The Toronto Theatre Review: Canadian Stage’s Romeo and Juliet in High Park
By Ross
I am not “wedded to calamity,” nor am I a purist by any means, especially when it comes to Shakespeare and the classics. Not to get too off track, but a perfect example of this is Jamie Lloyd’s magnificent West End production of Romeo & Juliet, the epicentre for Shakespearian stage inventiveness, shifting the locale and form on its head and running with it to great heights of expanded formulations and vantage points. It was a phenomenal piece of restructuring and reorganizing, mixing and mashing together scenes, coupled with a fierce dedication to intense editing while deconstructing old formulas and framings, just the way I love theatre to be. Brave and fearless, especially when it comes to the Shakespearean classics.
When a reframing and an edited-down version find its true emotional core, the electricity it can generate is powerfully moving and possibly, enlightening, and even mind-blowing. In that way, I’m not exactly sure where I’d place the Canadian Stage‘s reformulated and reduced Romeo and Juliet on the spectrum between enlightened and mind-blowing. Created by the award-winning director Marie Farsi (Tarragon’s After the Rain), their adaptation holds many moments of pure cleverness and creativity in its paring down to a swift 90 minutes, shifting the piece to a different time in Italian history, right before the fascist rise of Mussolini. It’s an energizing idea given the state of the world today, and transporting us and the Dream in High Park production, their 42nd, to this different era on the brink of fascism, hoping to draw parallels and breathe some fresh urgency into the timelss tragedy, could be a unique framing for some smart unpacking, gussied up with 1930s summer time dresses and Italian love songs. But the connection between that political storm and the lovers’ plight remains somewhat elusive, like a storm that looms but never fully breaks.
Photos by Dahlia Katz.
It’s a tranquil beginning, helped along by Diego Matamoros (Coal Mine’s JOB) and Matthew G. Brown (Icarus Theatre’s Lobby Hero) delivering the vocal playfulness, courtesy of sound designer/composer Olivia Wheller (Stratford’s Cymbeline) and choreographer, Stephen Cota (Stratford’s Frankenstein Revived). The moment carries with it the required accented level of European deliciousness, all before a grudge-push between historic foes breaks the gentle, fresh calm that this production of Romeo and Juliet has us gathering together around. There is now a sharp tension in the Italiano air, of a brutal storm brewing, and not just inside the well-put-together stage, designed lovingly by Sim Suzer (Crow’s Comfort Food) and lit with care by Logan Raju Cracknell (Studio 180’s Four Minutes Twelve Seconds), but also in the very real dark Toronto clouds and wind gusting through, threatening the High Park Amphitheater with rain “where we lay our scene”.
“From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.” No rain did come, fortunately, as these beautifully composed words of William Shakespeare draw us wisely into the poetic framings of Romeo and Juliet, spoken and delivered with care and precision by the same Brown who sang those lovely Italian songs with Matamoros to his cafe audience. And if “you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.” This is what pulls us into this tragic, epic tale of two young and impulsive lovers from feuding families in Verona—the Montagues and the Capulets.
These lovers, despite the deep-seated, age-old “ancient grudge” between their two households, fall passionately and spontaneously in love and, in an act of severe impulsive bravery and determination, secretly marry before the optimistic Friar Lawrence, portrayed solidly by Matamoros. In that union, there is a hope and dream that their “star-cross’d” love will somehow unite their warring families. But we all know how this tragic story goes, mainly because of a series of heartfelt misunderstandings, impulsive decisions, and an ongoing and unforgiving level of animosity and violence; their love leads to an escalation of familial destruction and the ultimate deadly tragedy.
There was also some hope in Farsi’s determination to set this tragic play outdoors, surrounded by all this beauty, yet, with the threat of rising fascism hanging in the air and within its historic sidelines. But the thematic ties to that turbulent era—its rise of fascism, its shadow over love and hate—feel faint, as if the storm outside is just a whisper of something rather than a thunderclap. The rivalry, once deep and rooted in history, feels simplified, like a scratch on the surface of a more profound conflict waiting to emerge. The promise of political resonance, though tantalizing, floats just out of reach in the dark clouds, leaving the unfolding tragedy feeling somewhat disconnected from its setting and its impulse. The aesthetic is all there, beautifully carved out by set and costume designer Suzer, evoking the 1930s Italian summer, and hinting at treacherous currents beneath the surface. But the underlying thematic reasoning and energy don’t seem to radiate out a strong rationale for this timing. And removing the Montague parents and what they stand for in this feud between families doesn’t help the situation. It leads to an off-balanced rivalry that minimizes rather than expands or expedites the fight.
The setting holds possibilities that are somewhat denied and ignored. The stage fights—crucial moments of violence and death—are marred by awkward choreography and staging bloody-reveal missteps with the familial tomb becoming a clumsy trap rather than a portal to despair. These moments distance us, their emotional weight diluted by staging that feels more routine than visceral, but there are moments of pure magic, mainly in a few of the performances that feel fresh and propelling. The always fascinating Dan Mousseau (Buddies/Native Earth’s The Born-Again Crow) as the doomed Mercutio finds a strong emotional connection to both sides of the liquor bottle. He’s joyfully and provocative, but also has a slice of anger that crackles with wit and bitterness, a lively spark that refuses to be extinguished. Brown does a fine job as Friar John, even with the added-on stilted narration he must give to keep us on schedule, but it is Matamoros who does honor to the role of Friar Lawrence, giving him a weight and a subtle sense of maternity in mind that holds the whole form together.
While Farsi’s adaptation and direction offer many unique vantage points to engage with, especially within some of the more streamlined moments in the middle of this play, the production as a whole tends to hang out in the world of serviceable but not electric. Both Joella Crichton’s Lady Capulet and Michaela Washburn’s Nurse seem to drift through rather than breathe life into their parts, while Ziska Louis’s Tybalt teeters on the edge of petulance. Daniel Krmpotic as Paris, Meilie Ng as Benvolio, and especially Mike Shara as Lord Capulet, deliver on the promises this piece gives, finding complicated stances inside parts that could have been played in more stereotypical ways.
Luckily for us and this starry-night production, we have two spectacular leads who unpack layers and layers of unspoken honesty and clarity; Praneet Akilla (CBC’s “SkyMed“) as our Romeo and Lili Beaudoin (Monsters’ Juliet: A Revenge Comedy) as our Juliet, who are as activating as they are emotionally engaging. His voice cracks with adolescent anxiety and excitement, as he finds desirous love inside the voice and eyes of his newly discovered amour, Juliet. Likewise, her body and demeanour tremble in their own emotional distress and pleasure every time his name is uttered, and every time they stand face to face, gazing into each other’s eyes. Their balcony scene floats above it all so very true, touching, and honorable, deliciously unpacking all the lust and tenderness that could ever exist inside the volcanic declarations of love between two young lovers. It’s one of the most touching and connecting scenes in this production, as Romeo clings with all his might to the edge, hanging out in love, before all hell breaks loose.
Akilla and Beaudoin live inside their passion, in a way that we can hear it tremble from within. The pacing, unfortunately, speeds through their marriage and consummation, as if worried what the young audience members watching might learn about love if we lingered too long in their lust and physicality. It’s a speedy goodbye on that well-constructed matrimonial bed, a prop that unfortunately lingers on stage long after its use. It makes for a pesky obstacle inside Friar Lawrence’s cell and a less visually appealing deathbed, after being rolled awkwardly to the rear of the stage, distancing us from the pain it elicits. The metal post framing gets in the way of the most emotionally dramatic scene that the whole play has been leading up to, keeping us more removed than drawn in. And in that last scene, I wish Farsi had been a bit more clever with her editing pen, cutting away from Paris and his unnecessary battle with the heartbroken Romeo, staged by fight director Geoff Scovell (Stratford’s Casey and Diana), and left us to live in the grief that is being so expertly delivered.
That last scene also contains a few questionable actions by the friars, specifically, leaving a distraught Juliet all on her own with only her pain, her grief, and a knife to keep her company. That final framing made it difficult to really lean into the real tragedy of the play, when two lovers realize their love was not as powerful as they thought. That their love and betrothal couldn’t and wouldn’t save them, nor their families, from the hatred and intolerance that lives so strongly within the brutal rivalry of their two houses. Contrasting with these two lovers’ faulty innocence and intense impetuous passion, so well played by the production’s two leads, the ultimate tragic outcome and powerful meditation on the importance of compassion slips away almost as unnoticed as the rise of fascism that is marching into this 1930s Italian setting.
As nightfall rolls in, this Romeo & Juliet by Canadian Stage offers moments of magic and genuine feeling, but they are glimpses rather than the whole. The play’s tragic heartbeat struggles to find an intense clarity beneath the surface, overshadowed by staging and pacing that sometimes diminish its power. Still, the passion of the leads and the promise of a new perspective pierce through the clouds, reminding us that even as storm clouds gather, love can be a defiant, urgent flame—and perhaps, with more clarity and daring in its reframing, this production might ignite with the full blaze of Shakespeare’s eternal tragedy.
