Romeo and Juliet
by William Shakespeare
Directed by Rob Evans
The Shakespeare Theatre
Phoenix Theatre's Little Theatre, Phoenix
(602) 796-2038
December 31st, 2004 - January 15th, 2005
$10.00 - $15.00

Shakespeare’s texts are malleable: dress them up and drop them in any era, and you can usually justify your choices. However, exceptions make the rule. For a perfect example of an exception, consider The Shakespeare Theatre’s latest offering, where goodfellas head to a Karaoke bar to amble their way through Romeo and Juliet. Sure, a mafia setting for Shakespeare’s histrionic-tending tragedy can work. Costume designer Stephanie Birdwell’s choice of dressing up the Prince of Verona (Kwane Vedrene) as a pimp in a mustard yellow blazer may be somewhat offensive, but hey, it’s a choice. Her putting the Montagues (Mitch Etter and Stacie Stocker) in the kinds of outfits worn by Tony and Carmella is kinda clever. Turning Benvolio (Franc Gaxiola) into a Latin gangbanger is disconcerting, but I’ll let it slide. Turning Mercucio (Wes Martin) into Big Pussy is actually not bad. Non-choices for the rest, from the business attire worn by the Capulets (Mark Broadley and Adrian Burrell) through the ugly lime shirt of Tybalt (Christopher Davis) to her own unflatteringly shapeless A-Line dress as Juliet that unsubtly changes colors between acts from white to red and her equally unflattering everyday garb for her Romeo (Michael Bradley) serve only to accentuate a show that suffers from half-heartedness. You know you’re in trouble when your best and most entertaining performer is the first to die.

Director Rob Evans must take most of the blame for this muddle. Nothing seems to be completely thought out here. What is the justification of gender-bending Friar Lawrence (Annie Erickson)? Why have three ordinarily acceptable singers (MaryAnn Martin, Rebecca Hibbert, and Stocker) stumble their way through popular tunes, only a few of which are truly illuminating commentaries on the action? And I realize that not everyone can afford a competent fight choreographer, but someone needs to make an effort. An enjoyable moment, such as Wes Martin’s Queen Mab speech performed in between tokes on a joint, is unfairly balanced by the party scene that features the first meeting of Romeo and Juliet, but which here becomes an over saturation of Hibbert singing “I’m the Only One,” while the partiers dance around, drawing attention away from one of the most important moments of the evening. Romeo and Juliet’s connection had inexcusably passed before I even noticed it had happened. There are more examples of the latter than the former.

Evans is not totally to blame, though. Most of the cast rushes as though reciting statements in a lineup. I’m convinced that Broadley and Burrell weren’t even aware of what they were saying much of the time. Bradley and Birdwell never exhibit a minimal spark for each other in their scenes together. Bradley offers some approximations of his character’s wide-ranging emotions, but Birdwell’s character arc is a flatline as she moves from child to woman to wife. Erickson shows some emotion as she barrels through her scenes. The strongest of the cast are Martin, who is always in the moment for his half-an-act, Joyce Gittoes, who is a personable Nurse, and Gaxiola, who does a solid job even when asked to do double duty as Benvolio and Romeo’s servant in the latter part of the show. The only thing to say about David A. Lucas’ Paris is that he didn’t stand out either way.

The best design element is the costuming, which gives you an idea of how the rest fares. Greg Hynes’ set is a series of unoriginal black platforms that make some nice areas, but his stair units are irregular sizes that cause everyone moving up and down them to stare at their feet. Andrew Hutchinson’s lighting is one of the worst designs I’ve ever seen for a small theatre: for example, whole sections of the set are lit in a way that the actors heads are always out of the focus of the lights. Evans’ sound is spotty in design and awfully run. In fact, the run crew (Peter Rivan and Paul Rivan) seemed to be in competition of offering the biggest gaffe. It was a tie.

Sometimes it’s fun to sit through a flawed production. This is not one of those times. I found myself more angered and flummoxed than entertained by the myriad of mistakes and incomprehensible or half-considered choices. I know that many of these people are capable of better. Such a confluence of incompetence is just a mix of bad timing and embarrassing circumstances.

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