The 2011 Alabama Shakespeare Festival: Julius Caesar.

Hampton, Bryan Adams

Caesar's assassination was a messy bit of business. With as much blood squirting as we might find in a 1980s slasher movie, it gave new meaning to Alabamas Crimson Tide. When the house lights were raised at intermission, I turned to my companion with eagerness and trepidation and asked, "Well, how do you like it so far?" It was my eleven-year-old daughter's first experience seeing a professional production of a Shakespearean play. An odd choice on my part, perhaps, to initiate her into the mysteries; we could have seen the Festival's production of Much Ado About Nothing instead. But since she had been studying classical civilization, mythology, and Latin during the school year, director Geoffrey Sherman's production of Julius Caesar at the 2011 Alabama Shakespeare Festival seemed like the suitable telos of the academic year. She raised her eyebrows, grinned, and replied, "It's good. Bur it's like watching Spanish TV. It's entertaining, bur I don't understand anything."

This was an honest, and unwittingly profound, response to a play whose principal action centers on the thorny, if not impossible, task of understanding. What, precisely, is the significance of Casca's seeing a "tempest dropping fire" from the heavens (1.3.10), or men "all in fire" walking the streets (25)? (1) What about the lack of a heart found in Caesar's sacrificial offering (2.2.39-41)? Do these signs indicate the favor or displeasure of the gods, and toward whom? Is Caesar to be feared for what he is? What is he? Cassius enviously views him as the "Colossus" that "bestride[s] the narrow world" (1.2.135-36) at everyone else's expense. Is Caesar to be feared for what he might become? Brutus confesses him not to be a tyrant, for "to speak truth of Caesar, / I have not known when his affections swayed / More than his reason" (2.1.19-21). But are we then to consent to his fears over Caesar's ambitions, when crowning him "might change his nature" (13)? Do we believe Calpurnia's ominous interpretation of her dream of Caesar's statue running with blood while Romans bathe their hands in it (2.2.78-82)? Or do we believe the interpretation of the conspirator Decius Brutus, whose quick thinking renders these details as Caesar's nourishing legacy to Rome (83-90)? The action of the play indicates that both interpretations of the statue appear to be true, bearing out Cicero's warning that "men may construe things after their own fashion" (1.3.34)--a statement driven home in Cassius's breast by his own sword when his friend Titinius laments, "Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything" (5.3.84).

Geoffrey Sherman's period production, with authentic costuming richly designed by Elizabeth Novak, managed these ambiguities well. Before the play began, the audience was instructed to participate in the role of the fickle Roman mob at crucial scenes when stirred and prompted to echo the actors stationed in the aisles. Shouting "Caesar! Caesar!" while trumpets sound in the background, we hail Rodney Clark's dignified Caesar at his entrance (1.2) as he strides with gravitas across the stage dressed in regal red and gold; after the assassination, we as the angry mob demand satisfaction from the conspirators (3.2.1); swayed by rhetoric, we chant "Live, Brutus, live, live!" (3.2.48) to a Brutus portrayed by Stephen Paul Johnson in a dynamic performance that earns every bit of Marc Antony's praise at the close of the play (5.5.68); and we shout fervent cries of revenge and mutiny (3.2.205, 232) when the charismatic Peter Simon Hilton, as Antony, delicately removes the ripped, crimson-stained toga covering Caesar's body or teases us with the contents of Caesar's will. The front of his tunic is as bloody as Caesar's toga, indicating that he has perhaps been embracing his fallen friend. In tears, he paces the stage as well as the aisles of the theatre and holds Caesar's toga before the gaze of various audience members who examine "the most unkindest cut of all" (3.2.184). Sherman's production allowed the audience to experience and to participate in both sides of the political contention, such that we witness Caesar in just the terms that Brutus describes. Caesar is at once sacred and profane: a "dish fit for the gods" (2.1.174) because he represents the best that Rome has to offer, and the serpent in the egg (32) whose venom must be purged from the republic that he threatens.

As Sigurd Burckhardt relates, critics of the play have been split about its political meaning and where Shakespeare's own sympathies lie, whether with Brutus's republican ideals or Caesar's monarchical tendencies. For Burckhardt, Brutus himself is an anachronism, misjudging his audience by assuming they share the same time-honored nobility as him; the striking clock in 2.1 (in the production, tolling like a medieval church bell) indicates not that the time is ripe for Brutus to defend the republican virtues to which he holds fast, but that the moment is now fit for a Caesar to be placed in the crucible of history. "The political point of the play," Burckhardt asserts, "is not that the monarchical principle is superior to the republican--nor the reverse--but that the form of government, the style of politics, must take account of the time and the temper of the people.... " (2) The "time and temper" of the Roman people, as well as the competing political ideals between the optimates (the conservative aristocrats represented by the conspirators) and the populares (the progressive party represented by Caesar and Antony) are subtly reflected in Peter Hicks's set design. Large, circular bronze plaques are placed on the two massive columns that frame the stage; before the assassination these plaques bore the image of Caesar, but when the action resumed in 3.2 after the intermission they displayed the Roman eagle atop the republican standard bearing SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus). Hanging in the background are three panels that raise and lower at various heights to indicate scene changes in private settings. These panels ascend while a set of three pillars descends to indicate the public forum. Stairs rise to create three distinct but connected areas for staging the action, and Sherman takes advantage of Hicks's set design to emphasize the political tensions. In 1.2 Caesar entered with fanfare from a slightly higher platform at stage right, whose stairs descend to the other two platforms which share the same level, but which are offset downstage and upstage. Brutus and Cassius occupied this lower level as they gazed upon the new dictator, with plebians scattering about them or descending to the main stage. When Caesar (con) descended to this lower level to engage Antony, Brutus and Cassius crossed his path and descended several steps. As a passionate Cassius, Thom Rivera uncannily resembles a Roman version of Gordon Gekko, Michael Douglas's cutthroat anti-hero from Wall Street, and with the ego to match. His black hair slicked back, he sneers and flashes his dark eyes. While Brutus remained facing the audience and glancing at Caesar, Cassius turned his back to Caesar in a private gesture of contempt and conspiracy. Peter Hicks's set also incorporated a rain machine to accompany peals of thunder as a frightened Casca (Phillip Christian) crept about in the shadows on his way to meet Cicero (a bit part played by veteran actor Eric Hoffmann), cloaked and hobbling on a cane. The added novelty of the rain intensified the bleakness of the scene, but the sound unfortunately drowned out some of the dialogue between the characters, including Cicero's apt warning about interpreting signs.

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With the stage lights turned low, it was a menacing sight when the conspirators entered, heavily cloaked and hooded. They stood this way for several seconds in silence. One by one, they doffed their hoods and Brutus welcomed them. As the scene progressed and talk of conspiracy mounted, the men surrounded Brutus, giving us the impression that he was trapped--not just by his ideals but also by these men who will use them for their own gain. The sound engineer, Brett Rominger, orchestrates the eruption of thunder throughout the scene, such that its continual presence adds another character to the scene. As G. Wilson Knight observes, the weird phenomena, combined with the storm, "stand for contest, destruction, and disorder in the outer world and in the reader's mind, mirroring the contest, destruction, and disorder ... in the soul of the hero.... " (3) Rivera's Cassius shared none of Brutus's interior contest or disorder. He was obviously impatient and annoyed, pacing the area, furrowing his brows, and shaking his head when Brutus suggests they ought to be "sacrificers, but not butchers" (2.167). Cassius was the last to leave and cast a hesitating backward glance towards an already ruminating Brutus, but he said nothing when he exited.

In a play with few parts for women, Jenny Mercein (Portia) and Tara Herweg (Calpurnia) leave their marks. Both ably summon anxiety and concern over their husbands' impending circumstances, and we feel their frustrations. There is palpable tenderness and affection between Mercein and Johnson, especially; Clark and Herweg display no less, but the obvious age difference between them tends to suggest that their love is categorically different. Clark's Caesar cannot completely escape the elevation of his public persona, even when he is dressed in his gown and pacing about the household, and his gestures of affection toward his young wife, such as when he squares up with her and places his hands on her shoulders when he concedes to stay home (2.2.55-56), impress us as being parental rather than spousal. Sherman made the atypical choice to cast the Soothsayer as a woman, played by Greta Lambert, who has been with the ASF since 1985. Dressed in a ragged tunic and wrapped in an animal skin, Lambert's Soothsayer is frenetic and afflicted with her divine burden, reminding us of the mad prophetess Cassandra from Homer's Iliad. Rather than being oppositional toward the prideful Caesar who scorns her, she is desperate, wringing her hands and pulling her hair. This portrait of the Soothsayer is one that I had never entertained. These interpretive choices render a Caesar who is not being punished outright for his hubris ("Wilt thou lift up Olympus?" he cries to everyone kneeling before him on the steps of the Capitol in 3.1.75), but a Caesar whom the gods perhaps favor and desire to give fair warning.

In the assassination scene, the conspirators surrounded Caesar just as they had previously surrounded Brutus, slowly closing ranks about him. Casca delivered the first dagger thrust from behind and unhesitatingly Brutus delivered the last in a movement that resembled a frontal embrace. Rodney Clark is among the taller actors in the production, and his lanky height and erect posture give him a regal bearing. That makes it all the more striking to see him crumple and fall on the stage. At Brutus's prompting, the conspirators knelt in a circle around his body, bathing their arms in his blood and looking like scavenger birds feeding on a corpse. They seemed a little unsure of what to do when Antony entered the scene, but with daggers drawn they backed away while he kissed Caesar's face. His forearms became bloody as he steadily shook the hands of the assassins and studied their faces for a moment before moving to the next. Afterward, he again knelt at Caesar's corpse and began to weep as he compared Caesar to the deer hunted and "strucken by many princes" (3.1.211). Cassius bellowed his name (213), startling him out of his indulgent grief. Sherman's staging at this point is exceptionally calculated. The conspirators clustered menacingly yet again with daggers drawn around Antony, still on his knees. Standing off to the side, Brutus was not included in this circle. Clearly, he did not share Cassius's or the others' envy of Caesar or malice towards Antony. Neither was Trebonius (Corey Triplett, who doubles as an Octavius without enough choler) included; he was in the background paralyzed and uncomprehending, staring at the body, and loosely holding his dagger by his fingertips. There is no compelling textual reason why Trebonius should be singled out here among the other conspirators, but the effect is stunning. Caesar's blood not yet cold, his death is already splintering the optimates' unity of purpose; not everyone is convinced that they have done the right thing. As the conspirators left, thinking they had gained Antony's trust, the general dipped his hand in Caesar's blood and streaked it across his face in a gesture of vengeance before servants bore the body away.

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When we are transported to Asia Minor for the culminating action, a huge map lowers in the background to indicate Brutus's tent as the strategic command center for the impending battle. The separation between Brutus and Cassius that was physically demarcated in the earlier scene by the former's exclusion from the circle has now come to fruition during their heated argument in 4.3. Johnson's consistent display of Roman dignitas and gravitas throughout the play pays off here, as we are drawn to Brutus in his indignation at Cassius's taking of bribes. "Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?" he asks his friend, and "shall we now / Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, /And sell the mighty space of our large honors / For so much trash as may be grasped thus?" (4.3.19-26). As the scene progressed, Rivera dropped to his knees, pulled a dagger from his belt, and extended its handle to Brutus, who slowly approached and clasped Cassius's hands about the hilt. For a split second we wonder if Brutus will plunge the point into Cassius's awaiting breast before they are reconciled. His anger is "as the flint bears fire" which "shows a hasty spark / And straight is cold again" (111-113).

The news of Portia's death immediately follows. When Brutus narrates the story of the desperate Portia, who "swallowed fire" (4.3.155) out of the fear that Antony and Octavius had grown too powerful, Cassius is obviously dumbstruck. As Messala enters to inform Brutus of her death, Cassius stares blankly into the audience in shock during the entire exchange. The double report of Portia's death is a moment of textual ambiguity in the play. In the process of revision, did Shakespeare mistakenly forget to erase one of the accounts or are both intended? If the latter, the scene presents a ripe opportunity for an actor to nuance Brutus's character, upon which Sherman's production did not capitalize. Telling Cassius the news first gives the audience another glimpse of the "private" Brutus, while the second report delivered in the presence of other soldiers allows the audience to see the "public" Brutus. Is his response in both cases consistent? If not, there might be room to develop the private/ public dichotomy in Brutus that we find plaguing Caesar himself--displayed so well in 2.2, when Caesar begins the scene resolute about going to the Capitol, then caves to Calpurnia's pleading when in the private household, and then reaffirms the power of Caesar's will to decide ("I am constant as the northern star," he proclaims in 3.1.61) when the public sphere invades as Decius enters. As Marjorie Garber points out, Shakespeare takes "considerable pains, from the first, to demonstrate the resemblance between Brutus and Caesar." (4) Brutus's tent offers a space where he and Cassius retreat for their confrontation so that their officers and soldiers are not privy to their division and quarrel (4.2.41-47). But this private space is similarly invaded by the public demands of the army when the officers Messala (James Bowen) and Titinius (Brik Berkes) enter. Brutus's private grief in front of Cassius may be put into check by the public persona when Messala utters the news with the prefatory, "Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell" (187)--that is, with stoicism in the face of death, which Brutus appears to recognize, given his curt response: "Why, farewell, Portia. We must all die, Messala," (189). Stephen Paul Johnson's performance at this point showed little awareness of this dynamic tension, and he was consistent and sober throughout the scene. Better than Caesar, his Brutus lives up to the analogy of being as steady as the "northern star." The appearance of Caesar's ghost later in the scene rattled him, however. Brutus's tent is dimly lit with a few soft spotlights when Caesar's bloody corpse slowly emerges from one of the sets of entrance/exit stairs which ascends/descends at the front of the main stage and connects to tunnels and dressing rooms underneath the audience. When the ghost uttered his lines, Clark's clear baritone voice was raspy, amplified with a microphone and modulated with an eerie echo. Brutus nearly fell off his seat in response.

As the battle begins, the fog of war descends. Shakespeare has already set us up for internal conflict, as we are not sure for whom we should be rooting. Sherman's production continues to take advantage of the turmoil. Soldiers and officers from both sides of the conflict are helmeted and wearing the same armor, so that those less familiar with the play may have difficulty discerning the difference. The confusion is intensified when the production adds a billowing fog machine as well. Pindarus (Kevin Callaghan) ascended a ladder at stage left when he was commanded by Cassius to report on the fate of Titinius, an order which he misconstrues, leading to Cassius's suicide. Cassius knelt facing the audience while Pindarus stood above and behind him, driving the sword downward into his neck. The manner of this death seems slightly more dignified than it is in the text, where Cassius requests that his servant stab him only after his face is covered (5.3.44). While Cassius dies in his full battle armor, Brutus dies dressed only in his tunic, suggesting that he has already realized that his republican ideals will not win the day. The soldier Strato (Tyler Jakes) reluctantly served his master by holding the sword, but turned and covered his own face as Brutus impaled himself with eyes wide open. Given Johnson's unflinchingly noble performance through the production, Strato's words to Messala and Octavius are indeed apt: "The conquerors can but make a fire of him, / For Brutus only overcame himself, / And no man else hath honor by his death" (5.5.55-57). Similar words will be said by Cleopatra about the doomed Antony in Antony and Cleopatra (4.15.17-18).

At the conclusion of last year's Festival production of Hamlet, I was pleasantly surprised to see three of the lead actors take the stage to field audience questions about the play and their interpretive decisions. That practice was taken up again when the curtain fell on Julius Caesar. Johnson and Rivera make an effective tag team, adding a witty and improvisational spit-shine to the production whose polishing began with an energetic and entertaining mini-lecture by the dramaturg, Dr. Susan Willis. On this occasion, I was pleased "to part the glories of this happy day" (5.5.81) with my daughter in a theater that is one of the true germs of the South. Hail, Sherman!

Notes

(1.) All citations of the play text are from Julius Caesar, ed. David Bevington (New York: Bantam Books, 1988).

(2.) Sigurd Burckhardt, Shakespearean Meanings (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968); reprinted in Shakespeare: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory from 1945-2000, ed. Russ McDonald (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), 213.

(3.) G. Wilson Knight, The Wheel of Fire: Interpretations of Shakespearian Tragedy (London: Methuen & Co., 1949), 130.

(4.) For more on the private/public split in Caesar's character, see Marjorie Garber, Shakespeare After All (New York: Anchor Books, 2004), 425.

Bryan Adams Hampton, University of Tennessee at Chattanooga