Sunday evening, I attended a Coriolanus HD screening at the Michigan Theater. Coriolanus is one of Shakespeare’s later works, and generates particular interest in his fans because it is quite different than his other tragedies.
For those interested in knowing what sets this play apart, basically, Coriolanus is much closer to a war story than it is a traditional tragedy—common themes such as romance and psychological character study often found in Shakespeare’s more famous works such as Hamlet or Macbeth are notably underdeveloped in Coriolanus. Instead, this play asks what it means to be a true warrior, and whether the ideal personality for the battlefield precludes one from succeeding as a good civic leader.
Set during the age of the Roman empire at a time of economic strife and conflict between Romans and Volscians, Coriolanus begins with decorated war hero, Caius Martius (for you mythology fans, yes, “Martius” is a reference to Roman god of war Mars). Martius is a great fighter, in fact, his mother often mentions she’s bred him for war since we was a baby—forcing him to be independent at a young age, refusing to tend to him when he cries. Martius’ ability on the battlefield propels him to tremendous fame among the Roman public, but two Roman senators, Brutus and Sicinius are jealous of his public image and seek to prevent Martius’ success in government.
At first, it seems Brutus and Sicinius’ schemes will fail, because Martius singlehandedly defeats an entire Volscian army and is knighted Coriolanus (hey, that’s the title of the play!). As it turns out, however, the two evil senators did not need to sabotage Coriolanus, as he is perfectly fine at screwing up his public image all by himself. His prideful speeches to the public and unwillingness to acknowledge their suffering during times of economic hardship create a chilling effect. Not only does the public ignore Coriolanus’ bravery, they also accuse him of treachery to the state and banish him from the realm.
Prideful Coriolanus joins the Volscians, his rivals in battle, incensed at the Roman public, and prepared to do what he does best—smash some skulls on the battlefield. Unfortunately, Coriolanus dies in battle, considered a traitor by both camps, his death mourned by only a handful of friends and family, his greatness forgotten.
Donmar Warehouse’s production is fantastic, Tom Hiddleston plays a stout-hearted man-of-action Coriolanus perfectly. Hiddleston’s challenge is unique for a Shakespearean actor—as I have mentioned earlier, Coriolanus doesn’t really delve into its protagonist’s personality quite like other Shakespearean plays—he has less to go off of in his interpretation of the character. Moreover, the play offers a range of interpretations of Coriolanus—he may be tragically earnest, overly and obnoxiously boastful, or a victim of a strict upbringing ill-suited for a career in politics.
Hiddleston addresses the challenge quite well. Rather than defining his character too specifically, Hiddleston’s Coriolanus treads the line between different interpretations of the character. And this is the best part of the play, as it is the most personal and realistic. It is rare for any person to act and think exactly the same way at all times during a regular day, let alone the craziest weeks of your life. Coriolanus goes from public war hero to hated traitor to enemy of his hometown in the span of a few months, and I can only imagine this would hit even the most stoic warrior pretty hard in the emotions. Hiddleston succeeds in bringing this ambiguous emotional turmoil to life, for although his character is clearly scarred emotionally, it isn’t in his upbringing to show it. So it’s a battle between repression of emotion and their release at the wrong times—on the battlefield.
