Sometimes a play’s popularity becomes its greatest weakness. When the audience knows—or even thinks it knows—what will happen, and how, and who the characters are, and what to think about their motives and flaws and failings, the performance itself risks being buried under the weight of preconception. In this way, perhaps the greatest disservice done to Romeo and Juliet is ninth grade English class.
The Shakespeare Theatre Company’s production of Romeo and Juliet liberates the drama from this baggage, not by trying to reinterpret the play, but by showing the play for the intricate piece of art it is: a tragic love story laid atop a revenge drama. In his interpretation, Alan Paul opted to play the love story straight, acknowledging Romeo and Juliet’s youth, while treating their love as devoted, genuine, and sincere. It’s a decision that helps to free the play from feeling rushed. Yes, they love quickly, but both are young and excited.
Much of this rests on the casting of Ayana Workman to play a spritely, girlish Juliet. Her scenes emphasize both Juliet’s innocence and the depth of her love for Romeo. The scenes between her and Andrew Veenstra capture the giddy excitement of a teenaged romance, one that leaves each dreaming alone and giddy together. Simple decisions, such as moving much of the balcony scene down to the stage, allow this production to follow the small moments and little humors of their budding romance.
Of course, many of these small moments occur amid large groups and parties, (perhaps proving Jordan Parker’s opinion that large parties are more intimate than small ones.) To Paul, “the structure of the play juxtaposes two different parties, one that happens and one that doesn’t.” Under his direction, the production hangs balanced between Capulets’ party, where the two lovers meet, and Juliet’s planned wedding to Paris, halted by her apparent death.
The first party is wild, with dancing, lights, a DJ, and Mercutio in a silver suit. Afterward, it’s dismantled before the audience’s eyes, while the characters work through their own reactions to what happened that night. And wouldn’t it take a party that wild, exuberant, and strangely intimate to upset such a long-standing feud?
In theater, parties and fights have a peculiar parallelism. It’s not just that one is likely to lead to the other. Rather, both rest on the strength of the choreography. Dancers and fighters circle and whirl, pulling closer and then rushing across the stage. Like the parties, each of the skirmishes between the Capulets and the Montagues is beautifully choreographed, filling the stage while highlighting specific characters.
Under the direction of fight choreographer David Leong, actors not only speak in character, they fight that way as well. This is best highlighted in the fight between Mercutio (Jeffrey Carlson) and Tybalt (Alex Mickiewicz), where each character’s movements match his personality. Tybalt’s aggression battles Mercutio’s studied, stylized disdain. Even knowing the ending that must come, you do not see the deadly strike, nor notice the blood until Mercutio sprawls lazily into a chair and bitterly announces his own death.
And from that moment on, the play is a mad rush to blood and tears. Like hate, love is not a tender emotion. It stirs the spirit and calls forth dramatic, irrevocable action. While the story of Romeo and Juliet circles a romance, the story cannot escape the bloodlust of revenge. It takes a masterful performance to balance the ruddy passions, the result, however, is beautiful.
Romeo and Juliet runs through November 6.
