Class War

By T.E. Kalem

CORIOLANUS by William Shakespeare

The British lion may be muted, but Shakespeare still roars. His voice thunders and echoes through the Royal Shakespeare Company's production of Coriolanus at London's Aldwych Theater. The play takes place on two fronts, the field of battle and the jugular terrain of class war.

Caius Marcius (Alan Howard) has won the added name of Coriolanus by defeating the Volscians at Corioli. He is a Roman of boundless valor and steely pride. The patricians put him up for consul of Rome and the plebeians grudgingly accede, though Coriolanus refuses to do any political truckling to secure their favor. Furious at his open contempt, the plebs rescind their approval and have him banished from the city.

His parting speech to them captures the full flavor of the man:

You common cry of curs, whose

breath I hate

As reek o' th' rotten fens, whose

loves I prize

As the dead carcasses of unburied

men

That do corrupt my air, I banish

you!

Joining the Volscian commander Aufidius (Julian Glover), Coriolanus leads an army toward Rome, determined to burn the city. Only the heart-wrenching plea of his mother Volumnia (Maxine Audley) deters him, after which Aufidius slays him.

Ranked with the leading young British classical actors, Alan Howard plays the title role with hurricane force. While his vocal range is narrow, his delivery of the lines is imperious in tone and cloudless in clarity. Heroic in bearing, he also conveys a sensual relish in the blood sport of war. Best of all, he tempers Coriolanus' abrasive arrogance by showing the soldier's moral consistency. After his mother has urged him to placate the plebs, he counters:

Why did you wish me milder?

Would you have me

False to my nature? Rather say, I

play

The man I am.

Only in the climactic maternal confrontation, which should be unbearably tender, does Howard falter. Tears wet his cheeks, but he does not really seem to weep. Perhaps this is because Audley's Volumnia is like a stage mother who has pushed her son into the limelight, not nurtured him for later glory.

The production is a stunner. Battles are stylized and understated; only Coriolanus' sword arm is crimsoned with gore.

The dominant color is black, with soldiers in leather, plebs in street clothes, patricians in velvet ankle-length robes. The stage is blocked out like those tunnel run ways through which cattle are prodded to slaughter. Terry Hands' hot-spirited direction makes 3 1/2 hours pass like one, a daunting feat well worth emulation by directors who dawdle over the Bard till he turns tepid.

-- T.E. Kalem

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