In a parallel universe, Simon Godwin’s adaptation of Romeo & Juliet would have opened to much fanfare at London’s National Theatre last summer. The combined star power of its leads Josh O’Connor (The Crown, God’s Own Country) and Jessie Buckley (Wild Rose, I’m Thinking of Ending Things) would have undoubtedly made for a sold-out run, and queues for last-minute tickets would have stretched along the South Bank. But Covid threw a spanner in the works. Rather than postpone the production until performance-venue restrictions were lifted, the creatives behind the project favoured a show-must-go-on approach, rehearsing and filming Romeo & Juliet over 17 days during the pandemic. Forced to close up shop for more than a year now, UK theatres have been decimated by the coronavirus, so it is commendable that this play kept gig-economy workers briefly employed. Restaging it for the screen also democratises what can often be an exclusionary artform, allowing viewers to see it regardless of geography or disposable income. However, for all its extratextual merits, the resulting film leaves a lot to be desired.
Romeo & Juliet is not a love story, it is the love story. It is impossible to be unfamiliar with Shakespeare’s tragedy today: its poetry has been recycled to the point of cliché, it is endlessly reinterpreted for different audiences, with New York gang members (West Side Story), Italian restaurateurs (Pizza My Heart) and even garden gnomes (Gnomeo & Juliet) subbing in as the star-crossed lovers. Given Romeo & Juliet’s cultural omnipresence, breathing freshness into it in 2021 is a daunting task. Godwin’s take is a soulless replay of a well-worn tale – it lacks the strong, singular point of view that would make it stand out among an already crowded field of adaptations. Traditionalism is de rigueur in his version, which largely follows the play to the letter through its simple staging, unobtrusive costuming and predictable line readings.
Where it does deviate from the tried-and-true formula, it invariably trips up. A stage director with no experience behind the camera, Godwin takes advantage of the cinematic form afforded him and intersperses quick-fire montages of flash-forwards throughout the film (portentous snippets of blood-stained hands, knife fights and vials of poison). These temporal leaps serve no narrative purpose – everyone knows how the story ends, therefore to double-underline its inevitability so blatantly feels crass. Another baffling editing decision comes during the wedding scene. Surrounded by flickering candles, Romeo and Juliet gaze at one another as they become husband and wife, inching towards each other for a kiss. Before their lips touch, we abruptly smash-cut to Mercutio (Fisayo Akinade) and Benvolio (Shubham Saraf) succumbing to their own shared passion. Pulling focus from the title characters at such a pivotal moment to check in on secondary ones lessens the drama and our connection to Romeo and Juliet (even if the Mercutio-Benvolio intimacy fleetingly acknowledges the play’s homoerotic subtext, something that is sadly never revisited). This rush to shoehorn in as many readings as possible is symptomatic of a larger problem with Romeo & Juliet. The abridged 93-minute runtime gives no space for Godwin to tease out the myriad subtleties of this rich text. His adaptation races through its shortened scenes at a rapid pace and, in so doing, creates a narrative flightiness that prohibits any real depth. This rendition of Romeo & Juliet is an overworked engine sputtering joylessly towards its destination.
For a story built on fiery, all-consuming desire, it is frankly inexcusable that the film left me utterly cold. Godwin seems to have misunderstood the source material and tames its emotional explosiveness. Both in their thirties, O’Connor and Buckley have lived more than double the time their characters ever did; this age difference between actor and part smothers the teenage impulsiveness that drives the protagonists (by contrast, Erica Whyman’s 2018 Romeo & Juliet played up the youth of the lovers by casting real-life high-schoolers). The magnetic pull that should tether O’Connor and Buckley as Romeo and Juliet is notably absent: there is no electricity in the air, they do not gel together as a death-do-us-part couple. Since the play is arguably more about lust than love – they fall for each other at first sight after all – this non-existent chemistry neuters the sex appeal that pulsates through the play and torpedoes the film’s believability. The actors’ performance styles are also mismatched. Buckley turns in admirable work, throwing herself into a pit of fitful despair and grief in the latter half – an advantage of filmed theatre is that we can catch her every facial twinge and running tear in close-up. But there is an imbalance between Buckley and O’Connor: he is not reaching her level. Docile and sedate, he captures none of the adolescent antsiness the role requires, which becomes increasingly apparent as we hurtle towards the dark conclusion. The actor remains low-energy whatever the situation. When Tybalt (David Judge) challenges Romeo to a duel, O’Connor speaks of his ‘appertaining rage’ while wearing a calm expression that fails to show it, divorcing the words from their intended meaning. Romeo is supposed to swing through emotional extremities, but O’Connor concretes over these feelings with head-scratching placidity. The film’s supporting players are competent if unmemorable, with the exception of Akinade, who does the work of closed captions in his overly gesticulated performance as Mercutio, miming out his speeches in a way that is puzzlingly on the nose.
Actions in Romeo & Juliet are meant to be ‘too rash, too unadvised, too sudden’, yet Godwin blunts their impact in his pared-back, emotionally stifled adaptation. It is flat where it should be excessive, chaste where it should be lascivious. The film has fundamentally misinterpreted Shakespeare’s work, making for an unnecessary retread of this renowned story that does not offer anything new.
