THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
Spinoza called ambition a “species of madness.” In his early comedy The Two Gentlemen of Verona and his late tragedy Macbeth, William Shakespeare dramatized the maddening effects of ambition upon two men who suddenly become discontented with the satisfactory circumstances of their lives. Both plays are currently being performed by small off-Loop theater companies whose own ambitions to grapple with the Bard are less than entirely successful. Still, their productions cast interesting new light upon the enduring texts.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
The play, with its abrupt and too- convenient resolution, is traditionally dismissed as a youthful failure. Yet the very callowness of its characters makes them intriguing, if one sees them as fools who learn from their mistakes. Proteus’s behavior pretty much marks him as a bastard; obsessed with a sudden, impetuous ambition to possess Silvia, he sells out not only his friend but friendship itself, the value that has heretofore guided his whole life. Yet Proteus is the hero of the play. His shallow emotions and shifty actions provide the story’s considerable intrigue; the audience is hooked by the question of just how far this shit will go and how much he’ll get away with. And the all-is-forgiven denouement suggests the resilience of youth, like a furious feud between two teenagers that is forgotten after a good night’s sleep.
Except for Coleman’s interestingly off-type Proteus and the casting of a gang of bandits as women rather than men, the play is done in a fairly standard Shakespearean style that, under LaMorte and Scambiatterra’s generally meandering direction, is generally adequate but rarely more than that (and in the case of David Clements’s fight staging, decidedly less). John Mossman is a beach-boyish Valentine, handsome but inarticulate in a role that contains a goodly share of lyrical poetry. Robin Witt is a likable, girlish Julia, Shawna Franks an adolescently overripe Silvia. The most entertaining support comes from Champ Clark as the clown Launce, sweet and slow-witted as he complains of having to take care of his incontinent dog Crab; a certain Mr. Scruggs brings down the house as Crab, as he passes his slow, sad canine gaze over the audience in seemingly long-suffering response to his master’s voice.
But whether Hardiman’s emphasis on atmosphere distracted him from the acting, or whether he uses atmosphere to distract the audience from his company’s limitations, this Macbeth could do with less “om” and more oomph. The taut text of this relatively short tragedy is densely packed with images of life and death, but the actors convey little of the script’s power. It’s not just a matter of articulation–though when the first witch asks her sisters when they three shall meet “agin” in a nasal Chicago accent, it undercuts all the mystery suggested in Michael Johannsen’s circle-of-stones set, Jeffrey Childs’s moody lighting, and Dawn DeWitt’s found-furs-and-raffish-rags costumes. It’s a question of inner energy; there’s no edge of fury in the words these primal, passionate people say. Also, the play’s contrasts between light and dark (reason and madness, love and hate, life and death) are smothered in the monotonous murkiness of Hardiman’s visual concept.
