THE TEMPEST
All this abstraction evokes a shipwreck that is frighteningly real to the imagination. But more important, the scene focuses on Prospero’s relationship to the calamity he has created. Prospero alone is lit, and we see his delight as he brings his enemies, those who conspired to overthrow his dukedom and banished him to an island, to their knees. But he also seems troubled by his action, as if dimly aware of the great lesson in forgiveness he will learn by the end of the play.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
The varying acting styles in this Tempest exacerbate the lack of unity. Scenes are generally either full of exaggerated emotions or curiously passionless. Prospero’s fury, Miranda’s pleadings, and Caliban’s contempt often grow to nearly grotesque enormity, while members of the court seem to carry on purely intellectual discussions. This may have been the director’s conscious choice, to point up the differences between the veneer of culture and the grittiness of nature, but such a choice prevents a consistent stage reality from emerging. Scenes focusing on the members of the court are especially problematic. When we first see them, they’ve washed up on the beach, and the King of Naples (Page Hearn) believes his son to have been drowned. Gonzalo (Dan Howell) tries to lift the king’s spirits by expounding upon their good fortune: they’ve survived and ended up on a hospitable island. But the scene is played as a simple debate. And since the characters seem entirely composed, the reality of the shipwreck and the seriousness of their situation are compromised–the scene loses the stakes that make it dramatically compelling.
