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USA/UK 1999
Reviewed by John Wrathall
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
Ancient Rome. Having captured Tamora, queen of the Goths, general Titus has her eldest son sacrificed in accordance with ritual, ignoring her plea for mercy. Saturninus, newly acclaimed emperor of Rome, decides to marry Titus' daughter Lavinia but she elopes with his brother Bassianus. Saturninus marries Tamora, who as empress can avenge herself on Titus.
Encouraged by Tamora's Moorish slave Aaron, her sons Chiron and Demetrius murder Bassianus and rape Lavinia, cutting off her tongue and hands. Aaron frames Titus' sons Martius and Quintus for Bassianus' murder. They are sentenced to death and Titus' only remaining son Lucius is banished. Tricked into believing that his sons will be pardoned in return, Titus lets Aaron cut off his hand, only to have Martius and Quintus' heads delivered to him. Titus vows revenge and sends Lucius to the Goths to raise an army. His appetite for vengeance is strengthened when Lavinia identifies her attackers. Meanwhile Tamora has given birth to a son; Aaron, not Saturninus, is the father. Aaron runs away with the child and is captured by the Goths, now commanded by Lucius. In an effort to save his baby, Aaron confesses his crimes.
Titus invites Tamora and her entourage to a feast. He then kills Chiron and Demetrius and bakes them in a pie, which he serves to Saturninus and Tamora at the feast. Titus then kills Tamora. Saturninus kills Titus. Lucius kills Saturninus. Lucius is proclaimed emperor. He condemns Aaron to death, but spares his son.
Julie Taymor first directed Shakespeare's early tragedy Titus Andronicus off Broadway in 1994, and her film version - her feature debut - incorporates many visual motifs (and one cast member, Harry Lennix) from that production. But anyone expecting a stodgy dose of filmed theatre is immediately wrong-footed by the surreal opening sequence, in which a little boy enacts scenes of carnage with his toys on a kitchen table, and then - as if he has conjured up the spirit of violence - finds himself thrust into a real-life war. He emerges into the Coliseum in time to see Roman general Titus march in at the head of his victorious troops, terrifying in their mud-caked armour. It's a breathtaking and brilliantly choreographed opening, plunging us straight into Act I, Scene One of the play.
Titus was released in the US last year, but was beaten to a UK release by the later Gladiator. It's interesting to note the plot similarities. Titus, like Gladiator's Maximus, declines the chance to rule Rome, and instead finds himself viciously persecuted by a capricious new emperor. Their subsequent blood-soaked revenge is observed by a little boy, in both cases called Lucius and in both cases a pretty, rather feminine child with a pageboy hairstyle, in striking contrast to the brutal, war-like adult Roman males. At the end of both films, young Lucius is destined to inherit the throne, and so embodies the nation's hopes for peace.
Taymor's style, however, couldn't be more different from Ridley Scott's. Instead of creating ancient Rome with CGI, she shoots as far as possible in actual locations, in Rome itself and in the awesome coliseum at Pula in Croatia. But her aim in doing so isn't heightened verisimilitude; these authentic Roman stones are trod by actors dressed in an eclectic blend of classical and 20th-century costumes, an unsettling conflation of imperial and fascist Rome, with more than a dash of Las Vegas glamour.
Eager to allow Shakespeare's words to shine through as clearly as possible, Taymor shoots the dialogue scenes fairly straight, with a minimum of background action. As if in compensation, she punctuates them with moments of stunning spectacle, whether set-piece crowd scenes (armies on the move, a Fellini-esque orgy) or hallucinatory flashback sequences using multilayered video imagery. This alternation between talk and spectacle gives the film a slightly awkward, theatrical rhythm, so that despite the dynamism of individual sequences, the film never quite picks up the momentum to sustain it over 160 minutes. But this is as much to do with the unwieldy structure of the play itself, which - apart from its astonishing lurches in tone between atrocity, poetry and wilful absurdity - seems to offer us serial protagonists to root for: first Tamora, then Aaron the Moor, and only lastly, from Act III onwards, Titus himself.
Taymor's audacious mix of styles may not ultimately gel, but if you had to film Titus Andronicus, it's hard to imagine doing it in a more challenging, dynamic - and faithful - way. And what theatre could rival Taymor's cast: Anthony Hopkins as Titus, for once stretched by a role to the full range of his talent; Jessica Lange as Tamora, the revenge-driven empress presented here as a human tigress, swathed in tattoos and sheathed in gold lamé; and Harry Lennix, bringing a grace and dignity to the role of her lover and henchman, the villainous Aaron.