Unboxed is a reoccurring series that takes a look at the films presented in a box set and whether or not they’re representative of the goals and qualities of the theme tying them together. TCM Greatest Classic Films Collection will be a reoccurring presence in this feature.
TCM and parent company Warner Brothers created these Greatest Classic Films Collections as budget priced mini-sets centered on a unifying theme. Sometimes it is as broad as "Comedy" or "Best Picture Winners." Other times they're centered around a specific author (Tennessee Williams), director (Alfred Hitchcock), star (Bette Davis), duo (Astaire and Rogers), or sub-genre (Prohibition Era gangster films). Let us be foolish mortals and perchance to dream as we gaze upon their choices for Shakespearean adaptations.
The four films included are*:
A Midsummer Night's Dream
James Cagney, Olivia de Havilland, Mickey Rooney and others play foolish mortals and immortals in this winner of 2 Academy Awards. Max Reinhardt's fabled stage production becomes movie magic. Erich Wolfgang Korngold adapts Felix Mendelsshon's music.
Romeo and Juliet
Norma Shearer and Leslie Howard are divided by family and united by love in director George Cukor's lavish retelling of the world's foremost romantic tale. With John Barrymore as a witty, swaggering Mercutio.
Othello
Laurence Olivier's bravura portrayal of the proud general brought low remains a screen touchstone in this National Theatre of Great Britain staging. With Maggie Smith as faithful Desdemona and Frank Finlay as scheming Iago.
Antony and Cleopatra
Charlton Heston plays a vigorous Marc Antony and directs a thoughtful and colorful adaptation of the fatal attraction that ensnares the worldly Roman solider and the alluring Egyptian ruler (Hildegard Neil as Cleopatra).
* all descriptions were transcribed from the back of the DVD case.
Are these four films truly representative of the best Shakespearean adaptations? In short, no. Some of the best film versions of Shakespeare's work were unavailable for this series. Just a few examples: Laurence Olivier's Hamlet and Orson Welles' Chimes at Midnight are available through the Criterion Collection, while Welles' Macbeth through Olive Films, Franco Zefferelli's Romeo and Juliet is a Paramount release, and Derek Jarman's unique take on The Tempest through Kino Lorber.
We're left with Shakespeare films made by MGM, RKO, and Warner Brothers. Even out of that limitation, this collection doesn't feel strong or smartly assembled. There's got to be better films to include here, like the Marlon Brando starring Julius Caesar. But let's take a look at the four films individually in chronological order.
We begin with 1935's A Midsummer Night's Dream. A translation of director Max Reinhardt’s Hollywood Bowl production, A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one of the most sumptuous, shimmering, and enthralling adaptations of Shakespeare’s work. Yes, the use of movie stars was and remains controversial (the more things change, right), but there’s surprises aplenty in discovering how wonderful, say, James Cagney is with the language. Combining ballet interludes, expressionistic visuals, Shakespeare’s language, and a general air of magic throughout, this is a film from the golden age ripe for rediscovery.
Here is the first big budget crack at the Bard during the talkie era, and it combines elements of accepted “High Art” like classical music and dance with the new-kid-on-the-block energy of the cinema. The results are a prestige film that doesn’t feel entombed in its own sense of self-importance but alive with mirth and fun. Several Shakespearean films feel bloated or overwrought with self-importance forgetting that his works were supposed to be fun or thrilling or achingly romantic, depending on their primary mood.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one the better-known romantic comedies filled with mistake identities, love triangles (or maybe a square?), hammy actors, and the faerie folk. There’s a lot going on, but it is never boring or hard to follow. The delineation between the “regular” world and the “forest” world is clearly marked, so when the magical elements come into play, we know we’re in the other realm.
To summarize: Hermia (Olivia de Havilland, feisty in her debut) loves Lysander (Dick Powell, even he knew he was out of his depth), but her father has her betrothed to Demetrius (Ross Alexander). Theseus, Duke of Athens (Ian Hunter) tells her she either marries Demetrius or becomes a nun who worships Diana, goddess of the moon. While Helena (Jean Muir) pines for Demetrius from afar. The four of them wind up in the woods where the fairies play tricks on them and the young lovers find themselves in a screwball comedy of sorts.
In honor of Theseus’ upcoming marriage to Hippolyta (Verree Teasdale), Peter Quince (Frank McHugh) and his players are preparing a production of Pyramus and Thisbe. Nick Bottom (Cagney) is the main player you need to know as his head is transformed into a donkey and he engages in a romance with Titania, Queen of the Fairies (Anita Louise). They do eventually perform their play for the royal court, and it is a hilariously incompetent production that alternates between hammy theatrics and unprepared obtuseness.
Now we get to the fairies: Oberon (Victor Jory) and Titania are in a fight over a changeling, and Oberon has Puck (Mickey Rooney, best in show) play tricks on, well, just about everybody. Eventually, Oberon and Titania reconcile, attend the wedding, and bless the house. We wrap with Puck’s address to the audience about what we’ve just seen was nothing more than a dream.
And what a dream it is! The forest world is alive with twinkling lights, scenes of fairies descending and dancing upon the mist, and glittering costumes that seem made out of thorns, tinsel, and flowing fabrics. It’s no wonder that this wasn’t just the first Shakespearean film to be nominated for Best Picture, but the only win to ever win a write-in Oscar. Hal Mohr’s gorgeous work was somehow not officially nominated, but it deservedly won anyway.
There’s also the chance to see surprising work from cinematic greats. Cagney goes full bluster for Bottom, and it is a refreshing demonstration of range from an actor so synonymous with gangsters. Olivia de Havilland is positively lovely and dynamic as Hermia as she gives the role a fiery, independent core that’s quite nice. But I cannot write enough nice things about Mickey Rooney’s Puck, a performance that is so broad that it remains a love-it-or-hate-it prospect to this day. I find Puck to be a role that can handle as much limitless energy as a performer can throw into it, and Rooney had a lot of energy. He giggles, cackles, and throws himself about with an abandon that threatens to incinerate the celluloid.
Not quite like any other Shakespearean adaptation, or even any film from the era, this is a under heralded classic. Sure, it’s not without its flaws, but it is a pleasing little surprise that manages to give due to the love stories and the otherworldly in a way that makes the entire thing feel like cinema straight from the tap. There’s magic and foolishness here, and, perchance, 133 minutes of an enchanting dream.
Far too old for both of their roles, Shearer and Leslie Howard look a bit goofy playing these parts and trying to recite these lines. Hollywood actors frequently don't have any training with Shakespearean language and it can sound awkward coming out of their mouths. Such is the case here. Our leads both look too old and sound awkward, so the central conceit of the work is already jeopardized. They also can't seem to generate any chemistry between them, with Howard falling back on his old tricks of staring off with a furrowed brow and Shearer trying valiantly to appear as girlish as possible. (Personal favorite: a scene where a doe eats out of her hand like she's Snow White.)
But Thalberg was also a bit of a showman, and he wrapped these two into glossy and polished production values and surrounded them with notable supporting actors with varying degrees of success. John Barrymore is way too old for Mercutio, but he plays the part as a bit of a party-boy gigolo and steals scenes from the bland leads. (Granted, probably not a stretch for Barrymore.) Basil Rathbone, once more too old for the part, as Tybalt and Edna May Oliver as the nurse deliver hammy and fun supporting turns.
But the real highlight of the film is the production design and costuming. But what else would one expect from a George Cukor film? The costumes are gorgeous and ornate things, filling the screen with ruffles, frills and sparkles. And the sets are like fairy tale castles and towns plucked from illustrations and given life by the MGM crew. But you can only put so much gloss on an imperfect film to try and mask these flaws.
This Romeo and Juliet cannot possibly hold a candle to the dewy, romanticism of Franco Zeffirelli’s masterful 1968 version. It’s a hit-and-miss affair for sure, but I suppose it’s worth a look if you're a big fan of Shearer or Barrymore, he gives the best performance in the entire film. Or you’re just a fan of filmed version of Shakespeare's work. Or you're just a big fan of George Cukor’s work. I fell into all three categories, but I won't be watching this film again anytime soon.
Now we skip forward about thirty years for 1965's Othello. The main players deliver capital-A ACH-TING! in this adaptation of the Bard’s tale of revenge and racism, but it’s all undercut by a flat-lined directorial job. This isn’t a movie. This is a filmed stage play in an almost literal sense as there’s one set with rotating parts and acts walking in and out from the wings. I swear you can nearly see the actors waiting for their cues to walk in and deliver their lines. If this were a PBS Great Performances entry, I wouldn’t feel so conflicted about the proceedings.
And all of this was before talking about the giant elephant in the room, which Laurence Olivier’s blackface. No, it’s not blackface, it’s something far worse. He looks nearly blue his makeup is so extreme. It is so distracting that it takes quite a while for the sight to settle in so you can notice his performance if you can ever get over the hump at all. Olivier gives one of his most grandiose and energetic performances in any of his Shakespearean films. Not quite the rival of his brooding, tortured Hamlet, but a layered work that comes wrapped in a horrifying relic of the theatrical past.
So, this Othello is no match for the Orson Welles version, or even the Laurence Fishburne one from decades later, but it is a chance to see several great British thespians give round tones to exhaustive monologues. Maggie Smith makes for a fine Desdemona, and Frank Finlay gives his Iago a forked tongue. The movie is a largely a bloated affair with only the three leads fiery work to give it some semblance of mobility and life.
I wonder if Heston’s original choice of director, Orson Welles, would have produced a better final product. Heston’s camera is not exactly invigorating, and the scant budget shows throughout, including in leftover sea battle footage from Ben-Hur that shimmers with studio era artifice. His sense of visual language is one of overly indulgent closeups so his actors can bellow their monologues, or show off his burly physique, or lands with the leaden weight of those 50s epics that he starred in and built his cinematic legacy upon.
But those vehicles provided ample opportunity for Heston’s gritted teeth and chest-first line deliveries. He’s not a classical actor with nuance and moderation in his skill set. Rather, he is someone who needs to go big and broad and rage. This is why he’s remembered for grandiose work like The Ten Commandments, El Cid, or Planet of the Apes, and is, frankly, ill-suited to something that depends on so much vocal and emotional calibration to successfully pull off. This is where the division between classical acting and more gone-to-11 amplification he was good at.
It doesn’t help that Cleopatra is also miscast, or misdirected, as Hildegard Neil is not up to meeting the challenge of the role. She’s a lovely English Rose that demands a more vibrant inner life and reading. Her Cleopatra frequently comes off as a scorned ex, a gross simplification of “bitches be crazy,” and vaguely ridiculous in her Egyptian garb.
Antony and Cleopatra is a vision of artistic hubris, of misguided ego run amuck and producing something altogether forgettable. The disjointed quality of the finished product is evident in how comfortable the supporting players are in the Shakespearean text while the leads are a lead balloon that dooms the entire affair. It’s not as if Shakespearean adaptations always demand actors with an ease in the language. Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet is successful because Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey projected the dewy innocence and ripe sensuality of the characters, not necessarily for their grasp of the rhythms of the language. The bombast and overwrought emoting drown all else out here.
I would argue that there's only one film that's a classic, two that are fascinating misses, and one that is downright terrible. An assembly of the greatest? Hardly. Taken together there's an interesting mosaic of approaches to a singular source of inspiration. Of the three (sometimes four, depending on the source) categories of his plays (tragedies, histories, comedies), this collection leans heavily on the comedies and the tragedies. The set gets some points for variation, but a little history would've been nice to really hit all the major categories. This set is best avoided, though, and seeking out the films individually is the best method.
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