David Tennant and Catherine Tate in Much Ado about Nothing (2011)

Filmed in 2011 at the Wyndham Theatre in London.

Source: digitaltheatre.com

When the men sing "Hey nonnie, nonnie" in Much Ado about Nothing in the production directed by Josie Rourke at the Wyndham Theatre in London in 2011, it works better than any adaptation I have seen in a long time. It is not just a space filler, it becomes interwoven with the plot and part of the delivery of male social character in the production. The choice of having the men sing the song about the inconstancy of men works as it underlines a self-ironic sense of masculinity. It is done with humour and unselfconscious silliness. Perhaps this is, in part at least, due to the choice to set the play in 1980s Gibraltar. The glam and diva posing of the disco era and love (okay, sex) machinations of charter vacations works well with the intent of Shakespeare's text - to make the audience laugh at the human folly in love. We pretend not to want what we want. We gossip and attempt to help and obstruct in love for the benefit of ourselves and friends. We pretend not to care when we care. For queer audiences, the campy feel also pays homage to Shakespeare's bi-sexuality. 

The Wyndham production has the comic gestures and blocking of slapstick and retains what is so often lost, an acting style that takes the characters seriously in all their pride, disdain, folly, and self-delusion. Nor does it hurt that the actors are enjoying themselves and quite obviously have some admiration for each other. David Tennant, as Benedick, does what is so hard to do, he directs his inner monologue to the audience making them the social mind inside his head. Because so much of the Benedick character is delivered in monologue, how this is done matters very much. He does not break the fourth wall but instead envelopes the audience inside the play's mental space. 

Catherine Tate's Beatrice is sharp and intelligent but vulnerable. Tate's acting style is very physical. Her body's contortions as she flits between self-protective alienation, social discomfort and awkward desire are a pleasure to watch. God, she's good. She puts emotions we recognize on the outside of her skin. From a queer/lesbian resistant POV she draws attention away from the heterosexual plot towards a more feminist reading; to a celebration of strong women who resist conventional pandering to male egos, and who notice and reject female social timidity.

Sometimes the cinematic framing seems clunky when one is viewing filmed theatre. Often the three most common views seem rather maladapted to working with the blocking of the actors. The choice between the head frame, the body frame and wide frame seems even a bit arbitrary at times. This is not the case here and I think it has a lot to do with the physicality of the actors. Their bodies are rarely still and the movements are part of the delivery rather than merely being a vessel to hold the character. Almost every movement communicates something about the characters. This means that the camera has something to catch. There is a spectacle to see. Sometimes that spectacle is disco dancing. Nothing is lost. The music and dancing are integrated into the plot. And it works. Even when Tennant sports a blond wig, outsized glasses and a pig's nose to an evening's fête. Beatrice's line's about Benedick being the Prince's jester fall into fertile ground against this disguise. And so it goes on. Contrary to Aristotle's belief, speech and spectacle cooperate to create more than either could alone.