Theatre
Michael Portillo - Wherefore art thou passion?
Published 19 April 2004
Theatre - These star-crossed lovers lack all signs of sexual chemistry, writes Michael Portillo
Romeo and Juliet
Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford
Sex gets into everything these days, they say. Well, if that's your worry, hasten to Stratford-upon-Avon for the Royal Shakespeare Company's entirely sexless Romeo and Juliet. Two young actors who are strikingly good-looking (Matthew Rhys and SIan Brooke) produce no sparks from what is meant to be the greatest tale of passion ever written. You would not guess for a moment that sex was on their minds or that they do it off stage during the play.
The director, Peter Gill, must be partly to blame. When Romeo first speaks to Juliet at the Capulet party ("If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine . . ."), the lights go up on the couple alone on stage, his hand already gripping hers. How exactly did they get to first base? What was the build-up? How I longed for a little suspense, the thrill of eyes meeting, the tingling shock of their fingers' first touch. My mind went back to the superb interpretation of the scene in Baz Luhrmann's movie, as Leonardo DiCaprio, spying Claire Danes through a fish tank, is confused about how to reach her, befuddled and stimulated by reflections and the distortions of the water.
When Rhys encounters his Juliet on the balcony, he shows no interest at all in reaching her. He has just overheard her say that he is the object of her desire, but it produces no visible physical reaction. He doesn't stretch up towards her, or attempt to clamber nearer to her physical perfection. When Juliet anticipates the night that they will spend together, she rushes on stage to declaim "Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds". Pace she gives it, and urgency, too - but not a hint (other than the words themselves) that this is a girl dying to surrender her virginity to a man with whom she is physically obsessed. Sometimes I had the impression that this was a poetry recital rather than a staged performance.
In the morning, the "lovers" appear together not in Juliet's chamber, but on the balcony, thanks to the constraints of Simon Daw's inadequate set. That means they are both fully awake and fully dressed (except that he hasn't buttoned his shirt yet). It's difficult to know, therefore, how Juliet could be confused as to whether it is still night. It is harder still to understand why she changes her mind ("It is the lark . . .") and urges him to flee. Nothing in Brooke's demeanour suggests that Juliet is listening to birdsong, or even looking about her.
Romeo tells us in his first laments about Rosaline that her refusal to make love to him has left him feeling like a dead man. Juliet has confided that she longed for night to cover the signs of passion burning in her cheeks. But as the two stood on the balcony, I found it hard to believe that they had spent the night in the same room. Her husband gives her a short kiss (admittedly on the lips) and scales down from the balcony with the air of one headed for the 07.36 to Charing Cross. He pauses briefly below the balcony before running off without a backward glance. In such a manner does Romeo leave his wife of one night for indefinite exile.
When Rhys hears of Juliet's "death", he comments in a matter-of-fact way: "Then I defy you, stars." Taken on its own, this could suggest that here is a man so felled by grief that the words come out softly. But added to the evening's other evidence, you had to doubt whether he loved her much at all, which made his ensuing suicide rather pointless.
I was reminded of the dreadful 1998 production of Antony and Cleopatra at the National Theatre, starring Alan Rickman and Helen Mirren, which led one critic to compare them to "a pair of glumly non-mating pandas at London Zoo, coaxed to do their duty". In that case, we supposed, the lack of chemistry between the actors was to blame. This time the problem may be the same. When Rhys and Brooke took their bow, entering the stage from different points, their bodies seemed to strike each other no more than a glanc-ing blow before heading off apart. She didn't even get a luvvie-style hug.
Having recently seen Jonathan Cope and Tamara Rojo in the Royal Ballet's Mayerling, I had travelled in a few days from the most sizzling stage portrayal of sexual energy that I have ever seen to the opposite extreme. It's all the more regrettable because Rhys and Brooke are good actors. Their diction is fine, and in his scenes with the friar (John Normington), and hers with her father (David Hargreaves) and the nurse (June Watson), they are convincing. Hargreaves is excellent when berating Juliet's refusal to marry Paris.
Watson's performance is a treat. This nurse has a strong Scottish accent, speaks distinctly and takes her time, so that for once I could make sense of all her prattling. Guess what? It turns out that mostly what she goes on about is sex.
Booking on 0870 609 1110 until 1 October
Post this article to
We want to encourage people to comment on our content and to exchange views with other readers and hope this will be done on a courteous basis. However, if you encounter posts which are offensive please let us know by emailing comments@newstatesman.co.uk and we will take swift action where necessary.
