It's easy to think of Shakespeare as a dramatist of extremes. After all, Othello appears to be jealousy itself, Hamlet the very image of indecision, Macbeth raw ambition and Romeo and Juliet love personified. When King Lear is degraded by his daughters (and, it seems, the universe), it's no garden-variety fall but rather a plummet into utter despair and madness. Shakespeare's characters so completely exhaust their own possibilities that it's difficult not to think of them as models of human stances. All innocent young girls then become Mirandas, all wronged wives Desdemonas, all ill-tempered women Katherinas and all successful young heroes Henry V's. These figures aren't just characters; they're archetypes of personhood (so much so that critic Harold Bloom says Shakespeare "invented" the human). But then there are a few Shakespeare plays — like Much Ado About Nothing — in which the characters aren't exemplary, in which it's not some deep truth but some more modest one that's being dramatized. Beatrice and Benedick are not the greatest lovers who ever exchanged vows, and the contention in which they engage before they become lovers is never so primal as, say, the Capulets and Montagues'. Claudio and Hero — the other couple in the play — are taken with each other, yes, but Claudio's not so enamored that he'll defend Hero against a calumny, and Hero never has a single love-speech to rival Juliet's. There's only one out-and-out anything in Much Ado, and that's the villain Don John, who's determined to ruin Claudio's nuptials by hook or crook. But his role is relatively small, while the play is dominated by characters — Leonato, Don Pedro, the four lovers, Dogberry — who are, if not average, not very far from it. A good production of the comedy will therefore not have the same profound effect on us as one of the more exemplary tragedies or histories. There's a good story here and some interesting characters. But we shouldn't expect to be thunderstruck.
Which brings me to the current American Stage version of Much Ado, with its many strengths and occasional weaknesses. Fortunately, this Much Ado, as directed by Todd Olsen, is more Shakespearean than not, and most of the time holds our attention with its fine acting. But there are aspects of the production — the jarring use of contemporary Spanish music, an irrelevant Salvador Dali theme in the set, a misguided attempt to make a mildly comic role hilarious — that detract from the production as they try to make the play something more than it is. Not that Much Ado couldn't work with a "high concept," but this one illuminates nothing and seems to stem most of all from dissatisfaction with the play's modesty. But who ever said that we had to be blown away by a production in order to feel moved? At its most moderate, Much Ado is a satisfying play, and one which doesn't need improvement. So it shouldn't surprise us that when the American Stage production is least innovative, we have the best experience.
The plot of Much Ado concerns two sets of lovers, Beatrice and Benedick and Claudio and Hero. Beatrice and Benedick start the play as carping opposites, and then each is tricked into believing that the other really wants to mate. Believing themselves beloved, they rapidly shed their armor and turn to each other, all insults forgotten. But can their love last? As for Claudio and Hero, they're scheduled to marry when Claudio is convinced (by the evil Don John) that Hero is unfaithful. So Claudio denounces his would-be bride — at the wedding of all places — and Hero pretends to die of shame. Will Claudio discover that Hero is innocent before he's forced into a duel with his erstwhile friend Benedick? Will Don John be exposed? Will we have our happy ending?
Keeping us wondering are some strong — and in several cases, top-notch — performances. There's Anna Stone as Beatrice, exuding intelligence, sobriety, strength and, where men are concerned, healthy skepticism. Also terrific is Phil Wilcox as Don Pedro, the military man whose level-headedness is as useful in peace as in war. Steven Clark Pachosa as Leonato — Hero's father and Beatrice's uncle — brings humor and vitality to a pivotal character, and Bob Devin Jones is as nefarious a Don John as Shakespeare could have wanted. Emilia Sargent as Hero doesn't have many lines, but turns in an ingratiating performance anyway, and Colleen McDonnell as Friar Francis radiates goodwill and good sense. Finally, David C. Baker, who's been making the most of small parts all around the Bay area, turns in a memorable performance as Don John's henchman, Borachio.
Unfortunately, the two male leads are less than winning. Pony-tailed Matt Chiorini puts too much emphasis on Benedick's sexuality, while John Bromels, though a solid actor, makes a lackluster Claudio. And then there's the problem of Brian Shea as Constable Dogberry. As directed by Olson, Shea wildly overplays the role, as if to force us into laughter that we might refuse to give freely. But Dogberry's character is comic enough as written, and Shea's efforts just interfere with our enjoyment of the part. Interfering also with our enjoyment are the adventitious aspects of Olson's production, from the Gipsy Kings and salsa-flavored music that meaninglessly interrupts the action, to John Malolepsy's Dali-flavored set, with its cardboard cutout of a Greek sculpture and strangely small centerstage fountain. The two songs composed by Marcus Hummond are unexceptional, but Alison Parker's costumes are colorful and just eccentric enough to remind us that the "Messina" we're witnessing is a fantasy city on a fictional globe. Finally, Olson's sound design, when not distressing us with up-to-the-minute recordings of world music, occasionally includes some appropriately romantic guitar work.
On the whole, this Much Ado is likable and successful. Olson's concept may not work, but it only intrudes itself on occasion. The rest of the time we're more than satisfied with undistorted Shakespeare.
Contact Performance Critic Mark E. Leib at mark.leib@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in May 6-12, 2004.