I’ve spent the last three years writing essays. Every fortnight on this blog I’ll be burning off a little bit of that stock-pile, those bits and pieces that might interest the general or semi-academic reader. As ever, let know what you think in the comments, by email or on facebook/twitter.
When he approached his adaptation of Romeo and Juliet Zeffirelli knew who the stars were. Not the leads, but the celebrities. In an interview with The Guardian during filming in 1968:
Zeffirelli described his view of Tybalt – ‘in the position of being a villain, but he has a lot of justification… He’s the golden playboy of the period’ – and Mercutio, ‘a rebel fascinating and charming…’
They are young, both glamorous and glamorised: they are stars. The Montagues and Capulets are not two families in conflict so much as two gangs of youths. In fact their cockpieces and violent verbal flamboyance, which they use to facilitate and excuse male aggression is remarkably similar to Kubrick’s adaptation of Burgess’s A Clockwork Orange three years later (Kubrick’s fight choreography is indeed similar, even directly referential in fact, to Zeffirelli’s).
As gang leaders, Tybalt and Mercutio are the celebrities of this world, always the centre of the spectacle and surrounded by, but never subsumed within, other people. In fact Jackson quotes many reviews of the film on its initial reception, most of which are negative, including Variety magazine’s observation that:
Whiting [who plays Romeo] lacked presence, and ‘among his street friends there [was] really nothing to single him out as the male lead’.
This relationship is demonstrable in Act 1 Scene 4, a performance that sticks largely to the original text of the play. John McEnery as Mercutio takes on an almost ritualistic, prophet-like quality as his mask, which he dons for the Capulets’ ball is the only one that is skull-like. It’s a death mask, basked in the scene’s dazzling torchlight. It’s concurrent with physical promotion as hero – a promotion that is enacted by gaining superior height to his fellows (by jumping onto a raised surface); a dominance of screen time, profile close-ups and a command of those around him earnt by his flamboyance and sheer verbal dexterity. Celebrity and death are symbolically linked.
Mercutio is led away from the scene proper by Romeo and finds himself out of the torchlight, as if out of the scene itself as Romeo tells him(1.4.95-6):
Romeo Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! / Thou talk’st of nothing.
Mercutio True. I talk of dreams, / Which are the children of an idle brain, / Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, / Which is as thin of substance as the air
McEnery looks blank, almost characterless. Away from his celebrity he is a non-entity. The meta-theatricality of the lines transforms to a meta-cinematic statement on the notion of stardom. The crowd sweep Mercutio back up into the scene, their hero. But McEnery’s eyes stay fixed on Romeo, warning him away from the hollowness of celebrity – a refutation rather than an assertion of self.
When Zeffirelli casts Mel Gibson in his 1990 production of Hamlet, then, the background of Romeo and Juliet instantly makes Gibson a marked man. Gibson was most famed for the Lethal Weapon films, an action hero of even greater prowess than McEnery’s Mercutio or Michael York’s Tybalt. In many ways this film of Hamlet is the reverse of Romeo and Juliet. Gibson’s Hamlet has star status, he has the “great love the general gender bear him” (4.7.18) but he finds himself adrift from it, isolated in the suspician and petty whisperings of Elsinore.
Just as Gibson must survive without the pyrotechnics of the action sequence and contend instead with the intimacy of monologue and the primacy of word; his Hamlet must sustain his sanity through celebrity within a small populous in which reputation confronts him at every turn.
The casting continues Zeffirelli’s particularly masculine sense of celebrity, creating a world in which the gravitas of a central character is such that a conventional action movie romance plot – the leading man and woman having sexual tension, transcends even the taboo of incest as Hamlet and Gertrude (Glen Close) share their infamous kiss in the closet scene (3.4). This is often interpreted as sensationalism loosely justified by oedipal theories about the original text. Yet surely it also demonstrates the deep unnaturalness of the late century’s notions of stardom.
Shakespeare’s Hamlet demonstrates the instability and unatainability of the masculine ideals of its age. Likewise Zeffirelli’s Hamlet undermines a new unattainable male aspiration: the movie star.