible for her younger and more pliant sister, Bianca, to do her own marital deal, and it’s making things difficult for Baptista too, as his reputation and power will suffer unless he can wrap up contracts on his two most valuable assets.
Petruchio bets his new friends and fellow suitors that he will tame the shrew – Kate. And it’s not a vain bet. Jeanette Cronin as Petruchio has all the feline, febrile sexiness and mischief of a young Mick Jagger; he is going to beat Kate at her own game and charm her pants off while doing it. In this winsome characterisation, it makes sense.
Lotte St Clair as Kate is a revelation. Her own rage wearies her and her entrapped life re-enrages her by turn; there can be few young women – schoolgirls, adolescents – who don’t identify and empathise with her plight. When she snarls at her ditzy sister Bianca (Emily Rose Brennan) she carries the anger of all bright girls who despair at the ease with which their sisters can use a pout and a bit of cleavage to get what they want.
Bianca wants Lucentio (Luisa Hastings Edge) who is another delicious, spunkrat. He’s more boyish than Petruchio, however, so it’s as well that he falls for Bianca’s luscious charms as he wouldn’t stand a chance with Kate. And that’s the intriguing thing about this production. Cronin’s Petruchio capers and prances, trades one-liners and doubles entendre with Kate and is seemingly oblivious to her angry refusal to countenance him. Inevitably she becomes reluctantly fascinated and drawn in by his laughing, sinuous allure. Nevertheless, she does not capitulate and the methods Petruchio then employs to force her submission to his will are straight out of a modern torture manual. Nothing physical, no bruises, but plenty of sensory deprivation – no sleep, no food, no comfort, no joy. She will obey. He will prevail, the status quo must be maintained if society is not to be threatened.
This spectacle is historically authentic and likely – a woman was a chattel and owned first by her father, then by her husband and was required to be an adornment to both and no more trouble than a lapel jewel. But it also carries uncomfortable connotations of the treatment of women in many parts of the world today – and of the continuation of simple patriarchal domination everywhere. This is not a fairytale about “once upon a time, long ago and far away” – it depicts common behaviours and attitudes, whether we like it or not. So the play remains a difficult one for any woman or halfway decent man to stomach. At the same time, as Potts has also highlighted the class conflict in the interchangeability of servant and master and the contrary portrayal of the “ladies”, it makes for an absorbing if disconcerting couple of hours when laughter and disbelief are intertwined like ribbons in a bridal decoration.
The setting and costumes (Anna Tregloan working closely with the director and lighting designer Paul Jackson) contribute to the power of the storytelling motives in the production. The set is simply the open stage and the actors use the doors to enter and exit. It is decked out to resemble a particularly seedy men’s lair – an RSL, function centre or gambling den – close carpeted in gruesome red and gold swirls, with workmanlike folding tables and chairs a piquant excess of disco balls and a karaoke machine and mike. The latter punctuates and pushes the action at intervals as various cast members sing, bellow or squawk significant and carefully chosen big hits – Heart of Glass, for instance.
This production of the Shrew is remarkable in a number of ways. One is that when it finally rolled in to the Sydney Opera House this week, it was at the end of a 35 (thirty-five!) venue, four-month national tour that has taken it to every state and territory, with the assistance of of Playing Australia. It’s an astonishing achievement by Bell Shakespeare Company and the cast that also includes Beth Aubrey, Emily Rose Brennan, Vanessa Downing, Judy Farr, Anna Houston, Ksenja Logos and Wendy Strehlow, all of whom were in sparkling form and energy and gave no hint of wanting to kill one another after so long on the road.
The point of this and any Bell Shakespeare tour can be tasted on the company website, where the response from younger members of the audience all over the country speak of excitement and a life-changing experience. In ten years time some of the kids who were in these audiences will be the ones whose starry eyes and opened minds will have propelled them into drama schools, writing, art, all kinds of academic and life achievement; and they’ll look back and recall how it happened and who did it. It’s a precious thing that must be nurtured and valued – and these actors and their creative and support team, likewise.
The other remarkable thing about this Shrew was the animated and endless discussion it generated on the night. This is probably not unusual for the production because it has that intense and imaginative quality which encourages debate, but it sure as hell isn’t very common on most opening nights when idle gossip and more interesting topics tend to take over extremely quickly. In this instance, people were arguing and puzzling and generally talking the hind legs off a donkey about the show hours after the curtain came down.
One recurring question and argument was over why Kate and Bianca remained clad in what appeared to be jarmies and dressing gowns – practical (Kate) and glamorous (Bianca) – for most of the play when the rest of the cast was clad in street clothes? Marion Potts explained to me (cos I plucked up the courage to tell her I didn’t understand, gulp) that the costumes signified how the two girls were owned and infantilised from birth onwards and could only assume adult clothing upon their marriages – when wedding gowns and all the trappings then signify a change of ownership, condition and status. So there you have it.
The thinking and creativity in this production permeates every aspect. The actors have each carved a multi-faceted character or characters from the material of the script, in particular, Judi Farr’s delicate portrayal of dotty near-senility is perfect in its detail and hilarious tenderness; Vanessa Downing is an accomplished comic who becomes unrecognizable as nerdy Gremio, with delusions of sex appeal and no chance at all; Sandy Gore anchors the ensemble with Godfatherish gravitas and almost imperceptible menace as the don. The others are all delicious in their various ways while the relationship that slowly builds between Kate and Petruchio is such that when eventually she capitulates, she does so in the name of love, maturity and understanding. And because each has met his/her match – There is a hint that they have established a new status quo of their own. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking. Either way, it makes for a top night.
