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EDWARD II Directed by Derek Jarman, 1991 |
Derek Jarman’s adaptation of Christopher Marlowe’s play may coincidentally be the kind of film lacking (among those I saw) at the LLGFF this year: one which combines an unapologetic depiction of homosexuality with an individualistic style and approach. Concerning the exile of the king’s conniving ‘favourite,’ Gaveston (read as: lover), and the subsequent political machinations of his court and queen, Jarman not only presents a late-eighties/early-nineties take on the material, but more specifically cranks the gayness up to the limit (to the extent of throwing in a cameo by Annie Lennox).
I’m not familiar with Edward II, but I love Shakespeare, which seems a close enough comparison for this Elizabethan play to not feel alien. In fact, the language is notably less florid by comparison to Shakespeare, with the dialogue feeling a lot easier to take in line by line. I can’t speak for how much must have been cut, but as the film clock in at a trim hour and a half, that probably helps. More importantly, the whole thing’s peppered with quite delicious lines, for example, of the king: “Is it not queer that he is so bewitched?”
I’ve seen numerous stage productions which utilise a similar style as adopted here: plain, in this case, stony walls (like something from the BBC’s Gormenghast), with a mix of lone, incongruous props (a Christmas tree, a hanging carcass, or a parliamentary meeting table), and predominantly modern dress (suits and riot gear). It’s an obvious staging device to occupy an ambiguous non-time, to emphasise the content’s universality, but it’s no less effective for it. (Although an incomparably larger production, even Julie Taymor’s Titus – which I love, for its ridiculous ostentatiousness – shares this trait, combining both Roman and twentieth century iconography, costumes, and vehicles; Rupert Goold’s recent filmed version of his own Macbeth production has a similar timeless, pseudo-industrial backdrop.)
Plays on film can inevitably be problematic, often falling between two stools – maybe it’s an unfair example, as I don’t remember it that well, aside from the fascist-Britain setting, but something like the Ian McKellan-starring Richard III strikes me as being neither entirely theatrical nor cinematic. (There’s definitely an argument for using the source material as a jumping-off point for a story tailored to what is an entirely different medium – stand up Throne of Blood, ‘the ultimate cinematic Shakespeare adaptation’.) Jarman’s take on filming a sixteenth century play works for me by entirely embracing its staginess; it’s all studio-shot, with spotlighting and expressionistic shadows, but the simplicity of these elements means the director has a very tight control over the aesthetic of the film. Also, there are unavoidably still elements of the punk sensibility of Jarman’s earlier films, like Jubilee, in the violence and audaciousness of his imagery, which comes out in scenes like one where a corridor of priests spit in turn at the departing Gaveston. No less provocatively, the king’s supporters are explicitly portrayed as placard-bearing gay-rights activists and there’s copious male nudity, including a torch-lit naked rugby scrum which has a kind of Chris Cunningham-like grotesqueness.
If it all sounds a bit, uh, wanky – a provocative, Stonewall-era take on Tudor court intrigues – well… I guess it is. A ‘filmed play’ of an Elizabethan play might be a hard sell, but, on top of its compacted running time there’s sex, violence, betrayal – and all without pandering to mainstream conventions of what a film has to be like. Huzzah! Again by comparison to Shakespeare, it does feel quite constrained and contained – although again this may be down to its edits or even the minimalist and claustrophobic staging – but that’s to the advantage; it doesn’t meander and has a kind of lethal trajectory, perhaps most seen in the development of Tilda Swinton’s impeccably elegant queen. I love Tilda, and appearing in a range of stunning outfits, she’s quite magnificent, managing to somehow progress from cuckolded wife to icy Lady Macbeth-alike without seemingly moderating a characteristically controlled, understated performance.
To be honest, le Swint tearing out someone’s throat with her teeth is reason enough to see any film, so, nuff said.
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