The Stratford Festival Theatre Review: Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale
By Ross
A symbolic glow ball rolls out, chased by a spirited cherub, as a majestic and angelic vision follows, fully winged. This is the drawing out of a sad, tragic tale, one that intersperses festive framings with the corrupting thrusts of the green monster. Drenched in illogical delusion, resistance, jealousy, and glorious love, this Winter’s Tale is a purist revolution without complications, as we witness the games of diplomatic celebration slowly tainted by unfounded suspicion and pointed accusations that surprise and bewilder the virtuous. The unwrapping of Shakespeare’s 1623 beast of a play is most definitely one of the more difficult to direct and deliver. It’s solidly layered with opposing formations and mood, dipped in alternating dissections of where and how to lean into its complexities and desires, yet delivered up classically and without abstractionisms to complicate the unpacking.
“Is this nothing?” one might ask, as Antoni Cimolino (Stratford’s London Assurance), the Stratford Festival’s venerable Artistic Director, and this play’s traditionalist director, does the crafty piece solid service. He takes this tale through its long-winded paces with a carefully curated approach, safely staging it as reasonably and deliberately as those square blocks that are scattered with intent about the stage. It’s a simple and straightforward unveiling. Rarely challenging one with abstract constructions or inventiveness like the mind-expanding Macbeth that Robert Lepage (Stratford’s Coriolanus) has driven in on a revved-up motorcycle over at the Avon. Still, Cimoline’s precious unpacking does reveal the playwright’s mind and spirit by presenting the unraveling as such, without flashes or complex bells and whistles. You won’t be provoked, I’m sorry to say, but depending on how you look at it, you’ll either want to doze off midway through or lean into its confident, traditionalistic approach with intellectual appreciation. Or maybe, more likely, a bit of both.
The unwinding of the jealous mind is dissected in as classic an approach as can be, presented most perfectly by a cast of old guard pros holding firm strong hands with the new as they gather together to approach this winding, wandering Winter’s Tale. It makes complete sense, this vantage point, while also never feeling completely emotionally captivating or utterly devastating. As written, it’s a complicated thread to stay entangled in, yet it did shine intelligently enough in its exquisitely constructed light, supplied gorgeously by designer Michael Walton (Stratford’s Macbeth). Especially in the way it focuses its construct on the much-needed idea of standing up for truth against an army of those who will not. We squirm as we watch these supposed warrior men stand idly by, even when they wholeheartedly disagree. They whisper and shift on their heels, but fail to actually stand firm against the false accusations the King throws like daggers at his pregnant wife. This framing is similarly being played out very clearly in the United States, with only a few within the GOP, like Liz Cheney, speaking up and hitting back at the quick corruption of the government and its deteriorating slide into authoritarianism and fascism. “This is how dictators destroy free nations,” she rightly stated about that man who occupies the White House. If there is a striking currency within this play, this is it, when honor of what is true stands up to the tyranny of lies and destruction. And won’t back down until it is heard and believed.
This embodiment of integrity and justice, naturally, is held up to the light by the brave bodies of the women of this court. Namely, the wrongly accused and convicted Hermione, the virtuous and beautiful Queen of Sicily, played to marbled perfection by Sara Topham (Stratford’s Hedda Gabler), who carries herself with an impressive physicality carved with innocence and honor. But the true goddess of bravery and integrity lies powerfully in the hands of actor Yanna McIntosh (Crow’s The Master Plan), who, as Paulina, is a force to be reckoned with as her character stands solidly up against the lie, pointing her finger at the accuser and basically slapping the King with the truth, whether he likes it or not. She remains steadfast and tall as other, more armored men stand quietly behind her, whispering their concerns but not challenging the ruling. It’s an impressive lesson to see and learn, one that I hope will be heard across the whole continent (and world), as the rule of Law is being twisted around by a lying tyrant. This is the moment for the world to do the same as Paulina, but sadly, I’m not holding my breath.
As the leader who is devoured by the green monster of jealousy, Leontes, King of Sicily, forcibly portrayed by Graham Abbey (Stratford’s Much Ado About Nothing), carries forth his depiction as ferocious as required, railing against the imaginary almost as wildly as King Lear does to a storm, but without as much just cause. The men that surround him all deliver the formula as excellent as one would expect, with Festival pros like André Sills (Stratford’s Coriolanus), strongly portraying the wronged Polixenes, King of Bohemia; Tom Rooney (Shaw’s My Fair Lady), truthfully playing Camillo, ambassador to the King; David Collins (Stratford’s The Tempest) dynamic as the steadfast Antigonus; and the always reliable Tom McCamus (Stratford’s Macbeth) masterfully delivering forth the Old Shepherd in an expectedly delightful manner, giving solid performances worthy of the stage they inhabit, with the hilarious and gifted Geraint Wyn Davies (Stratford’s Grand Magic) finding the essence of ridiculous in a part that doesn’t really add much to the overall concoction except for one unconscious introduction and many ham-tastic remarks made over a handful of pocketbooks that are not his own.
But the true success of The Winter’s Tale hinges on the joyous younger company members who, in the second half of this “problem play“, must pull this piece out of its tragic formulation into something that feels more festive and fun, like one of Shakespeare’s more comic, romantic entanglements. And each finds the required comic joy to fulfill the task, like the playful Christo Graham (Canadian Stage’s Hamlet in High Park) in the very funny role of the young shepherd; Marissa Orjalo (Stratford’s Les Belles-Soeurs) beautifully embodying the effervescent Perdita; and Austin Eckert (Stratford’s Twelfth Night) as the lovestruck son of Polixenes, Prince Florizel, who, all together, must bring this lopsided and ribboned meander to its happy ending.
The first half sits squarely in the realm of Greek tragedy, with strong, intense emotions ruling the Kingdom and the souls of these serious characters. The second part dances in with an intense tonal shift that resembles a whole other form of storytelling, where love and dancing, assisted by a solid sound design by Ranil Sonnadara (Stratford’s Grand Magic), take precedence over tragic wailing over loss, betrayal, and death. It takes a lot to run with this reversal of fortune, but we dig in, even if we are not as invested as we would like to be. And before everything gets wrapped up somewhat nicely in a happy marriage bow on top as we would expect, the intense psychological trauma, ignited by the King’s jealous rage, must be reengaged with so he may find his repentance. It does so by returning to its tragic roots in a final scene that is overly long and implausible. It’s a wordy one, as well as being a harder pill to swallow, with McIntosh’s Paulina given the long thrust stage to reign over. She does so to great effect, but I couldn’t help but feel myself wishing for redemption to come quicker and sooner, so they (and we) could all go home happy. Or at least, fully reformed.
Unfolding on that long thrust with very few fanciful distractions, designed by Douglas Paraschuk (Stratford’s An Ideal Husband), beyond the fancy toga dresses and leather enhanced armor, created with care by costume designer Francesca Callow (Stratford’s Three Tall Women), The Winter’s Tale tries to hold on to the idea that it carries both fantastical and chimeric qualities within. As a tale told by Time, embodied by the glorious Lucy Peacock (Stratford’s The Goat, or Who is Sylvia?), on a cold winter’s night, it should be untethered to realism with a grand, tragic structure laid on top of the first half to give resonance to the overall. Traditionally speaking, it is thought that a true winter’s tale is something told to children around a roaring fire; an old wives’ tale told for pleasure and distraction based simply in a fantastical land that has nothing to do with reality, all of which offer the audience a promise of a happy ending and should not be taken too seriously, as director Cimolino seems to. Working in a straightforward approach as if it were a tragedy of epic proportions, he has crafted a solid piece of seemingly important theatre, but it wouldn’t warm my soul on a cool winter’s evening. It might send me off to a good night’s slumber, which it almost did in just under three hours on those hard Tom Patterson Theatre seats. My sore bum might have preferred riding off on a less solidly constructed Lepage motorcycle alongside Macbeth, or within the fanciful forest of As You Like It that is equally two-toned but, I must say, is more entertainingly inventive.
