Review of Titus (1999) by Scott S — 25 Mar 2011

Titus (1999) -- [10.0] -- Julie Taymor's adaptation of Shakespeare's 'Titus Andronicus' is an orgasm of cinematic delight.

The story of Titus Andronicus is a fascinating dissertation on human violence. It opens in the aftermath of war, as Titus returns victorious to Rome, having just defeated the Goths and captured their queen, Tamora, and her sons. Fulfilling his religious duties, Titus disembowels Tamora's eldest son and burns his entrails before her. "O cruel irreligious piety," she cries, commenting on this form of violence and giving birth to yet another - revenge, when she later promises, "I'll find a day to massacre them all." When Caesar dies and the city must elect a new emperor, Titus is called on to decide between Caesar's two heirs, Saturninus and Bassianus. When he elects Saturninus, Titus breeds contempt in Bassianus. This contempt begets defiance when Saturninus wants to make Titus' daughter Lavinia his bride, for Lavinia and Bassianus are already engaged. Titus' noble sons aid Bassianus and Lavinia in their escape from Saturninus, but Titus pursues them in obligation to his emperor. The scene ends with Titus killing his son Mutius in a fit of rage.

In response to Lavinia's refusal, Saturninus makes Tamora his bride and denounces Titus' family. From her new seat of power, Tamora executes a plan to frame Titus and satisfy her revenge. With the help of her lover, the diabolical Aaron, plans are set into action that bring about the murder of Bassianus and the rape and mutilation of Lavinia, both at the hands of Tamora's sons, Demetrius and Chiron. Wrongly accused of killing the emperor's brother, Titus' sons Martius and Quintus are sentenced to death. It is here the violence becomes absurd. Aaron tricks Titus into cutting off his hand for his sons' lives, only to be delivered his sons' heads in exchange. Broken by the unending grief that befalls him, Titus descends into madness and matches Tamora's vengefulness in scale and complexity - he bakes her sons into pies. In grand Shakespearean fashion, the story ends in a dinner finale in which nearly everyone is killed.

"Titus" paints a portrait of human violence and offers a glimpse into its nature. Everyone in Titus is capable of violence. No character, aside from Aaron, is purely good or purely evil. Tamora is introduced to us as a sympathetic character, a queen brought to her knees, begging for the life of her son. Later she commands her sons to rape Lavinia, stating, "the worse to her the better loved of me". When she gives birth to Aaron's son, she orders it killed. As members of the audience we understand her motivations and still maintain some degree of empathy for her, even though she is ultimately a villain. Likewise, Titus is introduced to us as a stoic, rigid man, bound by law and tradition. He's quite difficult to love, but as he's stripped from his armor, both physically and emotionally, we eventually come to see him as an evuncular old man laughing in the face of his terrible misfortune. Saturninus' rash behavior is counterbalanced by the childlike demeanor he assumes with Tamora, and even the tragic Lavinia is given a moment to spout gratuitously scathing remarks to Tamora before she realizes her life is in danger. One could even argue Aaron is more complicated than he appears. He does after all, love his newborn son and offer his life in exchange for the baby's.

While the story works on a truly visceral, shocking level (probably why it was one of the bard's most popular plays), it also works on a thought-provoking level, exploring facets of violence that are rarely hinted at in today's mainstream films: what causes it, how does it affect people, when is it valid, and what is the difference between justice and revenge? Shakespeare hints at a few answers to these timeless questions. After Titus scolds his grandson for attempting to kill a fly, the boy says that the fly looked like Aaron the Moor. Titus then joins the boy in stabbing at the fly. Later, when Aaron is captured, he declares he's done "a thousand dreadful things as willingly as one would kill a fly" and only regrets he "cannot do ten thousand more". This echo of the fly motif indicates that any of the characters, or any of us, have the propensity for violence. For who hasn't killed a fly?

With such dark thematic material, Julie Taymor was certain to close the curtain on a ray of hope, literally. At the end of the movie, after his father Lucius becomes emperor and sentences Aaron to death, Young Lucius (who earlier stabbed at flies) takes Aaron's baby into his arms and carries him into the sunrise. Without adding or changing any of Shakespeare's original text, Taymor deliberately added Young Lucius' presence to all the movie's many acts of violence. The prelude to the film mirrors the epilogue, showing the young boy playing with violent toys and getting caught up in a behavioral frenzy that spirals into actual warfare - with a cannonball tearing into the room and a clown coming to rescue the boy and deliver him to the coliseum, the ultimate symbol of violence, or what Taymor calls "the archetypal theatre of cruetly." By including Young Lucius so deliberately, Taymor puts the story in a fresh perspective - what does all the violence mean? How does it affect us? What does it do to our children?

Engaging enough on the page and on the stage,"Titus" gains added dimension from Taymor's film adaptation. Collaborating with production designer Dante Ferretti and costume designer Milena Cononero, Taymor creates an anachronistic world that blends time and space. Modern architecture is mixed with ancient Rome's, chariots ride alongside motorcycles, and props include such modern inventions as steel-riveted thrones and zip-loc bags. What could easily have been a jarring aesthetic is instead successful in setting the story "neverwhere" and "neverwhen," making it all the more accessible and relevant to audiences, no matter when and where you see it. Composer Elliot Goldenthal implements this concept in his grand score to the film, one that contains traditional orchestra, jazz-rock, and industrial music. Bringing the images to life is veteran cinematographer Luciano Tovoli, who commands the lighting in much the same way he did Dario Argento's "Suspiria" - high contrast, vivid colors, and deep focus.

In adapting Shakespeare's play, one of Taymor's biggest contributions is setting. Little is provided in the actual text regarding the individual scene locations or backdrops. To determine this context, Taymor explored the inner minds of the characters. "Scenery is metaphorical to the state of mind," Taymor says of her choices. After Lavinia loses her chastity to Chiron and Demetrius, she is set on a wooden pedestal in the middle of a burned out swamp - land that has been similarly ravaged. Likewise, Titus finds himself pleading for the lives of his sons on a crossroads, for his life is also emotioanlly in such a state.

Another of Taymor's contributions is what she calls "Penny Arcade Nightmares" - montage-like sequences that utilize special effects photography and superimposed images to convey characters' heightened emotions. The first sequence depicts the rift between Titus and Tamora, presenting them in confrontational profiles with fire and severed body parts flying between them. Another recounts the rape scene, in which Lavinia is dressed like a doe caught between flash-cut images of pouncing tigers and Demetrius & Chiron, her attackers. These unique, singularly cinematic moments help Taymor's film version of "Titus" burst through the confines of the theatre stage.

Taymor's acting ensemble is a collection of venerable award-winners. Everyone is so comfortable with the language, and so natural in their deliveries, they make the characters' world a completely accessible one. This is my favorite role for Anthony Hopkins because it offers him the greatest opportunity to demonstrate his range - from begging face down in the road for the life of his sons, to laughing half-mad and splashing around in a bathtub. Jessica Lange is similarly brilliant (and this was her very first performance of Shakespeare). Tamora is duplicitous in nature, and there are always multiple things going on in Lange's performance. Some of her line readings send a chill down my spine. Harry Lennix fills the role of Aaron with delightful aplomb (he also played Aaron in Taymor's own stage version years earlier). Saturninus is brought to life by Tony award-winner Alan Cumming, who provides the character tremendous energy during his many bursts of outrage, but also gives him a few moments of tenderness and doubt. The rest of the international cast includes Colm Feore as Titus' brother Marcus, Jonathan Rhys-Myers as Chiron, Matthew Rhys as Demetrius, Angus Macfadyen as Lucius, James Frain as Bassianus, Laura Fraser as Lavinia, and Osheen Jones as Young Lucius.

The story of "Titus" is as relevent and compelling as ever before. Julie Taymor's film is true to the material and daring in its aesthetic experimentation, showcasing exemplary artistry and craftsmanship from every aspect of cinema -- writing, directing, acting, wardrobe, production design, photography, music, and more. It's almost overwhelming, too beautiful to bear.