[In the following excerpt, Johnson-Haddad praises director William Gaskill's effort to stage a minimalist Coriolanus, but adds that the production suffered from a weak cast and the absence of a unified vision.]

Halfway through the 1991-92 season, The Shakespeare Theatre at the Folger dropped the second half of its name to become simply “The Shakespeare Theatre,” for the company shifted quarters to the newly renovated Lansburgh Building in downtown Washington. While some felt a twinge of regret at seeing the company leave the charmingly impractical “Elizabethan” theater space it had occupied for many years at the Folger Shakespeare Library, there is no doubt that the move was long overdue and that the new facility at the Lansburgh is an improvement that will benefit crew, cast, and audiences alike. (I shall describe the new theater in greater detail when I discuss the productions of Much Ado and Measure for Measure.) Thus, Coriolanus was the last production of a Shakespeare play that the company performed in its original theater space. (The final presentation was this season's non-Shakespeare play, a highly successful interpretation of Shaw's Saint Joan.) I wish I could report that the company went out in a blaze of glory with a fully realized production of Coriolanus, but unfortunately this was not the case. If anything, this Coriolanus seemed to highlight the deficiencies of the old Shakespeare Theatre space and to make glaringly plain the need for a new facility.

The production was streamlined in terms of set, properties, and costumes, and it employed a minimal cast, with much tripling and quadrupling of roles and the use of small groups of actors to suggest crowds. The set consisted of the bare stage and the two pillars that flank it; the surfaces of the stage walls and of the pillars were made to look like marble in predominantly gray and rust tones. The look achieved was vaguely classical, and since, according to the program notes, “much can be detected behind the hard, veinless marble of [Coriolanus'] heroic façade,” I suspect that the designer meant to be deliberately suggestive with that set, although it didn't quite work for me. During 2.1, the scene of Coriolanus' triumphal entry into Rome, red banners were unfurled from balconies above the stage, but otherwise the triumphal procession was implied rather than depicted. Similarly, crowds were suggested by offstage noise and music and by the activity of small groups of walk-ons rather than by huge numbers of extras. Properties were also kept to a minimum; aside from weapons and the odd banner or two, the only props were benches for the women to sit on in 1.3. Costumes were equally plain. The common people wore the simple homespun garments of Indian villagers, while Emery Battis's Menenius resembled Nehru, in white tunic and leggings, carrying an umbrella and sporting the trademark white Nehru cap. Coriolanus and the soldiers wore combat fatigues; the women wore plain gray saris; and Cominius and the Tribunes wore the tunics, vests, and dhoties of an Anglicized Indian bureaucracy.

I spoke with several people who found the production stark and severe; one observer termed it “Recession Theater.” But we should remember that historically Coriolanus has been overproduced; moreover, as I understand it, Michael Kahn experienced some difficulties in finding a director willing to stage this play in the limited space at the Folger, a fact that indicates the extent to which Coriolanus has been misunderstood from a production standpoint. As John Ripley has observed, the stage traditions that have led audiences to expect lavish productions of this play date from the eighteenth century, and if we read carefully the performance cues that the text supplies, it becomes clear that Shakespeare provides all the information needed for a production that is powerful in its visual simplicity.¹ In that sense, The Shakespeare Theatre production was appropriately downscale and probably far truer to the visual style that Shakespeare anticipated for this play than a more extravagant production would have been. That said, this production did take some getting used to, especially given The Shakespeare Theatre's tendency towards increasingly elaborate productions in recent seasons. For example, it did get rather wearing to see the same few people reappearing in what felt like dozens of different parts, although the extras all did an excellent job. (I would mention here both Youssif Kamal and Firdous Bamji, who stood out in a number of walk-on roles throughout this season.) More significantly, the small cast of extras and lack of elaborate sets and properties placed a heavy burden on the actors, who needed to carry the play through sheer verbal power and dramatic skill.

Not all of them were up to the task. One of those who fell short was Bradley Whitford, whose Coriolanus possessed a manner and voice that I found whiny and deeply annoying. I appreciate that the whole point of this play is that Coriolanus is supposed to be an irritating personality; but Whitford, instead of appearing proud and supercilious, sounded merely like a discontented Valley Boy who had taken a wrong turn off Ventura Boulevard and found himself in ancient Rome. Whitford's performance was not without its strong points: he was energetic in the battle scenes, and he played the petition scene (2.3) with an effective combination of arrogance and embarrassment. This Coriolanus was also sincerely tender in his scenes with Virgilia, and they seemed to share a genuinely intimate relationship. Nonetheless, Whitford's performance was disappointing, even though it was a thoughtful performance and seemed to be consistent with Director William Gaskill's vision of the play. As the program notes reminded us, “Samuel Johnson [found] this austere tragedy amusing, and George Bernard Shaw [labelled] it ‘Shakespeare's greatest comedy.’” The fact that, in this production, Coriolanus often seemed mildly ridiculous in his railings against the multitudes was, I think, intentional. Also intentional, I suspect, was the discrepancy between Coriolanus' reputation, both as a military hero and as “the people's enemy,” and the man he actually was, who is both more and less than the identities that the Romans foist upon him. This disparity between Coriolanus and his public images is, of course, a central concern of the play, and there is considerable validity in an interpretation that points out that discrepancy by rendering Coriolanus slightly absurd. Whitford, however, may have gone too far in stressing that absurdity, with the result that his Coriolanus was merely annoying in his ungraciousness when he could have been interesting.

As Volumnia, Jane White created anew the role for which she won an Obie award nearly thirty years ago. She was a magnificent presence onstage, bearing herself with strength and matronly dignity, her gray hair and gray dress (part sari, part toga) providing a subtle visual correlative to her iron resolution. She contrasted starkly with Miriam Healy-Louie's pale, mousy Virgilia. In the pleading scene (5.3) she maintained a majestic air of dignified humility, although she did little to suggest a fresh perspective on this intriguing scene.

As always, there were strong performances by Shakespeare Theatre regulars. Emery Battis was excellent as a somewhat crusty, older Menenius, to whom the people felt compelled to listen despite themselves. His devotion to Coriolanus was profound, and his pain at Coriolanus' rejection of him in 5.2 was deeply poignant. Although in general I found the Indian costuming somewhat mystifying, Battis's Nehru-like garb seemed appropriate, for it reminded us that the influence of any one man, no matter how wise or how far-reaching his vision, is ultimately subject to the limitations of those who follow him or choose not to. Other strong performances included Jack Ryland's stalwart and admirable Cominius and Philip Goodwin and Robert Stattel as the Tribunes, Sicinius and Junius Brutus. The latter two were appropriately Tweedle-Dum-and-Tweedle-Dee-ish without being utter buffoons. Although they were clearly enemies to be reckoned with, it was apparent to everyone but themselves that they owed whatever influence they wielded to the people and not to their own innate abilities.

Shakespeare Theatre regular Edward Gero, as Aufidius, gave the production's strongest performance, and his reception of Coriolanus in 4.5 was a remarkable dramatic moment. He appeared from within his house to greet Coriolanus wearing off-duty attire, a deep-blue caftan trimmed with gold brocade and open at the chest. The handsome, sensual figure that Gero cut in this scene stood in marked contrast to the grimy, scruffy warrior whom we had earlier seen leading the Volsces at Corioli. Aufidius' welcoming speech to Coriolanus seemed utterly sincere, ostensibly expressing his straightforward admiration; yet Gero also managed to convey, delicately, the complex homoerotic quality of the images that Aufidius employs and to suggest Aufidius' deeply conflicted feelings towards Coriolanus. As a result of Gero's thoughtful portrayal, Aufidius' subsequent resentment of Coriolanus and his anger at Coriolanus' capitulation to the women in 5.3 acquired a new significance and, indeed, seemed fitting within the constellation of Aufidius' feelings for Coriolanus. After Coriolanus' murder at the end of the play, Aufidius' followers gradually deserted him, until, finding himself alone, he delivered his last speech as a soliloquy, the horrified realization of what he had done suddenly weighing upon him.

What this production needed were more performances like Gero's. Although less is often more, particularly when producing Coriolanus, a production as austere as this challenges the actors to convey the drama of the play through subtly nuanced performances, and these simply were not adequately forthcoming. I respected Director William Gaskill's decision to produce a minimalist Coriolanus because I think that such a production may reflect Shakespeare's original vision of the play; however, Gaskill needed a stronger cast and perhaps a more unifying and accessible vision of the play in order to transcend the austerity of this production. As it was, an interpretation that should have been powerful and direct in its simplicity too often seemed bleak and even, at times, superficial.

Notes

1. “Coriolanus's Stage Imagery on Stage, 1754-1901,” Shakespeare Quarterly, 38 (1987), 338-50.