Titus Andronicus. Photo by Michael Brosilow. Playwright: William Shakespeare. At: Court Theatre, 5535 S. Ellis
Phone: 773/753-4472; $32 - $54. Runs through: Feb. 10
Rarely produced, Titus Andronicus is often dismissed as inferior Shakespeare, its plot tagged as mindlessly violent, its characters as pale preambles to the later, richer roles Shakespeare would create. Queen Tamora of the Goths is a shadow of the Scottish play's scheming Lady; Aaron is Iago lite; Titus is Lear without the depth and breadth. And while there are grains of truth in such criticism, we've always found Titus to be eminently worthwhile. Violence and all, it is a rip-roaring yarn set in the pagan wilds of pre-Christian Rome, a fascinating, untamed land of frightening appetites, ruled by ferocity and populated by tribes just one step removed from feral.
Alas, in his two-hour, intermission-free version of Titus, Court Theatre Artistic Director Charles Newell has superimposed a pandering, self-conscious and self-referential layer of meta-theater on top of the text. The result is a production of pretentiousness and confusion. Actors call each other by their real names and rifle scripts as if they've lost their place, all in an eye-rolling attempt to make us believe the cast has succumbed to a case of collective psychosis and is indulging in carnage that's real rather than merely theatrical. The tragic tale of Titus, along with all its unmistkable contemporary relevance, is buried beneath a heap of stagey affectation.
When Marcus ( Kevin Gudahl ) makes a late entrance, he apologizes to Lavinia ( Elizabeth Ledo ) , mumbling 'I'm sorry Elizabeth, I think I missed my cue.' It's one of a hundred patently false moments. We don't for a second believe that Gudahl actually missed his cue; he's just acting like he did. But the character of Lavinia is in trouble, so if something goes wrong on stage ( i.e., a veteran actor missing his cue ) , the audience will conclude that something has gone terribly wrong for real and their sense of horror will be exponentially heightened, right? Wrong. The moment is all posing and no truth.
Ditto a scene when the character played by Anish Jethmalani is killed off: 'Fine, I quit. I'm outta here,' Jethmalani spouts. 'OK, see ya Anish,' various cast members reply.
There are two ultra-low points: The first involves the sole African-American character and a noose. To watch this scene is to squirm at a blatant instance of shock-mongering through the exploitation of an image steeped in the sort of indelible tragedy most of us cannot begin to comprehend. The second comes when an actor who is in the process of being killed tells actor doing the killing to 'Stop. Really. I'm not kidding; that's enough. Hey—' before slumping to the floor. We're supposed to be shocked into quasi-believing we've just witnessed the stage version of a snuff film. But here's the thing: It's pretend. We know it's pretend. Having the actors break character and pretend not to pretend is nothing but a cheap gimmick.
At one particularly bloody point in the proceedings, a member of the ensemble calls out 'Hey guys, I think we should stop now.' Please do. And try again, only this time, have a little faith in the text.
