This week the Magdalen Players, in association with OUDS, perform Troilus and Cressida. One of William Shakespeare’s ‘problem plays,’ the play lurches from comedy to tragedy all under the guise of presenting a history of the Trojan War. The modernity of the play is striking — most of all for its refusal to ape Shakespeare’s formulas. There is no Fortinbras here; nor any final tragic act to reunite feuding families. The play leaves much unresolved, almost stubbornly refusing to force a melodramatic ending. As the director, Rafaella Marcus, points out in the programme, “this is Shakespeare at his most starkly realistic.”
It is quite fitting that Marcus, a veteran in the Oxford theatre community, decided to modernize the presentation. The set was minimalist (four crates, three ladders, and two banners), the play was in the round, and the costuming was anything but period. These decisions lent an edge to the play which succeeded in Marcus’ desire to resonate “so completely with our modern conflicts.” The images of manipulation and betrayal, present throughout the script, were highlighted by these directorial decisions. The power of the words and of the performances were plain for the audience to see, unobstructed by sets, and undistracted by elaborate scene changes. Marcus went a bit far, however, with some of the modernizations. The inclusion of a radio announcing battlefield events and of air-raid sirens to announce attacks jarred in juxtaposition with swordfights and ritualized battlefield meetings between Greek and Trojan heroes.
The titular roles, played by Chris Adams and Charlotte Salkind, were well cast and subtly acted. Adams and Salkind didn’t balk at the strange chemistry required of Shakespearean lovers — giddy joy, o’er-expressed feelings, and simple naïveté. They never lost the sub-text, and it was a delight to watch both negotiate the fine line between hiding their characters’ feelings from their stage partners while simultaneously revealing the inner turmoil to the audience. However, it was Richard Hill, in the role of Pandarus, who really stood out. While Hector, Patroclus, Diomedes, and countless other parts were over-played, Hill’s portrayal of an ambitious, loving, and manipulative uncle was consistently refreshing. His subtlety, as well as a brilliant choice to draw out a homosexual subtext in his relationship with Paris, made his character deep, moving, funny, and endearing. Even more than Hector’s death, Pandarus’ fall from grace is the true tragedy of the play. Rightly, its Hill’s acting that represents the play’s finest moments.
As a whole, the performance and direction are impressive. Yet the whole falls short of the sum of its parts, mainly because of issues with the script. The play didn’t translate into the social structures of the early seventeenth century, and it still jars the viewer with a mix of cultural norms which are hard to reconcile. There’s a reason it wasn’t performed until the mid-nineteenth century (and only rarely after that). Shakespeare had a way with words, but Homer simply told this story better.
