106 SHAKESPEARE IN SOUTHERN AFRICA Thomas Hall (Fabian). Gerard Bester (Sir Andrew Aguecheek) and Gary D 'Alessandro (Sir Toby Belch) in Joseph Ribiero's production of Twelfth Night /or the Wits School of Dramatic Art. order of the Illyrian court. Orsino chooses to define himself as an Actaeon figure, but his rage at the suspected treachery of Cesario/ Viola shockingly indicates that he is only too willing to set the "fell and cruel hounds" of passion on those who offend him. Yet, Twelfth Night does assert that destructive self-obsession can be banished. The generous, self-aware love of a Viola unlocks the prison of Orsino's narcissism. The unions that conclude the play offer the only available protection from the unceasing rain of human suffering, even if both the deservedly excluded (Malvolio), and the sadly isolated (Feste and Antonio) are denied such protection. That severest of critics, John Simon, once denounced Anouilh for creating his plays out of"rose and black madder" (Acid Test, 1963, I 05). Simon's gibe can, very easily, be seen as praise of the highest order, and his phrase provides, I think, a perfect description of the blend of sophisticated wit, broad comedy, and sorrowful insight that is Twelfth Night. Ribeiro's production chose to emphasise the rose - audiences rightly shook with merriment at the merest appearance of Sir Toby and Sir Andrew - but the black of Shakespeare's exploration of the tragic possibilities of love was by no means forgot­ ten. In Peter Gill's 1974 production of Twelfth Night at Stratford-on-Avon, the set was dominated by a wall-painting of Narcissus enraptured by his fatal reflection. Without choosing one dominant image, Ribeiro wittily and perceptively allowed self-love and indulgence to be consistently expressed in the details of his production. The opening tableau was both visually alluring, and sharply appropriate. Paul Roumanoff and Lyn Miles's set featured a large sun umbrella adorned with cupids, a chaise longue and a row of white pillars against which a richly dressing-gowned Orsino drooped, propped by a dramatically outstretched arm. Sorrowful, aristocratic love posed among the comforts denied to other less privileged sufferers. In Olivia's household, haute-couture mourning preyailed: panniered black gowns and black lace commodes gave way to zebra-striped overskirts looped to reveal white gowns THEATRE AND TELEVISION REVIEWS 107 embroidered with those ubiquitous cupids. Mistresses and attendants looked equally seductive in both the severe and the modified styles of mourning. From the outset, there was no doubt that these trappings of woe were designed to attract, not banish, desire. Indeed, the costumes in this production deserved special praise not only for their attractiveness, but also for the wit with which they were used to highlight the ambivalent mood of the play. If my eyes were not in error, Mr Ribeiro chose to combine elements of the Restoration and the mid-eighteenth century in his costumes. The men's full-skirted coats and ribboned bag-wigs, and the ladies' patches and panniers suggested the Age of Reason. On the other hand, the commodes and cut-back gowns, and the curling perukes of Orsino and Malvolio were obviously nods in the direction of the fashions of the court of the last Stuarts. Such a blend of styles suggested a union of the refined and lustful, the elegant and the flamboyant- a cleverly appropriate combination for Twelfth Night. Joseph Ribeiro's acute eye for the most felicitous movement and staging ensured that the play's more elevated tragicomedy and its boisterous farce were both given their due. As Orsino reclined, languidly intrigued, Viola, leaning forward on the chaise, delivered the agonising "My father had a daughter loved a man" (2.4.104-115) speech directly to the audience with a wide-eyed intensity which left one in no doubt of the difference between Orsino's affected anguish and the real article. Malvolio's feelings, in contrast, were rightly presented as risible. From ramrod stiff domestic tyranny, he degenerated into ungainly lechery, making lustful grabs at the appalled Olivia: foolish prissiness became equally foolish salaciousness at the least convincing hint of hope. The presentation of Malvolio's reading of the letter used broad comedy with particularly sharp effect. As Malvolio postured, misinterpreted and dreamed, the conspirators were ostentatiously busy behind him. They made angry dashes towards him, shifted concealing scenery, sniggered and doubled up with mockery, and scurried back into hiding. Such movements could not fail to amuse the dourest of audiences, but, at the same time, they served to emphasise the saddening point that the "dark room" of narcissism blinds one to even the most blatant gulling. Some of the most effective touches in the production were certainly not original, but their success justified the repetition. I remember that Terry Hands's production of Twelfth Night (Aldwych: 1979) gained one of its heartiest laughs from Olivia's delivery of "Most wonderful" (5.1.206)"when confronted by Viola/Cesario and Sebastian. Kate Nicholls purred the phrase with a relish that suggested doubled pleasures could be expected from this extraordinary duplication. Mr Ribeiro's Olivia used this delivery with equal success. Malvolio's suffering in confinement was memorably conveyed by the twisting and stretching of his hands through a trapdoor. The contrast between the continued pomposity of his statements-"I think nobly ofthe soul, and no way approve his opinion" (4.2.40)- and the frightened writhing of his body poignantly indicated the persecuted man beneath the overbearing facade. When assessing students' performances, one is often tempted to indulge in head-patting praise to cover up for deficiencies. In the case of Ribeiro's production, such condes­ cension was unnecessary. What was good was good by any standards; what was bad was inexperienced or over-enthusiastic, and could, therefore, change. Lindsey Orbach's Viola skilfully avoided the two pits into which so many actresses playing the role topple: presenting Viola as a tomboy romp •. o.r plaintiyely portrari~g her as Ophelia in drag. Ms Orbach had more than enough spmt and Wit - tart Wit m her exchanges with the besotted Olivia- but the passionate longing in her voice and gaze also rendered her love for Orsino movingly real. I thought it a .mistake to play"<? time, t.hou must untangle this, not I" (2.2.35-36) with a shrug and a gnn, but that was misconceived direction, and did not seriously detract from a remark~bly assured, co~plex pe-:£orm­ ance. Robert Lucas's Orsino was effective as the patrician poseur, but Signally faded to suggest the intelligence and charm beneath the affected langu.or. Afte! all, the D~ke does have the insight and taste to become captivated by Cesano, and VIOla/ Cesario never Book Reviews ANTJ-IONY DAVIES Filming Shakespeare sPlays. Cambridge University Press, 1988. 219 pp. •. Reviewed by COLIN GARDNER Tony Davies's book on the challenges, the implications and the problems of making films out of Shakespeare's plays, and on a number of the most striking films that have been made, is richly absorbing. Like most good books, it addresses several sets of readers. It is very interesting and instructive for people who think of Shakespeare in literary and/ or theatrical terms but have given little thought to the possibilities and demands of film as a genre. It has a great deal to say to those who are interested in film but have lost touch with the special complexities of literature and theatre. But at the same time it manages, in a lively but scholarly way, to engage with many of those (and there are a considerable number of them) who have written on the specific topic of Shakespeare and film. It is, then, a book both for the beginner and for the professional. There is of course one large difficulty in writing a book about films of Shakespeare's plays: among those who are not experts, some (especially in South Africa) will have seen few or even none of the films that are discussed, and many of those who have seen all or most of them will not have seen them recently. Davies tackles this problem in two ways. The first way is an obvious one: he provides a number of stills from the films he discusses. (His book might perhaps have been a little more fully illustrated: Roger Manvell's Shakespeare and the Film (London, 1971) boasts 48 pages of photographs.) But the more important way in which he confronts the issue is by describing with remarkable vividness and precision many features and sequences of the films in question. Indeed his graphic descriptions are completely interwoven with intelligent and imaginative analyses, with the result that what he offers is both illuminating for a reader who hasn't seen the film recently or who hasn't seen it at all, and at the same time valuable and thought-provoking for the expert who has seen it fifteen times. In the Introduction, Davies considers the significance of film in the light of the recent intensification of critical and scholarly interest in the theatrical performance of plays. He asks the crucial questions. Could Shakespeare film reasonably be little more than the photographing of a stage production (with perhaps, sometimes, a greater degree of historical and/ or geographical realism in the decor than the theatre could hope to achieve)? Or does it represent an entirely or largely different medium? And if the latter is so (and Davies leaves us in little doubt that it is), has the film-maker the right to recreate, to remake, a Shakespeare play in a new mode, a new format? Again, not surprisingly, Davies's answer is yes.