Rose Rage
Hall and coadapter Roger Warren set Shakespeare’s bloody version of England’s War of the Roses in a slaughterhouse–or more accurately a killing floor-cum-locker room, not inappropriate considering that the cast is all men. And an abattoir is apt given the plays’ scenes of butchery and the scripts’ references to slaughterhouses. Throughout the performance, white-clad butchers lurk on the stage’s periphery, knives and cleavers ready. Silent agents of death, they sharpen their blades in unison whenever a character makes a step that seals his fate. When it’s time for someone to meet his maker, they lay out animal innards and hack them to pieces while the actor feigns a particularly gruesome disemboweling. When a decapitation is called for, heads of purple cabbage get the ax.
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Suddenly Hall seems to be interpreting his text in boldface capital letters. The cast turns most phrases into sledgehammers, even when such bellicose bluntness makes the characters’ interactions unbelievable, as in one scene between the Duke of York and his three sons. The duke has strong-armed Henry into naming him heir to the throne so long as he vows fealty to Henry during the king’s lifetime; now York wants his savvy sons’ opinions on a sudden power grab. The scene could easily have been played as top-secret political scheming, but instead it quickly devolves into a shouting match despite the fact that most people considering treason wouldn’t announce their plans at the top of their lungs. And how many fathers are moved to risk their careers and their necks by sons barking out advice?
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Michael Brosilow.
