WOOD WITHIN THIS WOOD: Last night I watched a recent adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, set (with some condescension and religious illiteracy, but some bicycling fun) in late 19th-c Italy. Here are a few scattered thoughts. Overall I’m glad I saw this, but I’m especially glad it wasn’t my first Dream. At this point I can easily cherish the good parts and dunk the stupidities in Lethe; that would be harder if I didn’t have a few earlier, differently-flawed productions under my belt.

So, let’s go: First, the cast is ridiculous. Kevin Kline is superb as Bottom. Dominic “Jimmy McNulty” West is entirely serviceable as Lysander. Calista Flockhart is surprisingly good as Helena, and Stanley Tucci is as fun as you’d expect as Puck. You’ve also got Rupert Everett, Sam Rockwell, and other people I’m forgetting.

This production is oddly cavalier about the horribleness of the protagonists. They’re just all so awful before they enter the wood! I can understand that as an interpretive choice, but it’s not a lot of fun to watch–and made all the harder because

this production ups the humiliation for Bottom significantly. His whole character arc is so complex–for the play to work best, he needs to be better than his reputation and surroundings from the beginning, and then taken into a fairy world which is finally big enough and sublime enough for him; and yet even in that world, where he should belong, in fact he’s an enchanted ass. There’s a huge amount of humiliation built into this amazing character. No need to ratchet it up by having local yokels pour wine on him as he (brilliantly!) overacts. It just made everyone else seem more horrible. Adding a Disappointed Wife similarly made Bottom way too much of a pitiable victim rather than a comedic-yet-sublime visionary–and I would caution against any directorial choices which shifts the Dream further toward misogyny. Shakespeare is one of the greatest writers of women ever, and I agree with Herr Doktor Professor Harold Bloom that his women are typically more intelligent and stronger than his men; but this isn’t his subtlest work on that score, you know?

Speaking of Bottom and of Bloom, not even Kevin Kline could come close to the ecstatic experience of hearing Harold Bloom recite Bottom’s “dream speech.” I saw this in, I think, spring? of 1998, and it was like King Haggard’s first sight of the unicorns: “The first time I saw them, I thought I wanted to die.” I’m going to try to talk about what it was like, now, but my description is necessarily reductive and inadequate.

What Bloom did, when he recited for us, was to take us completely into the experience of someone who has finally entered into the world for which we long. Our whole lives, we have portrayed a Wall–a wall broken through by a monster. And at last, Bottom follows, through the hole, and finds the monster… and she is just as beautiful as he could ever have hoped. She is the key for his lock. She is the reality of which our entire lives are merely the shadow. She is the quiet hour, the sudden moment when we can be truly present to the crocus and the snow.

(One thing the movie got right: She gives the Nietzschean wedding ring of eternity.)

He was helpless and baffled and sorry, sorry and he didn’t know why.

I can’t blame Kevin Kline for being insufficiently mind-blowing! I mean listening to Harold Bloom recite the speech… there’s a song, some whiny pop song, where the guy whines something which I consistently mishear as, “Being with you, girl,/Is like feeling sorrow.” Very few people can carry us–especially through a screen, rather than in person–into that place where a comedic, endearing speech is like feeling sorrow.

That said, there are a lot of dumb choices in this movie. There’s mud-wrestling, which I’m sure sounded better in theory than it played in practice. There’s Tasteful Nudity which ditto. There’s a sequence of a kind I’m usually primed to adore, in which an actor finds his confidence and his true self halfway through a disastrous performance and thereby rescues it (Slings and Arrows s1 had an especially fine example of this), which is robbed of emotional heft because it centers on the guy who plays Thisbe, about whom I didn’t care enough, and because the music is horrible and insistent and easy. The music is horrible and insistent and easy throughout, actually.

Again: This is worth seeing! There are some very fun comic-timing moments, and if I were to rewatch I’d look for what I think are real parallels between the barely-named fairies and the lower-class humans. It’s pretty and frothy and if you can get past the really painful treatment of the difference between Bottom’s dreams and his reality, it’s sometimes charming.

Man, I hope they put that on my tombstone.