by Catey Sullivan
In the beginning, or relatively near the beginning anyway, there was Kristine Thatcher hurling turkey legs the width of the Ruth Page Theatre, startling belly laugh eruptions from the audience and proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that "The Taming of the Shrew" -- Shakespeare, for crying out loud -- could be as side-splittingly, cathartically hysterical as Second City at its most brilliant.
Perhaps this was no big revelation to most people. But for some of us, it was a Great "A-ha" moment, a sudden blaze of understanding divulged courtesy of Chicago Shakespeare Theater. Two years of graduate level literature courses, and it took the likes of Thatcher spewing indignant fire ("The Taming of the Shrew"), Larry Yando festering in a trashed sedan ("Timon of Athens"), Greg Vinkler corrupting virgins in a pious guise made hideous by hypocrisy ("Measure for Measure") and Richard Russell Ramos being brutally stripped of his faith by a court of extreme intolerance ("The Merchant of Venice"), to make us see exactly what the B.F.D. was with Shakespeare anyway.
A mighty struggle has been won. Thanks to Chicago Shakespeare artistic director Barbara Gaines, there are those among us who no longer feel compelled to follow the pseudo-impressive declaration of "I have a Master's Degree in English literature," with the disclaimer "but they only awarded it to me because they felt sorry for me."
In some circles, tales of the amazing adventures of the Chicago Shakespeare Theater (formerly Shakespeare Repertory) have started to border on dusty legend: With basically no budget, Gaines started the company in 1986 with a production of "Henry V" on the terrace of the Red Lion Pub. What a difference thirteen years makes.
When Chicago Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra" opens Saturday, the little company that could will be housed in a 75,000 square foot, seven-story, 525-seat complex on Navy Pier built from (among other things) 9,700 blocks of Ohio sandstone, 834 tons of steel girders, 70,000 exposed bricks and a forest of deep green upholstery. The City of Chicago kicked in millions for the project.
The official lighting of the "Chicago Shakespeare" marquee in September was cause for a high profile gathering of the mega-wattage corporate and artistic elites who have made this all possible. After a terribly elegant dinner of chicken and chocolates, the triumphant strains of Alaric Jans' specially commissioned "Fanfare for Shakespeare" filled the night. Lighted to the clink of a few hundred champagne toasts, the Chicago Shakespeare marquee put that damn Coney Island abomination of a Ferris wheel to shame. Giddy with neon, some couldn't help but wonder: Could Gaines' production of "Antony and Cleopatra" transcend the pre-play hoopla?
"I kept having this recurring dream last year: Antony and Cleopatra on the barge, floating over the Nile and the Nile turned into Lake Michigan." Gaines recalls. "Really."
Although she couldn't see who was playing the title roles in her dream, Gaines called in only four actors to audition. The end result is that the dynamic Shakespearean duo of Lisa Dodson and Kevin Gudahl (the two of them have performed in nearly three dozen Chicago Shakespeare productions) play the title roles.
This a play that lives large -- incredibly large -- in every sense. The running time hovers close to three hours, the costumes are dripping with the Egyptian opulence of a thousand golden calves, and the emotions of those in the spotlight are those of mighty lovers with being ripped in two by irresistible forces of political power and undying passion.
"I get such an adrenaline rush from the whole thing I have to take these long, long walks by the lake every night just so I can calm down," Gaines says. "My dog has gotten really annoyed with me. He'd rather be sleeping."
At 13, Juliet was the prototype of love at its most angelic, its absolute purest. Cleopatra, on the other hand, had been around the block enough to know that true love is indeed sublime but not nearly as sublime as true love and absolute power.
"Cleopatra attracted some of the greatest men in the world -- and it wasn't just because she was good in bed," Gaines says. "As a student of world history, I don't see any other woman like her. She spoke at least six languages. She had an extraordinary education. She was a huge presence, erotically and intellectually."
And Antony was her match. Quite simply, he was the greatest soldier in the world at the time he fell into Cleopatra's heart. Around her third reading of the play, Gaines said, she noticed a remarkable thing in Shakespeare's text: "Even when Antony is not present on stage people talk about him as if he were there. That is how powerful his presence is."
In the hyperreal world of great drama, such towering presences are bound for towering falls. The toxic seduction of suicide by asp or by scabbard is, of course, irresistible in the end for Antony and Cleopatra. Even so, Gaines does not see the story as a tragedy.
"To me, there are worse things than death," she says. As Antony dies, Cleopatra mourns that "the earth has lost its color," Gaines proffers that surely death is preferable to life in such a world.
"In the end, when she says, 'I am fire and air, (to my other elements I give baser life)' I think Cleopatra joins Antony on a plane outside the regular five sensory one we live on," Gaines said. "If she lived, Cleopatra would have been Caesar's slave. In death, Cleopatra totally believes she are going to the place where all the pharaohs are. And she's taking everything with her."
"Antony and Cleopatra" runs through December 12 at Chicago Shakespeare Theater on Navy Pier, 800 East Grand, (312)595-5600.
copyright 1999 New City Communications, Inc.