A skirmish of wit

Regarded by many to be one of Shakepeare's finest plays, 'Much ado about nothing' truly is a gem of the English literary heritage.

There have been a myriad of interpretations of it from traditional to modern, to, I think most successfully, wartime - pinup style - by Guildford Shakespeare Company who left me in stitches watching the cast in their Breton bathing suits dotting in and out of the wooden hut changing rooms to hide whilst 'accidentally' overhearing conversations pertaining to them. Set al fresco, they even had a tennis court where the cast, cable knits slung across shoulders, picked up vintage tennis racquets and just were completely hilarious.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of watching The Rose Theatre's production in Kingston which starred the hilarious Mel Giedroyc. Clearly, Mel's casting was something of a draw - I was a big fan of The Great British Bakeoff, was being the operative word as I haven't watching it since it moved to C4 in a stoic stubborn ode to the BBC and Mel & Sue. However it was John Hopkins' Benedick who really stole the show in this production, closely followed by Mel's Beatrice.

For those unfamiliar to the tale, here's a quick overview:

1. news comes that Don Pedro and his men are en route to Messina and Leonato and his household - a household including Leonato's daughter, Hero, and niece, Beatrice. We are introduced to the concept of Benedick, much maligned by Beatrice who seems disgusted with the idea of socialising with him.

2. come Don Pedro with Benedick and young champion Claudio. Also present: brother Don John and DJ's men.

3. Claudio sort of fancies Leonato's daughter Hero. DP scopes it out and gets her to agree to marrying Claudio. YAY big party. Hero, Claudio, Leonato and DP decide to get Benedick and Beatrice together through essentially having loud conversations that each party is supposed to overhear. Cue the comedy.

4. Leonato, Claudio and DP have a loud chat about Beatrice confessed her love for Benedick knowing Benedick could hear. Similarly, Hero and her maid Ursula have the same chat but regarding Benedick's affection for Beatrice while she listens in. Trap set.

5. DJ not such a fan of Claudio and knows that Hero's maid Margaret is hooking up with one of the male members of staff. Designs a trap where Margaret wears Hero's clothes, gets frisky with this other chap and poor old Claudio and DP see it and think Hero's a bit of a slut.

6. Slut shaming at the wedding - Hero is accused of sleeping around and faints. Her family tell everyone she's dead and she's not (plot thickens).

7. behind the scenes a really stupid policeman has caught some 'intruders' who were conveniently the ones besmirching Hero's name. Claudio and DP look pretty stupid and feel awful. Claudio agrees to marry Hero's spitting image cousin, and agrees. But hey it's actually Hero who makes him feel pretty small.

8. Claudio and Hero get together and Benedick proposes to Beatrice. So it's all good really.

Onto the Rose's production. It's not wartime or old-fashioned, it's Mafia themed and it's set in a spa with a gym.

And Hero has a pair of Beats headphones (or similar) on while jumping on her bed with a hairbrush microphone listening to something current. Basically I was ready for the Katy Perry fest. There's also a rave with dry ice, the cast dancing the macarena (but not the macarena music which was a bit confusing...) and the partygoers in onesie costumes from Hulk to a unicorn.

Giedroyc, as Beatrice, is dressed in an inflatable cow costume. Benedick as a crocodile/dragon. Claudio is a dejected Batman, Hero is dressed as Minnie Mouse. All in all it's pretty amusing.

Giedroyc plays Beatrice well. There are so many ways to interpret her - this interpretation has her as a bit of a Bridget Jones but more defensive. She is bumbling and rolls her eyes but you can tell she's secretly got some warmth and is probably just guarding against getting hurt. I think a lot of women can relate... so for me she was a believable and endearing Beatrice. I warmed to her, felt sorry for her, facepalmed for her. She deserved the happiness she gets, and that, for me, is a true depiction of Shakespeare's character. I have also much admired Sarah Gobran's Beatrice (Guildford Shakespeare Company 2016) with sharp tongue, red lipstick and a wicked sense of self-importance. Gobran's Beatrice is acerbic and I loved it, but for very different reasons. Two very different Beatrice portrayals and Mel's was the warmer one by far.

So, ok, perhaps a warm Beatrice is unusual, actually, because it's so easy to read the character and make the assumption that she is aggressive, rather than putting up a façade. That's not to say this is wrong; as I mentioned, I found Gobran's portrayal to be one of my favourites. However, we should probably ask ourselves why we are so surprised by a softer Beatrice. So taken aback that Beatrice's barbed words don't necessarily make her a cow - as you might be forgiven for assuming judging by her costume alone!

Stepping outside Shakespeare to some degree, let's address that question. Because why a woman's sarcasm has to mean she is a hard woman, a shrew as Shakespeare might have said, is a serious question indeed. There's a problem society appears to have with a woman's expression of sentiments other than sycophancy or sickly sweetness. So let's unpack it slightly - the age old saying "hell hath no fury as a woman scorned" is but one example of society's concept of female anger. Of what a hurt woman's behaviour must be. It's looked on very differently compared with male anger, which is, of course, just a gallant battle for the love of a captive woman. Why can a woman not be angry? A recent TED talk by Tracee Ellis Ross explored female fury fantastically - watch it - and, ask any woman, hurt feelings lead to walls and distance and a rejection of situations where there's any chance of a repeat performance. No thanks, we say, we'd rather not deal with that again if we can help it.

In many ways it's easier to just shut out the people who may potentially cause us some misery, rather than voicing the frustration and the hurt and the, frankly sickening, sense of inevitable rejection. And then be told how "silly" we are for being that way, how it's a shame we're lacking in confidence. Don't get me wrong, it's not that none of us can open ourselves up to love. On the contrary, we can. And we do. My god do we know how to love someone. That's part of the bloody problem - just ask Beatrice. But, humour me, watch any episode of First Dates on Channel 4 and you are regaled by some story or other about how blindsided one of the female guests were by some sudden rejection and left with an acute case of "just not good enough". This is the point where you tell me that's not female specific, and you'd be right. Somehow, though, a hurt man is in touch with his emotions (a wonderful thing so they say) but a hurt woman is broken and needs fixing. I'm generalising and this problem is very real for men too. For either sex, there's only so much our self-esteem can hack before we withdraw a bit and shield ourselves from harm.

So yes men are rejected too, of course, and made to feel equally like idiots. Look at Claudio - he thinks he's had the wool pulled over his eyes and, in anger, lashes out and humiliates Hero without even considering there might be another side to the story. In literature, it is chiefly the case that a woman humiliated is just a thing that happens but a man humiliated? Why, that's a travesty. Shocking. Why is this the case? In so many contexts a wronged man is entitled to his moment of fury but a wronged woman isn't? She's expected to take it "like a man" and isn't that saying a bit ironic right about now?!

And there we have it, Claudio wonders how Hero could possibly humiliate him in such a manner. How he could be left looking stupid in front of his friends. And he thinks nothing of humiliating her so outrageously that she all but dies of shame. So 'scuse us for guarding agains that sort of behaviour. Ok, in reality is this the case? Don't we all jump to conclusions? Well, we certainly hear a lot about cheating - it's a sad fact of the world we live in right now. But, statistically, how often does the cheated-on female friend just step away hands up, pale and horrified but bearing it with quiet dignified pain. In contrast, the wronged man, who is much more socially enabled to be angry, lashes out. Take revenge porn. It's a thing - how is it a thing? Fury should be handled carefully. We all have a right to it but we should take care how it is expressed because we may crush a person with our scorn, or our rage, or our disdain. Full circle to the way we often perceive Beatrice - she's a "ball-buster", a headstrong woman with no regard for anyone's feelings. I can think of another: Elizabeth Bennett.

So I applaud Giedroyc's sensitive and natural portrayal of a character I'd argue is deeper than often portrayed. A character who is bruised. A character who doesn't want to open herself up to a world of pain and rejection. An imperfect woman who doesn't seem to have it quite so easy as the pretty bombshell. A woman who probably fancied Benedick for quite a while and figured she'd be unceremoniously rejected if he found out and would never hear the end of it. Who was belittled in each encounter and gave as good as she got. Who probably thought she'd be better to dish up the sarcasm than reveal the true pain of unrequited love and rejection. So this is just a theory, I know, but I would wager it's as reasonable as any we've had re Beatrice. How is it less credible than Beatrice as a miserable, angry old spinster.

Beatrice, famously, is asked "the gentleman is not in your books?" and responds "No; an he were I would burn my study". That's a line I have always liked. It's quick-witted, and it's as quick as we are to say "PAHA not if he were the last man on earth", meaning, really, that we actually might perhaps sort of like that person a TINY amount but we're pretty damn sure it's unrequited and so we'd rather just say "no thanks, are you mad?" because it's better than admitting defeat.

It hardly takes much persuasion from her family that Benedick's in love with her - music to her ears - and, similarly, he's quickly led to believe she fancies the pants off him. Funny how he was previously so flippant, so damning about relationships, so sure he'd never marry. Pick a quote on this topic, there are plenty, and identify his commitmentphobia. That is, until he thinks Bea is a smitten kitten and, remarkably, he's a changed man and he's practically organised their wedding. I'm not saying he's a coward but it's amazing how quickly he changes his tune. Are we really saying he didn't know how she felt? Are we really saying she wasn't a bit aware he might be flirting? Probably but neither dared hope.

Funny but also sort of sweet. Because here again we see someone so adamant they're not keen, a tough nut to crack, and full of the joys of bachelordom. If this were today, he'd have the Hoxton warehouse conversion with blue lights (at ankle level) in the black marble bathroom with pristine white sinks and dark wood floors. There'd be exposed brickwork. He'd have a big tv, a soundbar, some fancy books and, most importantly, a minimalist apartment that says "don't even think about leaving your stuff here. Not even a toothbrush" - not speaking from experience at all here...

The bachelor, however, is just like Beatrice. Guarded, wounded, bruised and bloody terrified that the girl he's sort of had a secret thing for (nobody knew obvs cos he was totally super subtle right?) may not feel the same and wouldn't it just be better to say nothing and remain blissfully detached and unrejected?

If we learn anything from Much Ado, it's that sometimes we've got to leap in feet first. Sometimes it doesn't pay to guard our hearts for fear we might miss out, but also sometimes guarding isn't a bad idea. After all, we don't really fancy ending up like Hero do we? Beyond all that, it's worth having some handy friends to play wingman who've got your back and know you well enough to see past the bravado and protestations to realise you've been holding a scented candle, if not a torch, and just need a little bit of help getting from A to B.

So go and see Simon Dormandy's Much Ado at the Rose. If you love Shakespeare, it's worth it just to see John Hopkins and Mel Giedroyc as a hilarious coupling playfully navigating the shark-infested waters of Shakespeare's comedic love stories. Frankly, you should go to see it for John Hopkins alone, because his Benedick is utterly charming and beguiling. If you love a bit of slapstick, it's got it in spades. Benedick crawling around, Bea's mouthed profanities. The deep and sexy voice of John Hopkins as he gets a little flustered will stick with you.

And I defy you not to think of a Year 7 disco as the Lynx Africa deodorant and cologne fill the air when Benedick covers himself anxiously. It's awkward. It's gorgeously awkward. And we've all been there. It's also a tribute to the fact that, inside most of us, we're still that painfully awkward teenager. I for one was transported to my teenage years as the familiar kind of smell wafted towards me. Oh, boys. Boys boys boys. You funny specimens.

I've read critiques that say that Giedroyc is too slapstick and has completely missed Beatrice's sadness at being stuck in this dreadful patriarchal situation, or her loneliness as those around her marry away and she's on the shelf. To be honest, I can see why they are saying this but I have to say that I think they too have missed something in Bea's sparkling character, and in the concept of Shakespeare itself. All the characters are gloriously open to interpretation. This is part of the reason why we fall over ourselves for the Bard. Beatrice can be a complete bitch if you want her to be. Benedick can be a manwhore. They can be cold (and "deserve each other"). Or they could be two soft-centred people who haven't quite plucked up the courage to make the first move. Some single people aren't sad and full of misery and reproach. Sometimes it's not about feminism or the patriarchy, save in so far as mentioned above. It's not about being forced to marry like Hero; let's face it she massively fancies Claudio and it's not quite that simple.

We don't need to read the Suffragettes into everything but we can read #MeToo in there, and we can ask ourselves why we're so afraid of getting hurt. Bea doesn't have to be sad. Bea doesn't have to be rebellious. She can just be a little bit frustrated that the guy she fancies shows no sign of requiting it and, to me at least, there lies the relatable beauty of the relationship where he's the mirror image. Thank god they get it on in the end, though, because these characters have more sexual tension than most pieces of theatre, certainly in Shakespeare at any rate.

Would I rather be Juliet - young and married off - or Beatrice. Headstrong, resilient, proud. I say Bea, and that's because she's perfectly imperfect. Grappling with true highs and lows of love. In summary, she's just like us.

Hats off to Giedroyc, Hopkins, Kate Lamb, Calam Lynch and the rest of the cast. it was daft, but it was human. And the fallability of humanity is something we should all come face to face with once in a while, even on a Saturday afternoon.

#theatre #Shakespeare #Muchado #Culture #London