Love's Labour's Lost

I've long been interested in seeing Kenneth Branagh's version of Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost. At the time of its release, 2000, Branagh was well established as a fairly bankable interpreter of the Bard. After it was over, his film career was in shambles.

Love's Labour's Lost is an early Shakespeare play and one that is not often performed. It is one of his frothier works, and awfully dated and difficult for modern-day audiences to get all the jokes and puns. Branagh, sensibly, updates the story to Europe on the cusp of World War II, and then takes the extra step of imagining it as a lavish Hollywood musical, complete with sweeping choreography and familiar songs from the great American songbook.

This film received savage reviews, and after its spectacular belly-flop at the box office Miramax shelved a three-picture deal with Branagh. After his debut with Henry V in 1989, he was seen by someone as the new Olivier, but since the turn of the century it has taken some bizarre turns, including an also badly-received (though I kind of liked it) version of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. He certainly hasn't faded from the scene entirely, though, and will be back with a big-budget adaptation of the Marvel Comics' hero Thor.

As for Love's Labour's Lost, well, I kind of liked it, too. I can certainly see the source of the brickbats. In adapting the play, Branagh cut it mercilessly--only about a quarter of the lines remain. But the story is still there: the King of Navarre and three of his chums decide to devote three years to rigorous academic study, which means no women. Branagh, as Berowne, is not exactly happy with this, and explains that the Princess of France (Alicia Silverstone) is arriving, conveniently with three friends of her own. The King (Alessandro Nivola), has the Princess and her court camp outside the walls of the palace, but of course each man falls in love with one of the women. There is also some comic business with a pompous Spanish knight (Timothy Spall) and a clown (Nathan Lane).

For those who like Shakespeare, or the old MGM musicals, or both, there is something to admire here, but the admiration may be based on the spirit of the enterprise rather than the execution. It looks lovely; the photography by Alex Thomson is full of vibrant color. The songs are great to listen to, and include tunes by Irving Berlin, George Gerswhin, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern, and many others from the 1930s. There's also some great choreography, most notably in the last number, Gershwin's "They Can't Take That Away From Me."

Yet something is missing. Because the text is so butchered some characters have no development. The actors are hit and miss--Branagh, Lane, Adrian Lester, and Natasha McIlhone are nimble with the text, which makes Alicia Silverstone, who at the time was a big film star, look laughably wanting in comparison. One admires her pluck at tackling the role, but in retrospect it was a mistake. Whenever I see her I'm amazed at how her mouth works furiously to form sounds--it's not a pretty sight. She also struggles in the singing department. Branagh recovered from this film, but Silverstone has not.

Perhaps the strangest thing about the film is the way it ties the action to World War II. Periodically we see scenes shot in newsreel style forwarding the plot, and then, as in Shakespeare, the film ends when Silverstone's father dies and she must return to ascend the throne of France, only in this version it coincides with the fall of France to the Nazis. It was a strange ending for a fizzy Shakespearean comedy, and it's a strange ending here.