Southern Discomfort

Much Ado About Nothing

by William Shakespeare

directed by Kaile Shilling

at the Leverett House Old Library

through December 12

What is a gaggle of Italian courtiers doing on board a Mississippi steamboat? Since when is Wild Turkey the drink of choice for the Prince of Arragon? What significance does the Old South hold for Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing? The Leverett and Currier production addresses these burning issues head-on.

Shakespeare's play describes the amorous intrigues of an Italian court. One-time enemies are brought around to marriage while the local misanthrope plots to prevent another union. Simple enough--but this is a version with a twist.

Director Kaile Shilling locates the play on a riverboat in Dixie. Despite this revision, she chooses to preserve the original text, with all its context, save one or two lines adapted to read "The South" instead of "Messina." This leads to baffling conundrums: where do you find the balconies and gardens on a riverboat? Why are war-weary veterans holidaying on the water with the governor of Messina? What kind of steamer comes complete with a crypt? This hare-brained Steamboat Willie hybrid smacks of direction for direction's sake.

The relocation of the action adds nothing to the play. Renaissance Italy and the nineteenth-century South share frivolous aristocrats and a conservative marriage ethic, but this is not enough to justify the change of scene. Perhaps there is an obscure reference to the Southern psyche--but to the uninitiated the production seems to revolve around the one minor actor, Joshua Bloom, who speaks with a Southern accent. A riverboat does not lend itself to the action: the gulling scenes are harder to stage, and the space confuses the audience. What is outside and what is inside? Shilling's adaptation causes these confusions. And for all her pains, there are no startling revelations: if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Yet Shilling clearly intends to make her presence felt as a director. For example, when Claudio and Don Pedro fool the eavesdropping Benedick with a fake conversation, she has the messenger (Bloom) fishing in the background. By snaring the innocent fish with his bait, he parallels the action unfolding in front of him. But what is the point? Does he really add to the scene? Or is the director just tossing in a self-conscious conceit?

The direction is not poor--it is just overenthusiastic. Among the many memorable scenes, the arrest of Conrade (Josh Walker) and Borachio (Michael Johnson) brilliantly conveys the stupid pomposity of Dogberry (Marc Jones) and the idiocy of his sidekicks on the nightwatch (Kitt Hirasaki and Alan Glazer). The complicated staging of the fight in the background in conjunction with Dog-berry's stirring monologue betrays thoughtful, original and energetic direction.

But it is the cast that makes the production. Benedick (Mike Efron) transforms himself convincingly from the cynical bachelor to lovesick schoolboy. He is at ease with the verse and knows how to communicate the jokes buried in the Elizabethan English to the audience without awkwardness. But he also recognizes the serious aspect of the play, resisting the temptation to eke a laugh out of every line.

His partner in crime, Beatrice (Jessie Cohen) is equally confident and effective. Her acid attacks on Benedick melt into real compassion at the appropriate moment. Cohen's prim superciliousness perfectly captures her character.

As Leonato, Ben Vilhauer labors under some of the most difficult verse in the play. He makes the most of a drab and demanding part. Leonato's daughter, Hero (Janine Poreba), who keeps a low profile throughout the play, blossoms in the wedding scene. Her maidenly blush and swoon are entirely convincing. The audience can detect a difference in her after her trauma: the demure lass has aged into a deeper, more mature character.

Don Pedro (Colin Stokes) and his comrade-in-arms, Claudio (Mark Fish), inject a sinister tough into their otherwise straight-forward characters, rather complacently consigning a poor maiden to eternal shame. Don Pedro's brother, Don John (Ian Lithgow), on the other hand, is interpreted as a buffoon. He is a Peter Ustinov-style villain, bumbling and ineffectual. The comic actors take the Shakespearean "rude mechanical" to the limit. Dogberry and Verges (Tom Giordano) revel in the slapstick. So, too, do Borachio and Conrade--at times at the expense of the darker, more thoughtful side of the play.

But that is more a criticism of the direction than the acting. The acting is forceful and impressive throughout; but it is directed toward the comic aspect of the play, losing much of its significance in the long run. The production is consistently funny, but this is a simplistic interpretation of the play.

Much Ado About Nothing is a comedy in that it has a happy ending. But like all Shakespeare's comedies, it is not just good clean fun: it is tragedy narrowly averted. When Hero dies and comes to life again, Shilling takes the easy way out in dealing with the forced Shakespearean resolution--she lets the audience laugh.

It is a great pity that such an enthusiastic director chanels her energies into flamboyant, but pointless gestures. Her time and talent would have been better spent addressing the serious and challenging passages in the play.