In the end, it all comes down to the astronaut. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Among friends, especially those from college, I am known for pointedly despising the films of Baz Luhrmann. To be honest, after seeing this movie, I choked down Moulin Rouge! and have been boycotting Mr. Luhrmann’s work ever since. But to be fair to me, he’s only made two films since Moulin Rouge! (and only one before this one, which I also haven’t seen) so it’s not like I’ve been avoiding very much. Anyway, hating on Luhrmann’s work was, for a long time, almost a part of my identity…which is kind of sad to admit but one goes with what one has. Throughout college, I engaged in some humorous (at least from my perspective) debates about the merit of Luhrmann’s films. While I was not alone, I was usually in the minority, which is fine. Most of those who disagreed with me are good, smart people and I might well be crazy. In fact, I don’t really hate Mr. Luhrmann anymore. His movies, in my view, are still dreck and I’m going to try to explain my thoughts on that, but I think I understand him a bit better now. Well, at the very least I understand this film a bit better. Before talking more about Mr. Luhrmann, however, let’s talk some about the unavoidable (and it is unavoidable): the source material.
Obviously, this film is based on Romeo and Juliet, an early tragedy by Shakespeare. The play has been, for centuries, one of Shakespeare’s most popular works, in terms of staging, reading, adaptation, and school assignment. It is also one of the world’s most iconic love stories.
This is the part where I’m supposed to trash it, right? Like many classic literary works that get done to death, Romeo and Juliet sees a lot of hatred. The loathing comes in various forms. There are the students who hate it for being something forced down their throats. More specifically, there are male students who see it as “chick stuff,” or something like that. Then there are more mature folks who delight in picking apart the idea that we’re supposed to celebrate a couple of teen-aged idiots who end up causing a lot of havoc.
I’m fairly sympathetic to much of this, although not to the (hopefully skin-deep and short-lived) sexism behind some male students’ dislike of the play. To the students who just don’t like this weird old play pushed at them, I would say that I don’t think it’s an ideal work to first encounter Shakespeare (more on that later) and I mostly agree that holding up Shakespeare as a god is pretty silly.
Actually, the problems many have with Romeo and Juliet are similar to many of the problems with Shakespeare’s reputation generally. “Bardolatry,” the raising of Shakespeare to the level of a cultural deity to be genuflected and deferred to, is a tiresome and reductive concept. There’s a lot of bullshit in it and a person, especially a younger person, who starts smelling that is well within their rights to recoil. And, unfortunately, that frequently involves recoiling from Shakespeare’s works themselves, rather than from the simplistic adoration of them. Keep in mind, I say all this as a devout Shakespearean, but as one who finds many conventional celebrations of Shakespeare almost dangerously counterproductive.
Because William Shakespeare was a great writer, one of the greatest, and one who has much of immense value to say to the world. Approaching his work with genuine understanding of its context, scope, limitations and flaws actually makes him a far more appealing and even lovable figure than the stern, bloodless Greatest Writer of All Time so many of us are familiar with from high school lectures. Realizing this should mean introducing him to students in fresher ways. Romeo and Juliet was the first play of Shakespeare’s I studied in school and it was not a good start for me. Had we read Othello or maybe even King Lear first, I (and I think many others) would have become a fan much more quickly. Those plays are traditionally seen as too difficult for teenagers but it’s time to remember that most conventional wisdom about Shakespeare is lousy through and through.
Back on the specific disdain for Romeo and Juliet, to the more experienced people who roll their eyes at this play about two dumb kids, first off I would say that, while I totally understand this sentiment, it’s important to step back and view the play with a kind of reset perspective. This is a work so encrusted with familiarity that, quite often, we barely know it at all. Mr. Luhrmann is a fine example of someone like this; he made a whole film version of this play, a play he seems largely unaware of.
Before I elaborate on that, it’s time to come clean, dear readers: I am not going to trash Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Juliet is a great play, moving and thought-provoking, with wonderful characters and powerful language. It is, in my opinion, fully deserving of its “classic” status. To be sure, it is not one of Shakespeare’s greatest plays. It is an early work, only his second in the tragic form. As such, it lacks the probing philosophical, political and emotional insights of later plays. It is also at times structurally wobbly and, although this was something Shakespeare would never entirely shake, he got much better at it. But none of this makes the play anywhere near mediocre. Within its somewhat modest confines, it’s a masterpiece and a great illustration of an author, still maturing, but well on his way to the heights.
So why do we often remember it with a sneer? Of course personal taste is not something that can really be argued, but I firmly believe that a good number of people (and I was once among them) are sneering not at the play but at what they think they remember. The attitude towards Romeo and Juliet is a microcosm of the attitude towards its author. Just as one needs to strip away a lot of weeds to actually get near William Shakespeare, one has to do the same to see the real Romeo and Juliet.
And that’s where Paris comes in. Readers may remember Count Paris as the young nobleman (and relative of Verona’s Prince Escalus) Juliet is supposed to be married to. He’s a minor supporting character until after Juliet’s faked death when he goes to her tomb in mourning. Encountering Romeo, and knowing nothing of the secret love between the two, Paris fights him and is mortally wounded. With his dying breath, he begs Romeo to place him in the tomb with Juliet.
This should be a moment to shine for whoever plays Paris. Unfortunately, the young count rivals Hamlet‘s Prince Fortinbras among characters in the Shakespearean canon for frequency of removal from (or at least downgrading in) performances. The two most well-known movie versions, Luhrmann’s and Franco Zeffirelli’s from 1968, drop his death scene. I’ve seen the play performed live twice. The first time was a surprisingly traditional production, with the cast in period costumes and a largely untouched text. Even passages eminently worthy of removal, such as the chorus at the start of Act II, were retained. Paris’s death scene however, was cut.
***SIDE NOTE: A humorous byproduct of Paris’s death scene being removed can often be found in productions. In the finale, Prince Escalus speaks of having lost “a brace of kinsmen.” Brace means pair, his other slain relative being Romeo’s friend Mercutio. The word “brace” and the use of the plural “kinsmen” make no sense if Paris has not died, but both Zeffirelli and Luhrmann’s films retain the words. I can’t quite recall if that stage production I saw without Paris’s death scene kept the now inexplicable “brace” and “kinsmen” but I’m pretty sure it did. Now I’m a fairly lazy person a lot of the time, but the laziness required to avoid maybe three minutes of research, the dropping of one word, and the changing of “kinsmen” to “kinsman” really boggles the mind.***
In fact, those readers wishing to see the scene acted have only limited and problematic options. Barring access to a stage production that includes it, there are two and a half choices. The 1936 film version directed by (the usually brilliant) George Cukor, is a blah snooze fest. It includes Paris’s death but omits his wish to be buried with Juliet. Renato Castellani’s 1954 film retains the whole scene. Unfortunately that movie, while not without its moments, can’t decide if it wants to be a version of Shakespeare’s tragedy or an historical travelogue of Renaissance Italy. The former has some points of interest, but the latter is merely pretty. For those willing to tolerate a less cinematic approach, the 1978 BBC television version directed by Alvin Rakoff is probably the best option to see Paris’s full death scene. The production is very well-acted but somewhat stodgily produced.
Why is Paris, or more specifically his death, in the company of snipped out Shakespearean characters, like Fortinbras? Speaking of Fortinbras, I should say that I’m not generally in favor of the good Norwegian prince’s removal, but there are far better reasons for it than the removal of Paris’s death scene. So why is the scene cut so often? I think I found some of the answers at the second production I attended, which retained the scene. Audience reaction was hushed, and the person I was with said to me later, “That doesn’t make Romeo look very good, does it?” And no, it doesn’t! Shakespeare’s play is a tragedy after all, which means we’re supposed to be troubled by what we’ve seen.
Some might argue that the young lovers dying would fulfill those requirements, and their death is certainly the central part of the tragedy, but not the whole thing. Simply being sad over the fate of Romeo and Juliet is, while far from insignificant, quite a ways from experiencing the tragedy that is Romeo and Juliet. This is why Paris’s death scene is actually a fairly crucial part of the play, at least it’s crucial to Shakespeare’s play. The Wikipedia entry on Romeo and Juliet casually, and no doubt correctly, suggests the scene is often omitted so as to focus attention on the two protagonists. I have heard and read similar statements about alterations to other plays of Shakespeare’s. Usually it’s just an aside, but sometimes the tone can get surprisingly hostile. “That’s not what our version is about,” or words to that effect, is a sentiment I’ve heard a few times. I’m then sometimes accused of being a hidebound traditionalist (true enough) who just opposes any changes. Actually, I think a lot of cuts and changes are highly desirable when producing a play by Shakespeare. But certain questions need to be asked: will this cut clarify something in the play, enlarge the play, or diminish its scope and reduce its power? What impact will my change have on the audience’s reaction to this work? Do I want to depart from Shakespeare’s goals? Regarding Paris’s death, focusing attention on the protagonists, thus turning Romeo and Juliet into only a tear-jerking love story, may be understandable, but it is decidedly not Shakespearean. There are numerous interpretations possible of Shakespeare’s play, but a mere weepy romance is not among them.
Some may now accuse me of proclaiming that We Must Do What The Great Man Intended. I proclaim no such thing, but I do maintain that what he did in the play is far more interesting than much of what the “improving” adapters have offered. Paris’s death scene is a prime example of this. The scene forces us to rethink our reaction to a character we have probably felt hostility towards. It also makes us wonder a little about Romeo. But then Romeo expresses shocked remorse and grants Paris’s wish to be placed in the tomb. We remember that Romeo is also a very young man, caught up in a dreadful situation he ends up with little control over.
Thus the scene connects to an even deeper theme in the play: the horrible pain we have witnessed could have been so easily avoided. Here I speak again to my fellow clever folks who see the play as kids causing trouble. Keep in mind why two teenagers falling in love leads to so much death and destruction. I’ve long thought this line from Prince Escalus, addressing the feuding families near the end, is one of the play’s most powerful passages: “See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,/That Heaven finds means to kill your joys with love…” It’s crucial to remember that an idiotic squabble between headstrong families is primarily responsible for the tragedy that unfolds. The price of these mature adults’ bad attitudes is five kids’ lives, the quarreling adults’ own children among them. Paris’s death fits in perfectly with this rather bleak story, and underlines its message. In it we don’t only see Paris stumble into a disaster he has no way of knowing about; we watch the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet become his tragedy too, as his young life is sacrificed to nothing more noble than the stupidity of his elders.
None of this is much fun. In fact, it’s upsetting, but again, Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy, and tragedies are upsetting. Shakespeare didn’t have to go down that path. His immediate source for the play, Arthur Brooke’s narrative poem Romeus and Juliet, doesn’t include Paris. And he had other options. The story is an old Italian legend, going back centuries. There were multiple versions, with multiple variations. Anyone wishing to see a totally different take on the story can check out Vincenzo Bellini’s 1830 opera I Capuleti e i Montecchi, with a libretto by Felice Romani derived not from Shakespeare, but from Italian sources based on the same folk tale Shakespeare drew upon. That opera presents the feud as a political struggle, with Romeo the leader of one faction. Alternatively, one can easily access the Brooke poem online. That piece, being Shakespeare’s primary source, is closer to the plot we know. However, its tone is quite different. Brooke is not without some sympathy for Romeo and Juliet, but he tut-tuts them for their disobedience and illicit passion, not completely unlike those today who scoff at a play about two dumb kids.
My point here is to illustrate that Shakespeare decided on a very particular route. He used Brooke’s narrative structure, but saw Romeo and Juliet not as sinners, but as kids, foolish yes, but hardly deserving of the misery they receive. He redirected blame on the destructive hate of the authority figures and tossed in emotionally perplexing moments, Paris’s death among them. If one does not wish to engage with all this, I have no objections. But then it seems only fair to come right out and say “I don’t want Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet; I want my own.” George Bernard Shaw teased the Victorian actor Henry Irving for altering key lines in Hamlet as “playing Hamlet with the part of Hamlet omitted.” Shakespeare’s reputation is a great artistic commodity, but his actual achievement is, in the marketplace, often no match for Shakespeare Lite.
Now, finally, we come back to Mr. Luhrmann and his astronaut. There are so many reasons why I dislike this movie so intensely. I could focus on the religious imagery Luhrmann scatters around the film, including in its very title, for no discernible reason. Eternal thanks to the reader who finally explains to me why a movie version of Romeo and Juliet needs more crucifixes than the Sistine Chapel. Or perhaps I could rant about the “Hey! I’ve got a clever idea!” bit of having Juliet wake up in time to see Romeo die. It wasn’t even a new “clever idea.” Jules Barbier and Michel Carre’s libretto for Charles Gounod’s 1867 opera Romeo et Juliette, based on Shakespeare’s play, gives the lovers time for an entire duet in the tombs! A glance at the play’s stage history shows the idea goes even further back. But what really gets me is the astronaut.
As you might have guessed, this has something to do with my poor, unloved Count Paris. Naturally, Luhrmann deletes his death scene. He could have just left it at that, as Franco Zeffirelli did in his film. Zeffirelli was, by many accounts, a repulsive human being, and his aesthetic vision is not usually one I’m drawn to. However, his version of Romeo and Juliet is superb, both as a film and as an adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedy. In my opinion, its only serious misstep is in removing Paris’s death scene (and keeping that “brace of kinsmen”), but at least Zeffirelli simply reduces Paris to a walk-on role. Baz Luhrmann does something very different. When Paris attends the Capulets’ party with Juliet, Luhrmann has him costumed as an astronaut, Juliet as an angel, and Romeo as a knight. Several shots of Paris are extremely unflattering and clearly meant to provoke laughter from the audience. Mr. Luhrmann is thus not content to simply remove Paris and deny him his tragic end; he keeps him around long enough to mock and uses him as a contrast to the now semi-divine lovers. Paris is an uncool preppy. How dare he even get near the kind of love meant only for the gorgeous people? Compare this with Shakespeare’s use of the character to create a sense of terrible and easily avoidable waste. Paris is a minor character, but his treatment, in the play and in Mr. Luhrmann’s film, tells us a lot about the respective cores of these works, and they are very distinct works. William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy, focused on the wrenching and troubling fate of its young characters; Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet is a glitzy declaration that some people should be bowed to for their beauty, while others should be sneered at for thinking they might get into the club.
“But in this version…” I can almost hear Mr. Luhrmann and his defenders beginning. And I get it. Were it not for the fact that I’m just not fond of the music and imagery in Luhrmann’s film, I would agree it’s considerably more palatable than Shakespeare’s play. Mr. Luhrmann wants to be beautiful and cool, and that’s something almost universal. Perhaps decades of having it made clear to me, sometimes by fans of this movie, that I will never be either of those things is coloring my judgement of Mr. Luhrmann’s work, but I certainly know where he’s coming from. His perspective seems much more comforting than Shakespeare’s. The fate of the young lovers isn’t even all that sad in his film; demigods don’t really die, at least not in the way little people do. But this comfort seems fleeting to me. Eventually life intrudes, beauty (or at least what passes for it) fades, and the demigods turn out to be jerks. As such, I personally find Shakespeare’s knotty works more comforting in the long run. Yes, the real Romeo and Juliet can be a bit of a swallow, but it provides much more nourishment than Mr. Luhrmann’s chocolate frosting-covered comfort snack. I remain contemptuous of bardolatry; I’ve seen Shakespeare’s plays improved upon, but not here. In this instance, I just find what Shakespeare did so impressive it acts as an aesthetic rebuke to what Luhrmann did. If you want to say I’m just stuffy and old-fashioned, that’s fine with me, if by that you mean I take Shakespeare over Luhrmann, because I most certainly do. Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet isn’t perfect, and it’s very lamentable. But unlike Mr. Luhrmann’s film, it is most excellent.
BABOUK FOREVER! 