After the hatreds, betrayals, and exiles implicit in Shakespeare’s As You Like It, we get a similar wave of these dark themes in the Bridge Project’s The Tempest, which recently opened at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Under the brisk direction of Sam Mendes, this production can remind us that Shakespeare’s plays should move as fluidly as a film and not get bogged down in poetic language.
The story revolves around its central character Prospero, the exiled Duke of Milan who lives on an enchanted island with his daughter Miranda (derived from the Latin word mirari, “to wonder at”). Twelve years before the action of the play, his brother Antonio took advantage of Prospero’s study of magical arts to lead a coup and exile him to an island. As the play begins, Prospero discovers that Antonio is at sea near the island with King Alonso of Naples and Alonso’s brother Sebastian. He sends a magic storm which lands them on the island.
And the rest of the story is Prospero coming to terms with Antonio, his companions, and the island world.
The play might well be retitled “Prospero.” The character truly dominates everybody in the story. Although Ariel appears to be the catalyst of much of the play’s action, it is actually Prospero’s will that is being accomplished in each and every scene.
Interwoven into the main plot are several subplots: Miranda will fall in love with Ferdinand, the young and attractive Prince of Naples; the clowns Stephano and Trinculo will team up with the earthy Caliban to plan (and hilariously fail to execute) Prospero’s murder; and Antonio and his companions will be tormented continually by Ariel and Prospero’s potent magic. This fable of art and creation, in many respects, embraces the best and worst of mankind. A sophisticated story of exile, renunciation, forgiveness, and redemption, it ultimately shows us the better angel emerging from the soul of man.
Shakespeare wrote The Tempest in 1611, at the tail-end of his career. He had already written his major histories, tragedies, comedies, and early romances. True, he would go on to write Henry VIII and the Two Noble Kinsmen (with John Fletcher). But if you have any romantic blood running through your veins, you can rightly see The Tempest as The Bard’s valedictory play.
Although Prospero should not be seen merely as a stand-in for the great playwright, there are a few striking scenes in The Tempest that allow us to speculate on how Shakespeare viewed art. To wit: Prospero breaks his staff, a symbol of his magical authority, in a late scene. Is this a signal that art and politics are somehow incompatible? Or is it merely an indication that he is ready to assume his dukedom again? Another baffling episode is when Prospero informs us that he plans to drown his book. Is this a diminishment of his spiritual self? Or is it a kind of suicidal act? No matter how you interpret these highly-symbolic scenes, you can certainly sense that the character Prospero apprehends the limits of art in life and understands that political power rarely meshes with the pursuit of spiritual (or artistic) authority.
This production holds its head above water largely because of its solid cast. Without anybody forcing the language, the show offers us an opportunity to hear Shakespeare’s wonderful lines spoken with distinction. No doubt Stephen Dillane stands out as Prospero. His lines are spoken with admirable intelligence and a crotchety dignity. Juliet Rylance, as the naïve Miranda, is well-cast as Prospero’s daughter. And Ron Cephas Jones, as Prospero’s foster son Caliban, has the monstrous venom for his part. Christian Camargo, as Ariel, strongly stresses his love-hate relationship with Prospero. Ariel, once imprisoned by the witch Sycorax (Calibans’ mother) in a tree, was physically liberated by Prospero, but his freedom is severely pinched by serving at Prospero’s pleasure.
The Tempest—Shakespeare’s farewell to the theatre—has been played with sound and fury (think George C. Wolfe’s 1995 production starring Patrick Stewart), adapted to numerous film versions like Prospero’s Books (1991) and Forbidden Planet (1956), but there is no reason why it should not be done, as here, with a more philosophical bent. Mendes stresses the intellectual power of Prospero rather than his flamboyant magic. This elegant production (set design by Tom Piper) is well-thought out and condensed into 2 hours and 15 minutes of playing time (with no intermission).
Like a hall of mirrors, this drama creates a mood of reflection from its first to its very last scene. The play’s famous Epilogue has the character Prospero, emptied-out of his magical powers, asking the audience for mercy and forgiveness. It’s a nice twist on what we have just witnessed in the play, where Prospero has forgiven his brother and henchman of their crimes. In this production, Dillane’s Prospero speaks in an unamplified voice in the Epilogue, humanizing his character and himself as an actor. And it’s by far the most profound moment of the evening.
Shakespeare took much poetic license in composing his visionary work, in which an exiled duke regains his dukedom. Mendes might not give us a startling new interpretation of this classic, but he succeeds on a deeper level: He re-acquaints us with the play’s legendary aura and universal truth.
Brooklyn Academy of Music, Harvey Theater, 651 Fulton Street..Tickets are $35-$95, phone (718) 636-4100 or visit tickets@BAM.org
February 14th –March 13th.