The Tragedy of Macbeth, on Apple TV+

It has witches, a ghost, and “something wicked this way comes.” “The Scottish Play” is not exactly horror, but it was probably as close as you could get in Elizabethan times. This still is not exactly a “Horror Macbeth,” but the Thane exists in a landscape not unlike that roamed by the Knight in The Seventh Seal, residing in a castle worthy of vintage German expressionism. Joel (without Ethan) Coen mines considerable fresh inspiration from Shakespeare in his visually striking adaption of The Tragedy of Macbeth, which starts streaming Friday on Apple TV+.

It’s Macbeth, so you should know the story by now. This time around the Thane and Lady Macbeth are maybe a little older and a little more jaded, but the story remains the same (and wisely so). However, the variations are particularly interesting this time around, especially the three witches. In fact, it might just be one witch, with three fractured personas or maybe she is a demonic spirit. The way Coen presents her and Kathryn Hunter plays her/them leaves her true nature open to interpretation, but whatever she might be, she is profoundly sinister.

In contrast, Coen largely de-emphasizes the ghost, rendering it a fleeting illusion of Macbeth’s fevered mind. Of course, there are plenty of killings that Coen stages with visceral intimacy. There is nothing more personal than betrayal and murder, which Coen rubs Macbeth’s nose in—and immerses the viewer. However, what really distinguishes the film is the starkly stylized set design that suggests vintage 1930s Universal gothic monster films, by way of M.C. Escher. This film looks amazing, in a cold, severe, drafty, imposing kind of way. Living in Macbeth’s castle is almost unimaginable, but it makes for great cinema.

Running an hour and forty-five minutes, Coen’s Macbeth is about equal in length to Orson Welle’s adaption, and a bit shorter than the Michael Fassbender Macbeth, and considerably briefer than Polanski’s take. It is briskly paced, but the Thane’s transition from loyal vassal to murderous sociopath is more noticeably abrupt. Of course, viewers know he is Macbeth, so they should be able to fill in the gaps themselves.

Denzel Washington fulfills our expectations in the notorious role and even manages to surprise with the degree to which his Macbeth is tormented by his own crimes. It is a massively moody and angsty performance, but also a very legitimate spin on the character that we do not often see. In contrast, Frances McDormand’s Lady Macbeth lives up to her reputation and then some.

Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet

We are all sick of the word “pivot” by now, but this is truly a pivoted production. Originally planned as a live stage revival, the National Theatre brought their cast together for 17 days during the pandemic for a reconceived film adaptation of Shakespeare’s enduring tragedy. Why let all that memorization and character development go to waste? It was filmed on-location on-stage and backstage at the National’s grand Lyttleton Theatre (sans audience), which well suited the austere yet surprisingly powerful vision of director Simon Godwin. The result is an ironically cinematic Romeo & Juliet, which premieres tomorrow as part of the current season of Great Performances on PBS.

It is still Romeo & Juliet, so you really ought to know what that means. The Montagues hate the Capulets, to the point of dueling openly on the streets of Verona. Of course, Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet are the exceptions. They fall for each other hard at a costume ball and seal the deal when Romeo proclaims his love in the classic balcony scene. Friar Laurence secretly marries them, but his attempts to help the young lovers lead to unforeseen complications.

To some extent, Godwin’s approach is similar to that of Louis Malle’s Vanya on 42^nd Street. At first, we merely see the actors in street clothes sitting down for a table run-through, but the characters soon start striding (and fighting) across the stage. It is a dark, post-industrial backdrop, but it serves the story better than you might expect. Here classical Verona looks more like the organized crime-dominated Naples or Sicily, of recent vintage. Life is stark and street violence, such as the duels that claim kinsmen like Tybalt and Mercutio, is commonplace. Godwin’s bold angles and dramatic visuals even harken back to early expressionism, but Michael Bruce’s minimalist score feels very contemporary.

This is not Zeffirelli’s Romeo & Juliet, but the moodiness and aesthetic severity of Godwin’s production are far more effective than the sort of experimentation-for-its-own-sake of pretentious Donmar Warehouse “re-conceptions.” In this case, many of the departures from tradition are in large measure a reflection of necessity, which in turn, further instils energy and a sense of urgency in the production.

Still, Godwin and screen-adapter Emily Burns make an intriguing choice presenting Juliet’s mother as a Machiavellian Lady Macbeth-type, which works tremendously thanks to the intensity of Tamsin Grieg’s performance. More fundamentally, Josh O’Connor and Jessie Buckley have convincingly potent chemistry as the title lovers and they totally nail the crucial balcony scene.

OVID.tv: Silent Shakespeare

There was a time when playing the piano and reading Shakespeare were a typical evening’s entertainment for average families. A special night out might involve watching a traveling Shakespeare performer. It really wouldn’t have mattered if the earliest Shakespearean films were silent, because most of the audience would be familiar with the stories and a good deal of them would know the dialogue. These days, a lot of viewers don’t just need a soundtrack—they could also use Cliff Notes. At least most film lovers can appreciate the spectacle and inventiveness of the early Shakespeare films the BFI has assembled into an hour-long That’s Entertainment-style program, Silent Shakespeare (a.k.a. Play On!: Shakespeare in Silent Film), which premieres today on OVID.tv.

It seems weird the very first Shakespeare film was King John from 1899. Yet, even though it is not a contemporary favorite, it was one of the Bard’s biggest hits in his lifetime. “Gilding the Lily” sort of comes from it, via a lumped together paraphrase. Originally, it ran four minutes and consisted of four scenes, which was certainly economical filmmaking, but only the King’s death scene survives. Of course, it is grainy, but also rather spooky looking.

In addition, curator Bryony Davis scoured the BFI vaults for probably a dozen or so distinctive-looking Shakespeare silent films that editor Becci Jones stitched together for dramatic effect. Several are still quite striking looking. In fact, the Othello from 1922 looks stylistically and aesthetically similar to Orson Welles’ 1951 Othello. The visual trickery 1908’s The Tempest and 1909’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream are still amusingly mischievous. There is even the star-power of Sir John Gielgud appearing as the young Montague in the surreal one-minute Living Paintings (Romeo and Juliet).

Yet, the most intriguing clips hands-down come from Svend Gade & Heinz Schall’s Hamlet of 1920 (a.k.a. Hamlet: The Drama of Vengeance). Following in the tradition of Sarah Bernhardt, this Hamlet is played by Danish thesp Asta Nielsen as a woman secretly passing for a man, which really was a very Shakespearean twist.

King Lear: Modern and Quicker

The pseudo-historical Leir of Celtic Britain actually regained his throne with the help of the French and his youngest daughter Cordelia, but that was no fun for Shakespeare. Everything about his Lear had to be tragic. That makes it a heck of a role to play. When Sir Anthony Hopkins played “Sir,” the actor preparing to portray King Lear in The Dresser a few years ago, it probably gave a lot of people ideas that he makes good on now. Hopkins stars in Richard Eyre’s modernized and somewhat abridged King Lear (trailer here), which premieres on Amazon Prime this Friday.

It is a slightly dystopian Britain, but the narrative is still Lear. You know, one king with three daughters. He tries to divide his kingdom among the triumvirate, but the youngest daughter, who loves him best, refuses to play that game. A cold war quickly develops between the two ambitious sisters, egged on by Edmund, the illegitimate son of the Earl of Gloucester. Right, that Lear.

For the most part, the stylized setting is rather effective. Eyre’s Lear often shares a kinship with Ralph Fiennes’ Coriolanus, in the way they depict modern warfare and a militaristic milieu. Plus, many scenes were shot in and around the imposing Dover Castle, which is quite a dramatic backdrop. However, the sequences of the mad Lear scuffling through an open-air shopping district feel like an ill-advised Beckett production.

Regardless, Hopkins is definitely a Lear to be reckoned with, encompassing all the bluster and tragedy that have made the character so iconic. Frankly, it is the Lear we would hope for and expect from him, but he also happens to be fronting an incredibly deep ensemble. You know it is a big cast when a knighted actor and a former Doctor Who appear rather late in the credits (Sir John Standing, memorably dignified as Gloucester’s Butler, and Christopher Eccleston as Oswald, Goneril’s steward).

Emma Thompson, Emily Watson, and Florence Pugh from Lady Macbeth are also arguably quite a dream team as the three daughters. Thompson is wonderfully Machiavellian as Goneril (a name that has fortunately fallen out of favor), while Pugh is quite poignant as Cordelia, but Watson’s Regan suffers when compared to Thompson. Andrew Scott continues to be one of the best character actors in the business with his intense turn as Edgar, Gloucester’s legitimate heir. However, the most likely award nominees should be the two Jims: Downtown Abbey’s Jim Carter as Kent and Jim Broadbent as Gloucester, both of whom give terrific, deeply absorbing performances.

Eyre’s adaptation is really quite faithful, shotgunning every notable plot point into one hour and fifty-five minutes. He also keeps the language and the general tone of Shakespeare’s play, while cinematographer Ben Smithard (whose classy credits include Viceroy’s House and I, Anna) gives it all a sinister sheen. It might be unusually svelte for a Shakespeare production, but it is still a very well-put-together package. Highly recommended, King Lear starts streaming this Friday (9/28), on Amazon Prime.

Kurosawa’s Ran

It was a triumph interrupted by tragedy. Shooting was halted three times on Akira Kurosawa’s monumental fusion of Shakespeare’s King Lear and the legend of feudal lord Mōri Motonari, due to the deaths of his regular fight choreographer Ryu Kuze, his soundman since Stray Dog, Fumio Yanoguchi, and his wife and sounding board, Yôko Yaguchi. Nevertheless, Kurosawa still finished the film that would forever cement his reputation as one of the world’s greatest filmmakers. Still as overwhelming as ever, the 4K restoration of Kurosawa’s final straight-up masterpiece Ran (trailer here) opens this Friday in New York, at Film Forum.

During the Sengoku Era, daughters were not allowed to inherit—hence, Lord Hidetora Ichimonji’s three sons. His son Saburo loves him best, but the Daimyo cannot see past the young man’s rash, impetuous behavior. Technically, Jiro is the most Machiavellian of the brothers, but even he is no match for Taro’s wife, Lady Kaede. She harbors a deeply-burning grudge against Lord Hidetora for slaughtering her family after their arranged marriage. Ichimonji caught the clan of Jiro’s wife Lady Sué similarly unaware, yet her profound Buddhist faith prevented her suffering from corroding her spirit. Consequently, she is the only person who inspires guilt in the old warlord.

Like Lear, Ichimonji concludes he must abdicate and name his successor to insure long-term stability. Of course, it will have the exact opposite effect. Although Saburo is the most talented and worthy, Lord Hidetora names Taro instead. Understanding the possible ramifications only too well, Lady Kaede spurs Taro to consolidate and codify his new power. This deeply disappoints his father, who finds himself essentially stripped of the emeritus status he had envisioned for himself. War is inevitable and the carnage will be spectacular.

It is almost impossible to recognize the iconically handsome Tatsuya Nakadai (the all business cop in High and Low and Mifune’s very different adversaries in Yojimbo and Sanjuro) under all the make-up transforming him into Ichimonji. Nevertheless, he vividly and poignantly expresses Ichimonji’s increasingly erratic mental state. However, Mieko Harada upstages everyone and everything as the ferocious Lady Kaede (an original character with no analog in Lear or the tales of Mōri). It is a huge ensemble, most of whom labor under dehumanizing circumstances, obscured by rain, smoke, and helmets. However, Hisashi Igawa adds intriguing heft and nuance as Jiro’s general, Kurogane, perhaps one of the film’s few characters with principals.

Frankly, there will probably never be another motion picture that devotes so much time and resources to filming battle scenes that is not first and foremost a war movie. Ran is high classical tragedy several times over, but it also features some absolutely stunning scenes of Sixteenth Century warfighting. It is one of the few films that lives up to and even surpasses its reputation as a career-capping masterpiece. It is sort of incredible that Kurosawa was able look through a camera lens again following the epic production of Ran, but did indeed make three more quite nice, but considerably smaller films (including a contribution to a multi-director anthology). Very highly recommended, the 4K restoration, in all its dazzling color, opens this Friday (2/26) at Film Forum.

Welles’ Chimes at Midnight

Orson Welles really made his reputation staging Shakespeare, particularly the “Voodoo Macbeth” produced for the Federal Theatre Project. Unfortunately, it was another Shakespearean production that perfectly symbolized the auteur’s mid-1960s fall from critical favor. In retrospect, it is rather embarrassing The New York Times was more preoccupied with Welles’ girth than his artistic vision. It is worth remembering the next time the editorial page decides to give us a lecture on civility. Still, a lot of people missed the boat on Welles’ Falstaff and rights conflicts made it difficult for more appreciative later generations to catch up with it. Happily, the Welles’ under-heralded Chimes at Midnight (trailer here) gets a special, restored DCP limited engagement, starting exclusively this Friday in New York at Film Forum.

Don’t hold your breath for St. Crispin’s Day. This is Falstaff’s story, not Prince Hal’s. Never shy about reworking Shakespeare, Welles basically plundered Falstaff’s greatest hits for the Henriad cycle, throwing in a few line here and there from The Merry Wives of Winsor. However, the guts of the film come from Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, focusing on Prince Hal’s competing loyalties to two father figures, the hedonistic yet strangely gallant Sir John Falstaff and his severe father, Henry IV. Falstaff is way more fun, but the King represents his future.

Aware the Lancasters’ claim to the throne is iffy at best, the King would be much relieved to see Prince Hal start to take his duties more seriously. Instead, he prefers to carouse in bawdy houses with Falstaff and the more polished but just as disreputable Ned Poins. Unfortunately, his profligacy only encourages rebellion among the nobility, who have rallied behind the dashing and popular Sir Henry Percy, a.k.a. Harry Hotspur, as their champion. Prince Hal cuts a poor figure beside him.

As for Falstaff’s figure, it is impressive, in its way. As the Times so brutally pointed out, you can’t spell Falstaff without an “f,” “a,” and “t.” Yet, there is more to Welles’ Sir John than the low comedy we associate with the reprobate. It is like he is a metaphor for Welles’ own career. Shticky on the outside, like the persona hosting Nostradamus documentaries and Paul Masson wine commercials, but he was heroic on the inside, like the director who labored for years to complete Don Quixote. Just like Falstaff, Welles was once the toast of Hollywood and a critical darling, but the establishment would turn against him in his later years, much like Prince Hal will inevitably renounce his friendship with Falstaff.

Whether Welles consciously identified with Falstaff on that level scarcely matters. It is still all there on the screen, in all its glorious pathos. Without question, Welles is the definitive Falstaff, puffed up with bluster, but achingly sensitive on the inside. His love for the Prince feels absolutely, painfully real.

Keith Baxter is also a minor revelation as Prince Hal. Probably better known for his stage work, Baxter is electric as he young prince. He might just be the coldest, most ruthless Prince Hal/Henry V seen on film, arguably bordering on the sociopathic. Yet, the great Sir John Gielgud might just upstage everyone, Welles included, as the ascetically noble and remorseful Henry IV. Even though most people automatically harken back to Arthur whenever his name is dropped, Chimes might be the best film to remember him by. Welles only had two weeks with Gielgud, but they made every second count. As a bonus, Jeanne Moreau also finds the earthy dignity in Dolly Tearsheet, Falstaff’s favorite “hostess.”

Chimes is a major Wellesian work that takes his signature visual flair to an even higher level. Every frame is a work of art, but the gritty grace and caustic wit of the ensemble performances remain incisive throughout. Wonderfully stylish and elegiac, Chimes at Midnight should be considered a worthy film in Welles canon. Very highly recommended, it opens New Year’s Day at Film Forum.

Macbeth: Fassbender Takes on the Sound and Fury

Academics have long debated just how many children Lady Macbeth had and lost, because they don’t hand out tenure for nothing. Justin Kurzel’s new cinematic take on the Scottish Play is willing to go on record positing one child, whose tragic death will psychologically torment her and her noble husband unremittingly. Kurzel also more fully embraces the blood and carnage of battle than politely prestigious productions past in his vivid adaptation of Macbeth (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

You might not recognize the scene of Macbeth, Thane of Glamis and Lady Macbeth burning their young child on a funeral pyre, but from there on, it is business as usual. However, Kurzel does not skimp on hack-and-slash action when Macbeth and his faithful comrade Banquo vanquish the forces of the treasonous Macdonwald. Just as the three witches promise, Macbeth is promoted to Thane Cawdor following the traitor’s execution. That gives Lady Macbeth ideas about the rest of the witches’ prophesy, particularly the part about Macbeth becoming King of Scotland. However, they had an addendum hailing Banquo as the forefather of future kings that somewhat vexes the childless Macbeth.

Although Lady Macbeth does indeed prompt her husband to commit murder, Kurzel’s conception of the Scottish Play is remarkably forgiving of this often vilified noble woman. Again, the explicit grief for her child humanizes her subsequent sins to a considerable extent. On the other hand, Malcolm the heir apparent is portrayed in unusually shallow and cowardly terms.

Casting Michael Fassbender as Macbeth is so logically self-evident, it seems strange nobody tried to do it sooner. He does not disappoint, completely committing to Kurzel highly physical conception of the Thane. One look from him can make the heather on the hills wilt. In contrast, Marion Cotillard’s Lady Macbeth is unusually sensitive and guilt-ridden. Unlike memorably ferocious Lady Macbeths (Rosanne Ma in the Pan Asian Rep’s Shogun Macbeth is still a favorite), she is almost delicate, which makes the contrast between her and Macbeth all the more dramatic. Paddy Considine and Sean Harris also add considerable grit and heft as Banquo and Macduff, respectively.

Visually, cinematographer Adam Arkapaw work is just as bold, deliberately evoking blood and fire with his vivid color palette, while (brother) Jed Kurzel’s minimalist score gives the film a contemporary vibe. Kurzel somewhat overindulges in symbolic imagery with his over the top closing sequence, but that is a minor misstep. In general, his fearlessness pays dividends.

Frankly, the all the best Shakespearean films take some liberties with their source material. Arguably, Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood remains the greatest cinematic Macbeth, with its completely original but utterly iconic death scene. Kurzel’s Macbeth is a worthy follower in its tradition. Like Ralph Fiennes’ Coriolanus, Kurzel is very much in touch with the manly, action-driven side of Shakespeare, while also ruthlessly plumbing the dark psychological depths of his flawed characters. Highly recommended, Macbeth opens this Friday (12/4) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

Unknown Welles: The Merchant of Venice

Orson Welles was one of the few theater and film directors who was not afraid to tinker with Shakespeare’s texts. It must have been the confidence that came from being a prodigy. He would therefore be the logical person to adapt and helm a “Reader’s Digest” version of Shakespeare, but he still went way over-budget on his 1969 television production of The Merchant of Venice, forcing CBS to walk away and cut their losses. Long considered lost and unfinished, Welles’ version has been restored and pieced together from disparate sources by the Munich Filmmuseum. The remarkably coherent and satisfyingly Wellesian Merchant of Venice screened last night at MoMA as part of the 2015 To Save and Project International Festival of Preservation’s Unknown Welles sidebar.

As part of a full presentation on Welles in a Shakespearean bag, Filmmuseum director Stefan Droessler also screened a number of interview segments, television guest appearances, and fragments that never really went anywhere, but still involved Shakespeare. It is probably safe to say Welles is the only actor to perform Shakespeare on the Dean Martin Show, Ed Sullivan Show, and I Love Lucy. Nevertheless, Welles’ Shylock was the centerpiece.

Indeed, Welles unambiguously molds Merchant into Shylock’s story. There is only one brief cutaway to Belmont, with the rest was set in glorious Venice, conveniently starring Welles himself as the despised money-lender. Aside from a rather jaunty opening, in which Welles triumphantly returns to Venice (where he also shot Othello) lounging in a gondola, the film is probably the closest in tone to Welles’ The Trial. The entire city seems to be conspiring against Shylock, while wearing sinister carnival masks that weirdly bring to mind Eyes Wide Shut.

Naturally, Welles lost part of the audio track and the negatives, so the Filmmuseum restoration team frequently relied on a 1938 Mercury Theater production initially released as an enormous multi-record set in the days before LPs to fill in audio gaps. Believe it or not, it is not as jarring as it sounds. Unfortunately, they had to resort to inter-titles in occasional spots, but never during a critical dramatic moment. Most importantly, Merchant reflects Welles’ unmistakable sense of visual composition. Even when working in color he creates some starkly striking images.

The Filmmuseum’s restoration recently premiered at this year’s Venice International Film Festival, but it is strange it was not immediately snapped up by someone. Welles’ performance is as strong in Merchant as in any of his later works and his signature style remained undiminished. In this case, the cobbled together restoration should further burnish his reputation. It is too good to simply return to the vault, so Welles fans should keep an eye for it. It was also a great way to kick-off the Unknown Welles sidebar, which continues through Sunday (11/22) at MoMA.

Julie Taymor’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream

It is by far Shakespeare’s most genre friendly play, chocked full of fairies and magical spells. It is the comedy that inspired Czech animator Jiri Trnka’s adaptation 1959. Subsequently, both Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett have riffed on in their signature fantasy worlds, so it should be the Shakespeare play contemporary movie goers can most easily relate to. Now they have no excuse, because Julie Taymor will give them the spectacle they crave in her filmed version of her own dynamic staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream (trailer here), which screens nationwide this coming Monday for one night only.

To inaugurate the opening of their first permanent home, Theatre for a New Audience turned to Taymor, who put her distinctive stylistic stamp on Midsummer, in collaboration with composer Elliot Goldenthal. Not only was the production a hit, it also translates well to the big screen (and the bigger the better). Yet, the best surprise is how deftly Taymor and her cast turn the play’s comedic business, getting big laughs everywhere Shakespeare intended them. Many previous productions have been fatally caught up in the dream motifs, resulting in a snoozy atmosphere. In contrast, Taymor’s Midsummer is unusually energetic and pacey.

Of course, it is still Midsummer. That means Hermia and Lysander are still forbidden to marry, they once again abscond to the forest outside Athens, inadvertently blundering into the Fairy Realm. The prospective suitors they rejected, Demetrius and Helena follow after them. Hoping to even out the situation, Oberon the King of the Fairies, orders Robin “Puck” Goodfellow to bewitch Demetrius with Helena, but his trickster servant casts the spell upon the wrong mortal. Meanwhile, a group of roughhewn tradesmen are rehearsing the play they hope to put on as part of the ruling Duke’s impending wedding. This time Puck gets it right, magically morphing the blowhard Nick Bottom into a Donkey-headed beast and enchanting Oberon’s disobedient Queen Titania with the braying prole.

Into this familiar, archetype-rich narrative, Taymor incorporates some incredible wire-work (at least she got something out of the Spiderman experience), the rich yet suggestive costuming (often reminiscent of her Lion King), her trademark billowing fabrics, sparingly effective use of video projections, and pillow fights. Believe it or not, almost all of it looks great on the screen.

However, the incontestable star of Taymor’s Taymor’s Shakespeare’s Midsummer is Kathryn Hunter, playing Puck in the Mary Martin tradition, but with a mischievous glean in her eye worthy of Peter Dinklage’s Tyrion Lannister. Taymor whips her around the stage like Spidey, yet she still totally nails the “if we shadows have offended” epilogue.

There are no weak links per se, but David Harewood’s physical presence as Oberon is pretty darned awesome. Likewise, Roger Clark plays the Duke with gravitas and good humor befitting a nobleman. To an extent, as Demetrius and Helena, Zach Appelman and Mandi Masden somewhat outshine a comparably blander Hermia and Lysander, but it hardly matters.

Filmed theater often looks a little flat, but Taymor makes it an immersive and kinetic cinematic experience. This will be a tough Midsummer to top, so it is great to have it so well preserved. Frankly, it easily ranks within the top tier of Shakespearean comedies for the big screen, up there with Trevor Nunn’s Twelfth Night and Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing. Very highly recommended, Taymor’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream screens this Monday (6/22) as a special Fathom Events presentation at theaters nationwide, including the AMC Empire in New York.

Cymbeline: The Bard of Anarchy

Not exactly comedy or tragedy, Cymbeline is considered by many critics Shakespeare’s sly attempt at self-parody. Its only highly quotable line is: “the game is up,” so it is no surprising it is one of the Bard’s least performed plays. Yet, that makes it considerably easier for Michael Almereyda to stage a liberty-taking modernized production. The battle fought by the Celtic British and the forces of Rome becomes a conflict between the British biker gang and the Rome Police Department in Almereyda’s Cymbeline (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

In many ways, Cymbeline really is a mash-up of Shakespeare’s greatest hits, starting with the star-crossed romance of Imogen and Posthumus Leonatus. Having secretly married, they have already gotten further than most Shakespearean lovers. However, Imogen’s father, Cymbeline the biker king, is less than thrilled when their union is revealed. Since he essentially promised Imogen to step-son Cloten, the loutish offspring of his Lady Macbethish second wife, it is a rather awkward turn of events for him. Fleeing Cymbeline’s wrath, Leonatus takes refuge in Italy (or somewhere more prosaic), where he encounters the Iago-like Iachimo. After listening to Leonatus boast of his wife’s fidelity, Iachimo wagers he can seduce the woman. It is a bet Iachimo will collect through deceit and subterfuge.

There is no avoiding the antiquated vibe of the Iachimo storyline, but Almereyda plays it up big anyway, because the old scoundrel is portrayed by Ethan Hawke. Much more successful is the geopolitical intrigue reconceived as the biker gang’s fraught dealings with the corrupt civic constabulary. Some things are timeless, whereas as other are very much a product of their time and place.

Of course, Ed Harris as a leather jacket wearing biker monarch blasting away with an assault rifle gives Almereyda a solid base to work from. He has the stately presence of a Shakespearean king, while calling back to his early roots in George Romero’s Knightriders. Believe it or not, Milla Jovovich pulls off the Queen’s Machiavellian iciness quite well. Bill Pullman has limited screen time, but he makes a great entrance as the ghost of Leonatus’s father, while John Leguizamo is well cast as Pisanio, the wily servant. Nevertheless, it is Delroy Lindo who steals scene after scene as Cymbeline’s banished former ally.

On the other hand, the younger romantic leads and rivals largely underwhelm. Dakota Johnson is just sort of eh as Imogen. Penn Bagley is a double-eh as Leonatus and Anton Yelchin is a triple-eh as Cloten. Generally speaking, the older and more seasoned the cast member, the better they come across in Almereyda’s Cymbeline.

Once known as Anarchy, the updated Cymbeline openly invites comparison to Sons of Anarchy. It is a strange choice for such a treatment (perhaps Julius Caesar, the grandpappy of all power struggles would have made a better fit), but the greasy roadside settings are considerably more effective than one might expect, giving it a distinctly austere but slightly unreal aesthetic. It is clear why Cymbeline is considered a minor work in the Shakespearean canon, but perhaps the best way to handle it is by thoroughly recontextualizing as Almereyda does. It is an odd little film with a big cast that is rather entertaining, in an idiosyncratic way, despite its ragged edges. Recommended for fans of non-traditional Shakespeare, Cymbeline opens tomorrow in New York at the Quad Cinema.

Whedonized Shakespeare: Much Ado About Nothing

Shall we compare Shakespeare to a superhero?  His work transcends time and space, after all.  No less an authority than Joss Whedon, the director of The Avengers, proves the point once again with his modernized yet still satisfying Much Ado About Nothing (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

As you really ought to know, Ado is a comic tale involving sibling rivalry, mistaken identity, and of course, love.  Don Pedro has just routed an insurrection led by his deceitful brother, Don John.  To enjoy the afterglow of victory, Don Pedro and his trusted lieutenants, the roguish Benedick and the earnest young Claudio, accept the hospitality of Leonato, the governor of Messina.   Don John also arrives with his brother.  They have supposedly buried the hatchet, but their truce is decidedly frosty.

In contrast, Benedick brashly presses his longstanding “merry war” with Beatrice, Leonato’s tart tongued niece. To mix Shakespearean quotations, Leonato and Don Pedro decide the sarcastic couple “doth protest too much” and secretly contrive to bring them together, like practical jokester cupids.  Benedick and Beatrice get all the play’s best lines, but the above-board romance between Claudio and Leonato’s daughter Hero supplies all the plot points.  As he instructs his remaining retainers, Don John would be quite pleased to see their happy union sabotaged, for the sake of his revenge and general mean spiritedness.

Shot during the twelve days in-between the filming and post-production of Whedon’s Marvel blockbuster, Ado is certainly a laid back affair, but it is still strikingly cinematic.  There might have been limited time for pre-production, but Whedon was fortunate to have a pretty polished script from William Shakespeare.  Maybe he found it on the “Black List.” Set entirely within Whedon’s real life home, designed by his architect wife and co-producer Kai Cole, this Ado updates the costumes and trappings to modern times, but wisely retains the Bard’s original language.  Essentially, Leonato and the Dons are politicians or gangsters.  Is there any difference between the two?  Either way, the wardrobe largely consists of dark suits, sun glasses, and ear pieces.

While Whedon’s modernization is a bit eccentric, Jay Hunter’s stylish black-and-white cinematography really helps sell it.  Frankly, Much Ado is one of Shakespeare’s most bullet-proof comedies, probably ranking just below Twelfth Night.  Nonetheless, Whedon’s game cast does not merely get by.  They have a genuine flair for the Shakespearean language.  Alexis Denisof and Amy Acker make a terrific Benedick and Beatrice. The audience will find themselves laughing at their zingers, which speaks volumes for their zesty delivery. 

Clark Gregg (the soon to be reincarnated SHIELD Agent Phil Coulson) also makes a solid Leonato, nicely conveying his mischievous and mature sides, while providing a familiar face for Whedon’s Marvel fans to latch onto.  Poor Hero is always the problematic part, but newcomer Jillian Morgese (an extra on The Avengers) gives her a bit of pluck and substance this time around.  As for good old Dogberry (here reinvented as the captain of the gated community’s rent-a-cops), Nathan Fillion truly hams it up, but that is exactly what he is supposed to do.

This is a genuinely entertaining movie that withstands comparison to Kenneth Branagh’s wonderfully elegant adaptation.  It is a different take, but the time-tested characters and text are the same, so it all works out quite swimmingly.  Recommended without reservation for fans of Shakespeare and Whedon, Much Ado About Nothing opens today (6/7) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

BFF ’13: Sado Tempest

Sado is like the Japanese Isle of Elba.  It was there that the Emperor Juntoku and Buddhist priest Nichiren were exiled in eras past and it is there that a dissident punk rocker is imprisoned in the dystopian near future.  Yet, the island environment he wakes to appears frozen in time, existing in a state of perpetual winter.  Amid the gloom, demons will haunt Welsh expat John Williams’ Noh-styled Shakespearean pseudo-adaptation, Sado Tempest (trailer here), which screens during the 2013 Brooklyn Film Festival.

Juntoku’s band Jitterbug regularly yells truth to power during their gigs.  This one will be their final one.  The Agent Smith-like Sekihara drugs the lads backstage and whisks them off to Sado. Presumed dead by the outside world, they are now helpless captives of the brutal warden Sugi.  There is also a strange woman named Miranda, who obsessively hums lines of a legendary demon song as she trudges about the place.  Eventually, Juntoku suspects her ancient verses might hold the key to a supernatural renewal.

Right, there’s some Tempest in here somewhere.  Regardless, there is plenty of ethereal atmosphere, evocative taiko drumming, and Kappa like demons to transport viewers well out of the familiarity zones.  Essentially, Shakespeare is one of several influences, just like the Zen Buddhist flavoring the pronouncements of Omuro, the Prospero figure.  Williams clearly privileges mood over narrative, but there are some deviously subversive bits, as when the corrupt Sugi browbeats the band into recording that last album for their label to discover in the vaults.

Fans of Jitterbug should enjoy hearing them do their thing.  Yet, even through subtitles, the centerpiece “Demon Song” has a real old world vibe, in keeping with the film’s Shakespearean inspiration.  Lead singer Yasunori Henmi does right by it, even if he is a somewhat stiff screen presence.  While the cast largely provides deliberately strange and forbidding performances, there is something haunting about Noriko Eguchi’s Miranda.  As the villainous Sekihara, Kill Bill’s Yoji Tanaka is also appropriately cold blooded and venomous. 

Dystopian cinema has rarely looked so barren and windswept.  Nobody is apt to confuse Sado Tempest with Hunger Games or Battle Royale for that matter.  Indeed, this is about as post-modern as Shakespeare and Noh Theater can get.  Yet, the archetypal themes still resonate.  The sage Omura explicitly challenges conventional notions of time and narrative on Williams’ behalf, but the film itself is relatively linear.  Nonetheless, Sado Tempest is hardly accessible for mass market audiences.  Eerily hallucinatory, Sado Tempest is a must for cult cinema fans with a more post-structuralist intellectual bent.  It screens this coming Sunday (6/2) and Monday (6/3) as part of this year’s “Magnetic” Brooklyn Film Festival.

ND/NF ’13: Viola

Chris Dodd probably will not be blurbing this film, considering two of the major characters run a business illegally downloading music and movies for clients.  It might not exactly run to Harold Bloom’s tastes either, even though it is sort-of kind-of uses Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night as a jumping off point.  Unfortunately, the Bard’s language is more prominent than the spirit of his classic comedy in Matías Piñeiro’s postmodern riff Viola (trailer here), which screens as a selection of this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by MoMA and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Frankly, it is hard to imagine a bad production of Twelfth Night.  Trevor Nunn’s 1996 film adaptation is an underappreciated jewel.  New Yorkers have also been blessed with many memorable stage productions, including Julia Stiles’ luminous turn in the 2002 season of Shakespeare in the Park and the Pearl Theatre’s characteristically elegant 2009 staging.  Considering it boasts separated twins, mistaken identity, cross-dressing, star-crossed love triumphant, and the humbling of authority, if Twelfth Night doesn’t work for you, you’re on your own.  Yet, Piñeiro incorporates almost none of this rich but frothy material into his contemporary collection of intersecting Altmanesque characters.

There is indeed a Shakespeare production being mounted here, but instead of Twelfth Night it is sort of a greatest hits compendium.  At least, we will hear Viola carrying Duke Orsino’s message of love to Lady Olivia, in the guise of his trusted page boy.  In fact, we will hear the scene over and over. For contemporary audiences, the gender-bending aspects of Twelfth Night take on added significance and this is largely what Piñeiro latches onto.  After witnessing the performance, we then watch the actress playing Olivia helping a prospective new Viola rehearse her lines.  However, this new Viola gets a bit carried away by Shakespeare’s words of amour.

As she bids a hasty retreat, Piñeiro shifts his attention to the real title character.  Although not yet part of the ensemble, several associations link Viola to their circle.  While making her bootleg deliveries, she encounters two cast-members who recruit her for the production, even as they belittle her passive approach to life.  Arguably, Viola the modern day Buenos Aires Bohemian is more like her Shakespearean namesake’s twin brother Sebastian, who essentially has wedded bliss with a high-born lady handed to him on a silver platter.  Piñeiro’s Viola has even fallen in with a pirate, so to speak.

Viola the film ends with a jam, which is cool.  Unfortunately, the sixty some minutes it takes to get there are a bit of chore.  Piñeiro’s variations on his theme quickly become repetitive and provide little to emotionally engage viewers.  Cerebral and maddeningly self-conscious, Viola is more like the anti-Twelfth Night.  It screens this Wednesday (3/27) and the Walter Reade Theater and this Friday (3/29) at MoMA.

ADIFF ’12: Tango Macbeth

It is like the Bewitched version of the “Scottish Play.”  Two identifiably different actors will play the murderous general, due to complicated circumstances.  It is all part of the backstage drama brought to the fore in Nadine M. Patterson’s meta-postmodern-experimental-musical-docudrama Tango Macbeth (trailer here), which screens during the 2012 AfricanDiaspora International Film Festival in New York.

Unconventional in many ways, this Macbeth will be choreographed.  Yes, there will be tango, as well as some vaguely Fosse-esque steps, but that is the least of Patterson’s gamesmanship.  While the play itself is shot in stylized music video-style black-and-white, the ostensive behind-the-scenes rehearsal will be filmed in Wiseman-like color.  There will be nearly as much fireworks going on amidst the cast and crew as in the presumptive play within the film.

Hopefully, it is all a bit of meta-meta fun, or else Macbeth #1 will be in for some indigestion when he finally screens Tango.  Yet, the Shakespeare is still in there and the cast is often quite good bringing out the flavor and dynamics of Shakespeare’s most perilous tragedy.  In fact, Brian Anthony Wilson is absolutely fantastic as Macduff (and himself as Macduff), blowing the doors off the Thane of Fife’s big scenes.  Based on his work in Tango, most viewers will probably be up for watching him tackle the title role in a more traditional production.

Alexandra Bailey also has some powerful scenes as Lady Macbeth, apparently developing some nice chemistry with both Macbeths.  If Carlo Campbell, Macbeth #1, always appears in character[s], than it is a really fearless performance.  Ironically though, Eric Suter’s best scene comes not as Macbeth #2, but when he was still a swing player, appearing as Lady Macbeth’s assassin.

It might seem hypocritical to criticize Anna Karenina for Joe Wright’s stylistic excesses, but praise Patterson’s explicitly avant-garde approach.  Yet, they are coming from two very different places.  While Wright is just tossing in a distracting bit of hipster pretension, Patterson is fundamentally deconstructing both Shakespeare and traditional notions of stage drama.

The talented ensemble makes quite a mark in Tango, yet it is likely to disappoint anyone hoping to see actors in classical costume, dancing about with roses in their teeth (perhaps bitterly so).  However, for the aesthetically adventurous it is a fascinating production.  Recommended for frequent patrons of the Anthology Film Archives, it screens Saturday (11/24) and Sunday (11/25) as part of this year’s ADIFF.

Hamlet Reincarnated: The Prince of the Himalayas

Shakespeare famously wrote in As You Like It: “all the world’s a stage.” That includes the “Roof of the World” as well. In an act of sheer cinematic bravura, Sherwood Hu moves the Danish tragedy to the high Tibetan mountains, taking invigorating liberties with the Shakespeare play in the process. Appropriately, Hu’s The Prince of the Himalayas (trailer here), will have its premiere American theatrical engagement exclusively at the Rubin Museum of Art (home to the largest collection of Himalayan art in the West and some of the City’s finest film and jazz programming), starting this Friday.

Returning from his studies in Persia, Prince Lhamoklodan is distressed to learn he just missed his father’s funeral. He is also put-off by the news his uncle Kulo-ngam will become the crown-regent by marrying his mother Namn. Indeed, one ceremony closely follows the other, as his school chum Horshu observes. However, it is the ghost of his father who confirms Lhamoklodan's suspicions, setting him on a bloody course of vengeance.

So far, so Shakespearean. Yet, Hu has several surprises in store for viewers, most notably his decision to make the Himalayan Gertrude and especially its Claudius, the sympathetic core of the film. We learn rather early Kulo-ngam always loved Namn, but his not so dearly departed older brother cruelly intervened. As a result, Lhamoklodan comes across as one of the harsher, more spiteful Hamlets ever seen on-screen. Conversely, the ethereally beautiful Osaluyang is one of the most heartbreaking Ophelias. She also reaches rare heights of madness in a role often required to discretely slip into the water off-screen or off-stage in many conventional productions.

Borrowing elements from Macbeth and Sophocles, Hu’s adaptation of Shakespeare is inspired, but hardly slavish in its faithfulness. Yet, he arguably remains true to the spirit of the original play (nevertheless, you probably would not want to argue the point with Harold Bloom). Without question though, the Tibetan mountains and tundra must be the grandest, most expansive setting for any staging of Hamlet. If there is any misstep in the Himalayan Prince, it is that of over-scoring. The vast spaces of the Jiabo kingdom call out for eerie silence rather than prestige picture orchestrations.

Hu is a bold, slightly reckless filmmaker, who gets some powerful performances from his cast. Purba Rgyal is appropriately fierce and charismatic as Lhamoklodan, but Dobrgyal gives the film its soul as the acutely conflicted Kulo-ngam. His scenes with Zomskyid’s Namn/Gertrude are achingly touching, as is the exquisitely vulnerable performance of Sonamdolgar as Odsaluyang.

While Hu’s Prince often rather abruptly segues from scene to scene, his breakneck pacing wraps up Shakespeare’s longest play in an impressively economical 108 minutes. Purists might take issue with his alterations to the time honored tale (alas, poor Yorick did not make the cut). However, it is worth noting Kurosawa’s masterpiece Throne of Blood yielded probably the greatest death scene in motion picture history by revising the ending of Macbeth.

Granted, Hu’s Prince is not quite at that level, but not for a lack of ambition and vision. Indeed, it is a richly produced period piece, considerably superior to most of the supposed Oscar bait coyly dropping in and out of theaters over the next two weeks. Grand in scope and enormously satisfying, it is highly recommended when it screens at the Rubin Museum in New York over the course of ten non-sequential days, beginning the Friday (12/23) through Saturday, January 14th. Check their website for specific dates and times, as well as information about their world-class exhibits.

Fiennes’ Coriolanus

It has long been considered one of Shakespeare’s most divisive tragedies. Though academic appraisals remain quite mixed, Coriolanus always had its champions, including poet T.S. Eliot. As a result, there are few cinematic predecessors against which actor Ralph Fiennes directorial debut might be compared. In the Olivier-Branagh tradition, Fiennes also stars in his contemporary retelling of Coriolanus (trailer here), which begins a one week Oscar qualifying engagement in New York this Friday.

In a Balkan city that “calls itself Rome,” Caius Martius has earned the honorific title “Coriolanus” for his victory over the city-state’s bitter rival, the Volsces. At the behest of his proud mother Volumnia and her ally Senator Menenius, the general consents to campaign for the office of Consul. The approval of the Senate is assured, but Coriolanus’s candidacy must also be accepted by the masses. This is a taller order, especially given the officer’s refusal to pander to the lowest common denominator.

Nonetheless, with Menenius’s help, Coriolanus appears to win over the people. Yet, just as quickly, the deceitful senators Brutus and Sicinius turn the crowd against him, with the help of a cadre of professional activists. Venting his outrage, Corilanus’s contempt for the fickle masses leads to his banishment. It also drives him to Volsces, where he makes common cause with his old nemesis, Tullus Aufidius. Dead to everything except his rage, Coriolanus will have his revenge in a manner befitting Shakespearean tragedy.

Given his abruptly shifting loyalties and his un-Shakespearean lack of introspection, Coriolanus is a difficult figure for many to get their heads around. However, Fiennes’ portrayal really unlocks his character. We can understand how his rigid conception of honor compels each action he takes. Despite Corilanus’s reticence, it is a big, seething performance of great physicality that commands viewer attention. Clearly, this is a man of action, not given to soliloquizing.

This is definitely Shakespeare at his manliest (no tights or sonnets here, thank you very much). Indeed, Gerard Butler matches Fiennes’ testosterone as Aufidius, while Vanessa Redgrave nearly outdoes them both as Volumnia, the motherly Lady Macbeth. Yet, the real soul of the film comes from the great Brian Cox as Menenius, whose humanity leads inexorably to pathos. Though a relatively small part, it is also interesting to see South African actor John Kani, who projects a suitably stately presence as Coriolanus’s former superior officer, General Cominius.

Throughout Fiennes’ effectively streamlined film adaptation it is also obvious why the original play troubles so many critics, given its scathing depiction of the Roman masses as no more than a weapon to be wielded by the unscrupulous. Frankly, in Coriolanus, “the people” get what they deserve. Indeed, the film comes at a time when it rather inconveniently begs comparison to uninformed masses occupying Zucotti Park.

An impressive directorial debut, Fiennes stages some vivid scenes of warfighting. His resetting of the story works more often than not, though the cable news flashes in Shakespearean English can be a bit jarring. Strikingly cinematic, the Belgrade locales also add the weight of contemporary historical tragedy, heightening the on-screen drama. One of the better recent Shakespearean films (considerably more satisfying than Taymor’s Tempest, for example), the unexpectedly timely Coriolanus is definitely worth seeing. It begins a special one week New York run for Academy Award consideration at the AMC Loews Lincoln Square this Friday (12/2) and then opens more widely on January 20th.

Because Someone Had to Do It: Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish

Like Islamic Madrasas (but less scary), Orthodox religious schools are not big on vocational training and Shakespeare is not on the syllabus. As a result, when a nurse in a graduate linguistics program needs help translating the Bard’s great romantic tragedy into the language of Sholem Aleichem, it is all new to Hasidic slackers she hires to assist her. Shakespeare gets thoroughly mashed-up Brooklyn style in writer-director Eve Annenberg’s Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish (trailer here), an alumnus of the New York Jewish Film Festival returning to the Lincoln Center for its theatrical run at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center this Friday.

Nurse Ava was once romantically linked with a Hasidic Jew—once—and now she is not. She remains only slightly bitter, making her grad school assignment a pure joy for her. Lazer and his crony live in a u-haul, panhandling loose change on the street to buy weed. Shakespeare is completely foreign to them, but it is not bad gig, all things considered. As they help Ava adapt her Yiddish Romeo, they assume parts in a stylized version of the play, naturally set in Williamsburg, where the Montagues and Capulets are distinguished by the presence or absence of peyos.

It is difficult to tell whether Annenberg mocks the Hasidic community with affection or venom. She is unequivocally dismissive of religious education though. This ambiguous harshness is rather problematic. However, she creates a wonderfully acerbic persona for herself, delivering a considerable barrage of barbed zingers. Indeed, there are quite a few laughs in Annenberg’s Yiddish, but always at the expense of her religious characters and the world they represent.

While there is no denying the entertainment value of Annenberg’s mordant shtick, much of her apparently rookie cast comes across as such. Indeed, most of the Hasidic stoner characters look and sound awkward in their scenes. Still, Isaac Schoenfeld keeps it real as Rabbi Isaac (who duly becomes Rabbi Lawrence within the meta-play). The true find though would be Melissa Weisz whose sultry screen presence and confident dual performance as Faigy and Juliet stands out rather dramatically.

Annenberg’s Yiddish is never dull, but it is often hard to know what to make of it. Yet, Annenberg’s razor sharp pen is clear throughout. It would be wise not to cross her, lest you find yourself on the receiving end of her next picture. If you are looking for some cutting religious one-liners this weekend, her film would be a good place to start. Not exactly recommended, but a film that engenders an odd affection nonetheless, Yiddish opens this Friday (7/8) in New York at the Elinor Bunin Munroe, which still has that new theater smell.

Taymor’s Tempest

It was neither intended as a political statement nor as novelty casting. Director Julie Taymor and the accomplished Helen Mirren simply wanted to collaborate on a Shakespeare project, but the Bard just did not write a lot of great parts for women over the age of thirty-five or so. Yet, both independently considered the role of The Tempest’s Prospero a possibility. After an early reading confirmed their hopes, the role of Prospero became Prospera. Chosen as the prestigious centerpiece selection of this year’s New York Film Festival, Taymor’s Tempest (trailer here) opens in New York theaters this Friday.

When the Duke of Milan dies, his wife Prospera succeeds him, but not for long. Usurped by her unscrupulous brother Antonio, with the backing of King Alonso of Naples, Prospera and her daughter Miranda are cast adrift, presumably to die at sea. However, the loyal court counselor Gonzalo secretly stocked the slip with food, water, and Prospera’s magic books. Twelve years later, Prospera uses her command of the elements to shipwreck the vessel carrying Antonio, Alonso, his son Ferdinand, the good Gonzalo, and various ne’er do well retainers. Prospera and her indentured servant, Ariel the air spirit, toy with the treacherous royals, while encouraging romance to blossom between Ferdinand and Miranda. Further complicating matters, the fools Trinculo and Stephano conspire with Prospera’s resentful slave Caliban in an ill-conceived rebellion.

Despite the changes necessitated by Taymor’s gender switch, her adaptation follows the original Shakespeare quite closely. She also earns points for not flinching in politically correct horror from depicting Caliban as Shakespeare described him: a black slave driven by rage for his master. Still, she works with actor Djimon Hounsou to humanize him as best they can, within the constraints of the text.

Though she leads an all-star cast, The Tempest is Mirren’s film, pure and simple. She truly digs into the role, finding fresh humanistic insights, irrespective of Prospero/a’s gender. Perhaps her richest work comes with Ben Whishaw as the androgynous Ariel, cutting to the core of the play’s themes of forgiveness and empathy.

In truth, the rest of the ensemble just cannot keep pace with her. Surprisingly, Chris Cooper and David Strathairn are indistinguishably bland as the royal co-conspirators Antonio and Alonso, respectively. In a genuine case of gimmicky casting, Russell Brand’s same old profane goofball schtick becomes an embarrassing distraction as the jester Trinculo (frankly, it was already getting tired). At least Felicity Jones and Reeve Carney exhibit some appealing chemistry as the young lovers.

Taymor’s Tempest is a good Shakespeare adaptation that picks up steam as it goes along, but never quite takes flight. The Hawaiian locales, particularly the black volcanic beaches, dramatically evoke the play’s otherworldliness and Mirren gives a powerhouse performance. Still, there just seems to be an X-factor missing. Certainly entertaining, but not the triumph Taymor’s admirers are hoping for, The Tempest opens tomorrow in New York at the Angelika Film Center.