Coriolanus | Review

Yet another of William Shakespeare’s “less popular” plays gets a cinematic modernization with the much anticipated directorial debut of Ralph Fiennes, Coriolanus. A bold and unconventional exploit for a debut (not unlike Julie Taymor’s 1999 film, Titus), Fiennes’ choice to adapt the play as a modern political power struggle is sometimes successful in its union of Shakespeare’s prose to contemporary sociopolitical unrest, but also reveals itself to be a stale, pale echo of the bard’s original play.

Set in “a place that calls itself Rome,” the common people find themselves in the midst of a food shortage during an ongoing war, with their access to grain withheld by an incendiary, uncouth Roman General, Caius Martius (Ralph Fiennes). As the plebians protest against him, partially led by an angry mouthpiece (Lubna Azabal), Caius lashes out with bitter words about his distaste for anything non-military, considering the common people to be unworthy even of the food they need to survive. Concurrently, Caius stages a battle with an opposing army, the Volscians, led by Tullus Aufidius (Gerard Butler). The two leaders are ancient enemies and vie for each other’s throats in hand to hand combat. Stunned by a bomb deployed during their struggle, the two leaders are pulled from each other, wounded but alive. Upon returning to his family in Rome, Caius is granted the title Coriolanus by the leader of the Roman army (John Kani), while his domineering mother, Volumina (Vanessa Redgrave) convinces her son to run for Consul. His mostly silent wife, Virgilia (Jessica Chastain) seems to observe from a distance, tending to their young son. As Caius gears up to run for office, two tribunes (Paul Jesson and James Nesbitt) spin the masses into angry turmoil to demand the banishment of Caius, so that he may not usurp power in the Senate and further deny the rights of the common people. Close family friend, Senator Menenius (Brian Cox), does his best to help Caius become Consul, but because Caius is, as his mother puts it, “too absolute,” and unable to concede his well known stance on the worthlessness of the common people, Caius flees Rome before he is banished, joining sworn enemy Tullus in order to wreak havoc on the people of Rome that thus wronged him. But as armies again encroach upon Rome, Caius’ influential mother begs Caius to stop his rampage.

The biggest detraction of Coriolanus is the cinematography, which consists of a stylized guerilla documentary/shaken camera aesthetic from DP Barry Ackroyd, whose past credits include The Hurt Locker (2009) and Green Zone (2010). Filmed in Serbia, the film does indeed look like a war torn country, and while the cinematography at first seems appropriate for the initial battles sequences of the film (with the bald, blood streaked head of Ralph Fiennes looking like a decapitated head from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, 1984) the same frenetic camera angles and zooms are completely jarring, and something more surreptitious would have better suited the film, especially when the narrative strays from battlefield to the political arena. Fiennes also employs considerable use of television headlines (a la CNN news coverage) to continually further the story, which seem appropriate enough at first but becomes rather gimmicky as the film wears on.

The most successful staged and filmed adaptations of Shakespeare’s work tend to rest on the shoulders of the thespians engaged with the material. Time and time again, it’s been written that actors comfortable with the language are able to correctly and eloquently convey the emotion and action successfully while those not up to the challenge often flounder and sink the material. With words that sometimes fly from the tongues of well trained mouths in Coriolanus, it’s actually the swirling dervish camera work that impedes the performances of the actors, oscillating quickly around its subjects, then randomly and mercilessly giving us talking head close ups of angry snarls and venomous soliloquies.

While Fiennes has chosen his cast wisely, Gerard Butler still manages to stand out as the weakest link, employing a Scottish brogue here and Jessica Chastain’s faux British accent barely gets any usage in her somewhat decorative role as the silent wife of Caius. While Fiennes is perfectly capable as the melodramatic, bullheaded general (yes, he gets a couple choice freak out scenes, spittle and bulgy veins included), the film’s best asset is an awesome, riveting performance from Vanessa Redgrave as the formidable, brilliantly manipulative mother of Caius. Their connection is immediately one of an uncomfortable nature, and incestuous undertones pervade their scenes together, evident from Volumina’s first scene, when she cajoles his wife about how she should be happy for her husband in battle, musing aloud the possibility “were my son my husband.” (Of further interest, Redgrave is also currently starring as Queen Elizabeth in Anonymous, exploring the hypothesis that Shakespeare never wrote any of his plays).

As a directorial debut, Coriolanus is certainly an accomplished, highly polished effort, but it just happens to be one of Shakespeare’s tragedies that isn’t all that tragic or eventful as some of his greater works. While Fiennes’ employment of modernization is intriguing, ultimately, it doesn’t imbue the original text with the additional political gravitas it so eagerly thinks it does. The strongest fiber of Corionlanus is the weird and perverse incestuous mother/son relationship that dictates the trajectory of the plot, a textual accent not unlike the “our sometimes sister, now our queen” element of Hamlet. Fiennes, like his sister, director Martha Fiennes, certainly has talent behind the camera, and his first effort is definitely worth a watch and absolutely worth further conversation.

Reviewed on November 7th at the 2011 AFI Film Festival – Special Screenings Programme.

Rating 3 stars