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A Midsummer Night's Dream (1999)

A review by Damian Cannon.
Copyright © Movie Reviews UK 1999
In such high acclaim are Shakespeare's works held that one might be forgiven for thinking that only the most talented thespians are worthy of his words. That to merely mouth the plays in public, one needs (no, demands) a history of hard understudy, treading the boards and reading between the lines. It's both a blessing and a curse that such establishment thinking neglects to hold sway over a majority in the Actor's Guild. Good because fresh blood can inspire to novel interpretation, to a rendering of the text in modern terms; bad because some of Shakespeare's creations are layered in textures untouched by even the most experienced of players. Fortunately A Midsummer Night's Dream is no Macbeth.

Even so, director Michael Hoffman's selected cast is quite plainly just keeping its head above water. Of chief concern is their diction, a tendency to mumble phrases and intonate delicate constructs in a subtly unbalanced manner; for a playwright so aural a tragedy. This diseased technique penetrates to the heart of A Midsummer Night's Dream, right down to the romance-crossed central quartet. Helena (Calista Flockhart) and Hermia (Anna Friel) are pretty, young and passionate; physical characteristics that go a long way towards supporting their verbal inadequacies. The same can be said for Demetrius (Christian Bale) and Lysander (Dominic West). We should be grateful that no more is requested of their talent than to be smitten, yet tortured, by love, to be twisted and turned by unseen whim.

Beyond sight to the mortals of A Midsummer Night's Dream that is. We, on the other hand, have the audience's artifice, the opportunity to view both sides of the coin. There we locate Titania (Michelle Pfeiffer) and Oberon (Rupert Everett), fairy King and Queen, given to sparring and disagreement. Not a great problem when confined to their realm, but all should beware when taken beyond by the mischievous Puck (Stanley Tucci). His is a wonderful performance, one driven by knowing misunderstanding, by honest trickery and an eye for what's right. Nick Bottom (Kevin Kline) is one of Puck's victims and, at last, we have an actor worthy of his part. Whether in fantasy or reality, Kline delivers brio, laughter, chaos and professionalism; at least here Hoffman picked a winning number.

In fact it's largely through Kline's ability to play the fool convincingly that A Midsummer Night's Dream ends on such a high note, after so different a beginning. The kick-off is slow, like treacle being warmed over a low flame, as the cast members take overly long to flow into their roles. Only when Tucci, and then Kline, appear does the story trap that vital spark. From then on the atmosphere gels and Hoffman trims back on his weaker specimens, finally giving the movie over to Bottom's play-within-a-play. Up to that point we must content ourselves with fairy magic sequences, spiralling wordplay and light-hearted horseplay. The effects, minor but well integrated, suspend our critical judgement sufficiently for viewing comfort.

In sympathy with this fantastical land is Hoffman's choice of setting, a town somewhere in near-past Tuscany. Thus we have references to Athenian law crossed with pre-war bicycles, set against Renaissance architecture and contemporary sexual attitudes. A curious mix of modernity and antiquity, A Midsummer Night's Dream works just fine at blurring the line between ordinarily separate worlds. Oliver Stapleton's photography is fundamental to this illusion, beautifully capturing those detailed sets that background the cast. These are a delight to the eye, much as the film's score is knowingly patched together from familiar operatic arias. Chosen well, and set against Simon Boswell's original music, A Midsummer Night's Dream benefits greatly from the orchestration of masters.

In truth A Midsummer Night's Dream is a light adaptation, far removed from Kenneth Branagh's well respected offerings, and suffers only mildly for its trouble. The film is stimulating and flirtatious, perhaps not quite as rivetingly amusing as could be expected, but still a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours. After all, Shakespeare's plays are generally robust enough to stand up for themselves and this little comedy is no exception; mercifully the verbal savaging inflicted upon the text by Hoffman's troupe fails to prove fatal. So, this is no memorable version, one to hoist amongst the Gods; merely an entertaining diversion designed to encourage relaxation and laughter within those looking for such a tonic.

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