By Natalie Ristovski
The legend of Queen Cleopatra has long been burdened by centuries of misunderstanding – her remarkable political intelligence too often eclipsed by the familiar image of the seductive queen who brought powerful men to their knees. Much of this mythology owes more to Roman propaganda and the prejudices of later generations than to Cleopatra herself, who has repeatedly been cast as the convenient scapegoat for men’s folly, as though Caesar and Antony were undone by a woman’s ambition rather than their own (oftimes foolish and self-indulgent) political choices. Historically, Cleopatra herself was a formidable ruler: intelligent, strategic, multilingual, politically astute, and fiercely committed to protecting Egypt’s place in an increasingly Roman world – a woman who exercised her power however she could in a world determined to deny it to her. Her story remains compelling not because she was the temptress history made her, but because she was, by any measure, one of the ancient world’s great and powerful queens.
William Shakespeare’s ‘Antony & Cleopatra,’ one of his longer, more wordy offerings, plays fast and loose with history, leaning well beyond the myth of the temptress to paint Cleopatra as a mercurial and selfish child with borderline personality disorder, whose hedonistic court acts as a web to ensnare and trap men unto their doom while she plays high-school mind-games with her lover. Antony – a whiny drunkard dude-bro clearly dating above his station – frequently and loudly blames both Egypt and his supposedly beloved Queen for his predicament throughout the play, his insecurity matched only by his inability to take responsibility for anything he says or does. It is hardly a match made in heaven, and what some would call passionate seems more like a teenage angst-fest without the sparkly vampires. That these two were romantically involved at all is far greater a tragedy than their cut and paste Romeo and Juliet-like ending.
Ironically, the best thing about Sonya Suares’ Cleopatra & Antony are the parts that were not written by Shakespeare. Narrated by the Queen’s beloved acolyte Charmian, these added asides give much needed modern analysis to what would otherwise have been the same old tale of men doing dumb-ass things and blaming women. In Suares’ vision, we are given at least brief respite from this merry-go-round of misogyny to critically examine the bullshit we are being fed. Being in on the joke hardly makes it easier to stomach, but it does reframe the meaning of quite a few scenes that may have in earlier interpretations fallen by the wayside to the ‘ill–fated lovers’ story of its unhinged titular characters. The choice to flip the script and place Cleopatra’s name before Antony’s in the title is a satisfying and bold statement that tells you everything you need to know about where Suares and company wanted this production to go.
Staging was simple but strong – Eloise Kent has done wonders with polystyrene and a handful of fabric to create an instantly recognisable and realistic Ancient world, which was particularly well utilized during the battle at sea. Lighting was similarly subdued, allowing the production to sit on its own merits rather than relying on flashy effects. And whoever decided to fill the theater with the scent of incense before doors opened was genius. Peak theatrical immersion.
The cast in its totality were exceptional. Regardless of my beef with the source material, they delivered in both dialogue and performance exactly what one hopes for when seeing Shakespeare, a sharp and to the point narrative that did not scrimp on emotion and gravitas. Akina Edmonds shone as Cleopatra, and Louis Lucente kept pace as Antony, matching both Edmonds’ fire and finesse. Damon Baudin was a deliciously smug I-want-to-smack-you-in-the-face Octavius, and Deep Sroa as Pompey almost had me rooting for the guy out of sheer spite for the others. But the night belonged most to the remainder of the supporting cast – particularly Tsungirai Wachenuka as Charmian, Jennifer Vuletic as Agrippa, Mikey Sakinofsky as Alexas, Laura Iris Hill as Enorbarbus and Mark Yates as Lepidus. Their performances as foil and spectator to the machinations of their leaders, pulled into the maelstrom of madness unto their own various ends, were a bittersweet joy and wonder to behold. Mark Yates did not deliver lines so much as live and breathe them, Laura Iris Hill’s bombastic side-eye during the Octavius/Antony negotiations will live rent-free in my head for years to come, and Tsungirai Wachenuka’s wrenching and raw grief at the demise of her mistress was felt in the very bones.
If one were to choose to be gracious for a moment to ole’ William the Bard, one might posit that the true tragedy in this tale and the real love story within its words was not that of an Egyptian Queen and her ill-fated rebound relationship, but in the experiences of their supporters, servants and friends. Amir Antoine’s heart-wrenching final moments as Eros evoked chills, and the aforementioned grief of Cleopatra’s attendants and handmaidens as she died was absolutely devastating. Indeed, the show’s final moments were designed to eclipse Antony completely, focusing solely on the sheer magnitude and glory of the force of nature that was Queen Cleopatra VII of Egypt. It was an ending that left me sobbing for a woman I’d never known, and the shattering loss for the world at the demise of the incarnation of the Goddess Isis on earth. In this, more than anything else, this production excelled.
Cleopatra & Antony plays at FortyFiveDownstairs until 13th September.
Bring tissues.
Image: Nick Mick Pics
