At the door she stops and pleads her final stay of execution: "Good mother, fetch my bail." As the cast looks through the door music begins to play. "Behold the meaning," says Diana. But the camera does not allow us to behold. Instead it does what the camera does best--it shows us a set of mouths and eyes. As it tracks along the line we are made witness to a series of inner sunrises, as face after face responds to the miracle and lights up with understanding and relief. I confess to finding it a very moving experience.72
In 1993 Richard Jones directed a "mesmerizing"73 production of the play for the New York Shakespeare Festival in Central Park, in a style "more akin" to "tragicomedy."74 The set design was essentially abstract:
On a sea-green backing, marked by an aqua blue strip, hangs a white Rothko-like panel with a Donald Judd-like sculpture in the center that doubles as a mirror. When the action moves to Italy, the panel divides to reveal a lovely Tuscan countryside, decked with burnt umber fields and a tiny medieval town ... Washed by Mimi Jordan Sherin's sea-change lighting, the visual impact is ravishing.75
The production was literally stalked by a death's head, "a little boy in a Halloween skeleton costume. Sometimes he slips, unnoticed, scythe in hand, into courtly processions at Rousillon and Paris; sometimes he peers down at the action from a perch in a row of spectators above and behind the railings."76 The acting was strong, with "standout performances" by Miriam Healy-Louie as Helen and Joan Macintosh as the Countess; however, "The only genuine comedy [was] provided by the chorus--courtiers drilled within an inch of their lives--whether simultaneously lighting clay pipes during the interrogation scene or returning from Italy with identical suit-cases."77
Matthew Lloyd's 1996 production at Manchester's Royal Exchange Theatre was set in "a stiff and chilly version of the 1930s ... holding throughout to the sombre economies implied by the allblack costumes of its opening stage-direction."78 This theme was reflected in the "unwelcoming set, the floor an expanse of dark, glassy marble fractured by numerous cracks" and the lack of "emotional warmth" with the cast deployed in "stiffly stylised groupings" displayed in "cool isolation."79 The production's "saving grace" was Alastair Galbraith's Parolles, "blessedly exempt from the icy self-control exuded by the rest of the cast."80
Very different was Irina Brook's production for the Oxford Playhouse in 1997, which "attempted to create a world in which the folk-story origins of the play might operate freely by presenting it in a pastiche African world."81 The production revealed that "the play's theatrical energy is more or less indestructible if the role that drives it has been adequately cast."82 In this case Rachel Pickup's Helen was "so full of energy, so gracefully and intelligently spoken, and so committed in her love for Emil Marwa's boyishly naive Bertram, that much of this wonderful play's essence seemed to survive the mistaken directorial concept."83
Two recent productions have enjoyed critical and popular success; Marianne Elliott's in 2009 for the National Theatre and Stephen Fried's 2010 production for the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey. Elliott offered a "picture-book romance" that evolved into a story about "the attainment of maturity."84 In critic Michael Billington's view its strength was the way in which the production balanced "romance and realism," with Michelle Terry's "fine performance" as Helen "holding the evening together": "We see her growth from fairy princess into real woman. And even though hero and heroine are finally united, there is a look of aghast bewilderment as they pose for the cameras. In short Elliott gives us a fairytale for grown-ups."85
Stephen Fried's inspired decision to set the play in the Edwardian period of the "New Woman" enabled beautiful, flowing art nouveau sets and elegant costumes, while making Ellen Adair's combination of "girlish modesty with the passion and wiles of a determined go-getter"86 seem plausible. The versatile cast of nine played all twenty-three parts in this lively, warmly received production, with some notable doubling by John Ahlin as the King of France and the Clown Lavatch, and Tamara Tunie, the Countess and Widow Capilet. The three actors who played single roles were Adair as "an engagingly outgoing and energetically upbeat"87 Helen; Clifton Duncan softening the unlovable Bertram by making him appear "blandly clueless";88 and Clark Carmichael playing Parolles with "dandified comic flair ... Ostentatiously grooming his mustache and eyebrows while peering into a hand-held mirror, he is the ultimate braggart and prevaricator, itching for a comeuppance."89
The conclusion of the New York Times's review seems to sum up the theatrical fate of the play: "Though you leave the theater wondering about the long-term viability of Helena and Bertram's union, you hope for the best. In the meantime, you can't help loving this show."90
AT THE RSC
The play's historical unpopularity and paucity of performances over the years has offered modern directors a particular sort of challenge:
All's Well That Ends Well is for us virtually a new play, and in this it is not unlike another problem comedy that has only recently found an audience, Troilus and Cressida. The "indelicacy" of the central story, in which a woman pursues a man all the way into his bed, has ensured that the play has no theatrical history worth mentioning until a few years ago.91
John Barton (1967)
John Barton's production with Estelle Kohler as Helen (Lynn Farleigh took over the role the following year) to Ian Richardson's Bertram offers a striking set of ambiguities. From the start, Kohler presents a bright, witty young woman, sincere in her devotion to Bertram, while Richardson, stunned by her effrontery, recoils in anger at the "betrothal" and storms, "I cannot love her." The critic of the Birmingham Mail acknowledged the dilemma for an audience faced with a likable Helen and a justifiably angry Bertram:
She does the early debate with Parolles on virginity with wit, and for the rest of the evening she has so completely won our sympathies as a young woman in love with her social superior that I doubt whether we give much thought to the lack of scruple in her tactics. It is much to Ian Richardson's credit, in the face of this attack, that he can make Bertram's resentment and defiance reasonably understandable.92
The theater program suggests that Bertram's conduct "has recently been viewed with less repulsion. It is realised that his attitude to a match with a poor girl below his rank would have seemed normal and not snobbish in Shakespeare's time." Accordingly, taking its cue from Stuart Hall's discussion in the theater program of a struggle in the play between the old order, represented by the King, Lafew, and the Countess, and a counterculture where "the young make up the rules," the play could be appraised as "an unromantic analysis of sex and station in life": "In John Barton's splendidly simple production the modernity of the play is appreciated."93 Timothy O'Brien's simple wooden set, together with the Jacobean costumes, emphasized the historical and cultural contexts against which the sexual politics were played out.
A change in critical perceptions of Helen is evident from remarks by the critic J. C. Trewin:
Estelle Kohler does very little indeed that could win me to Helena but Bertram is transformed by one of the finest Royal Shakespeare actors, Ian Richardson: making no excuses for the man's weakness and arrogance, he does get us to listen.94
While Milton Schulman argues that Bertram "is one of the most abused young men in Shakespeare" and that John Barton's production "seems determined, as far as Bertram is concerned, to correct a critical wrong": "As interpreted by Ian Richardson, Bertram is harmless rather than wilful, amiable rather than cruel, weak rather than venal. He just doesn't want to get married."95 Praise was extended to "Catherine Lacey's beautifully autumnal Countess," Elizabeth Spriggs (the Widow), Helen Mirren (Diana), and Brewster Mason (Lafew).96
2. John Barton's 1967 RSC production with Ian Richardson as Bertram and Clive Swift as Parolles: "As interpreted by Ian Richardson, Bertram is harmless rather than wilful, amiable rather than cruel, weak rather than venal. He just doesn't want to get married."
Trevor Nunn (1981)
Michael Billington in the Guardian described Trevor Nunn's production, with Mike Gwilym as Ber
tram and Harriet Walter as Helen, "a total masterpiece":
Indeed, Nunn's great achievement is to have endowed a fairytale plot about a miracle-curing heroine and her defecting husband, with a total emotional reality. Partly he does this by updating the play to a precise Edwardian world in which class differences are crucial: thus the keys around Helena's waist tell us that she is a working girl down on the Countess of Rossillion's humane Chekhovian estate while Bertram, the object of her affection, is an aristocratic scion who at the Paris court becomes one of a bevy of fencing, vaulting, brandy-swilling St Cloud* junior officers.97
In Billington's view, Harriet Walter "is no ruthless opportunist," but rather "a love-struck heroine who knows she is up against an inflexible class-system," while Mike Gwilym's Bertram is "a savage Strindbergian monster" (Philip Franks played a less monstrous, more "caddish" Bertram when the production transferred to the Barbican).
Tom Vaughan praised John Gunter's "Crystal Palace-style setting" as "brilliantly ingenious and evocative" but felt "a vital ingredient gets lost; this society is really medieval and the King and possibly the Countess as well have life and death powers over their subjects."98
Helen was played as "a sombre, governessy girl"99 who faltered at the first hurdle when Bertram rejects her:
In the scene of choosing a husband, she had tried to prevent the King from joining their hands, and when she made her final appearance, Bertram "went to take her hand, but didn't actually do so; instead he spoke that cryptic, conditioned couplet.* This wary meeting between husband and wife contrasted strikingly with Helena's intensely moving reunion with the Countess ... Left alone, Bertram and Helena walked upstage together, their hands still apart, the final image of an unequal marriage."100
Sympathy for Helena can be detected in James Fenton's review: "In terms of the play, Helena's tricking of Bertram is a legitimate response to the challenge he issues to her. Helena never wrongs Bertram, however much he may feel wronged."101
Others were less impressed with the moral turnaround:
There is a slight snag about such realism and this is that the bad characters are so much more likeable than the good ones. Harriet Walter's Helena is an admirable performance, but by God what a dull person this Helena turns out to be. The Florentine Diana, who lures the unfaithful Bertram to her bed but substitutes Helena in the dark ... is twice as much fun and Cheryl Campbell has a splendid time with her.102
The performances were likewise praised of Parolles (Stephen Moore); the "higher grade" comedy of Lafew (Robert Eddison) and Lavatch (Geoffrey Hutchings), "bent double like Rigoletto and, like Rigoletto, pretty contemptuous of the upper classes"; and Peggy Ashcroft's "true dignity" as the Countess. Ashcroft, whose performance was described as "perfect, noble, maternal, affectionate by turn,"103 imbued her words "with a sure, sad knowledge of the world."104
3. Trevor Nunn's RSC production (1981) with Harriet Walter as "a sombre, governessy" Helen and Peggy Ashcroft as the Countess: "perfect, noble, maternal, affectionate by turn," she imbued her words "with a sure, sad knowledge of the world."
Barry Kyle (1989)
The theater program for Barry Kyle's 1989 production illustrates a world of toy soldiers, some marching to the beat of a drum and others blowing the bugle, astride a rocking horse. As Waller remarks, "Kyle opened the play with Bertram playing with toy soldiers, taking up the description of war as 'a nursery to our gentry' [1.2.20]."105
Kyle offers a perfectly plausible account of two children growing up together, but unfortunately Patricia Kerrigan's Helen matures earlier than her playfellow, Bertram (Paul Venables). She is ready for a relationship but he is young and seeks adventure and glory with other boy soldiers. The potential tragedy of their situation is insisted upon by Chris Dyer's permanent set, "a child's nursery complete with huge hobby-horse and three toy soldiers."106 One critic praised "the achievement of coherence, remarkable in a play which sometimes appears to be a patchwork of fragments culled from other Shakespeare plays."107 Kyle presents Helen's "sturdy self-assertion" in choosing Bertram for her husband as "an acceptable error" and shows her immediate "agonised realisation of her miscalculation." For the "choosing" scene, the suitors had each a full-length mirror "by which they could set their images."108 The illusory attraction of the world of toy soldiers became apparent when the angry King of France (Hugh Ross) struck Bertram for refusing Helen, forced their hands together and then threatened him with his sword. Bertram had no option but to take her hand and exit.
Michael Billington felt that the director had imposed an "artificial visual unity" on the play but that "Mr Kyle's most original idea is to preface the court scenes with images of Elizabeth and James I implying that Shakespeare, writing around 1603, was lamenting the loss of a vanished Golden Age."109 In one interview Kyle admitted that he had toyed with the idea of setting All's Well That Ends Well in the City of London in 1989, with characters setting off to the wars by helicopter. The themes he finds in the play, of "an old world being supplanted by a new world and new values, new money," had obvious and tempting parallels with 1980s Britain.110 Opinions were divided over Paul Venables as Bertram who was accused of giving "an over-diagrammatic performance," which suggested that "buried deep down, Bertram may harbour a secret affection for his enforced bride."111 The production was described as a "cop-out" that offered the spectator "a boring compromise."112 Certainly, the unambiguous ending showed Bertram, Helen, and the Countess locked in embrace.
4. Barry Kyle's 1989 RSC production with Patricia Kerrigan as Helena: for the "choosing" scene, the suitors had each a full-length mirror "by which they could set their images." The illusory attraction of the world of toy soldiers became apparent.
While Gwen Watford delivered the Countess's "embittered grief," Bruce Alexander's "admirable braggart Parolles" was not only "exactly costumed (his cross-hatched finery is precisely the 'window of lattice' described by Lafew) but even in decline retains the clipped accents of the Sandhurst saloon-bar military poseur."113
Peter Hall (1992)
Reviewing Peter Hall's production at The Swan in 1992, Michael Billington noted a particular problem with the play: "Shakespeare's psychological realism often bursts through the fairy tale structure." He remarked that Hall, returning to the Royal Shakespeare Company after a twenty-year absence, had solved the difficulties "by giving the play the elegant formality of a spoken opera staged in Caroline costumes," a device he considered "very much classical, late Peter Hall."114
Martin Dodsworth in his review for the Times Literary Supplement found the production "intense and powerful": "The bare stage of the Swan puts all the emphasis in how characters relate to one another. Body language throughout is significant. It rarely signifies happiness."115 Helen (Sophie Thompson) entered "radiant with success" to dance with the cured King (Richard Johnson) in "a splendid scene."116 When Bertram (Toby Stephens) rejected her, with an angry emphasis on "Disdain / Rather corrupt me ever!" (2.3.118-19), the court, as one, moved to protect the King. In this production, courtly etiquette demanded that Bertram quickly repair the breach of decorum, accede to the King's command and exit holding Helen's hand.
Charles Spencer thought the production smacked of "dogged conscientiousness rather than real inspiration," the Caroline costumes made the play "something of a museum piece," and that "too few of the characters take on a life of their own."117 While conceding the latter point, Dodsworth considered, "The price paid for coherence is a certain thinning-out of character" and "Helena is made to seem simpler than she is." Hall's "through-line" for Helen was that of "a wide-eyed innocent":
She is very close to a child and has the power to impose her childish conviction on others. When, at the end of it all, she has fulfilled the impossible conditions for her reunion with Bertram, she had the absolute faith of a child in the written word: "And look you, here's your letter. This it says ..."118
5. Peter Hall's RSC production, 1992: the city wall and view of Florence with Andree Evans as the Widow, "an example o
f how to play a small part to perfection," Emily Raymond as Mariana, Sophie Thompson "a wide-eyed innocent" Helen, and Rebecca Saire as a "sparky" Diana.
Other performances drew praise; for example, Barbara Jefford's performance as the Countess was "full of poise and a sense of reflective wisdom, which is matched for weight by Richard Johnson's powerful King of France."119 Michael Siberry's "rollicking Parolles" possessed "the right energy and elan,"120 and Rebecca Saire's Diana was "sparky,"121 while Andree Evans as the Widow was commended as "an example of how to play a small part to perfection."122
Hall kept some interesting surprises for the ending:
As interpreted by Hall, the conclusion loses any refulgent, romance-like glow. When the lights dim and Helena enters dressed in white, the gathered people don't respond to her as some symbol of harmonising fecundity but start back in terror, realistically, as at the approach of a ghost.123
Finally there was the "beautiful moment" when the childlike Helen grows up:
She starts to read the letter, pointing with her finger at every significant word: "When from my finger you can get this ring. And are by me with child ..." Then suddenly, and at last, an adult understanding takes over, the rest of the letter is summed up in a comprehensive and dismissive "etcetera" and she tears it in half, cancelling the bond to which Bertram had subscribed, inviting him at last to commit himself to her freely and afresh.124
Helen moved directly to the Countess, leaving Bertram free to choose. He held out his hand as she hoped he would.
Gregory Doran (2003)
Judi Dench played the Countess in Gregory Doran's production at the Swan (2003), returning to Stratford for the first time in twenty-four years. Michael Billington observed, "It is Dench who is drawing the crowds, but the triumph lies in the restoration of an unforgivably neglected play."125