Richard II and Casey and Diana: theatrical glory on the tube

27 Feb 2024 - Richard II photos by David Hou Casey and Diana stills courtesy of Stratfest@Home

It's only February and I've already been perusing the upcoming productions at this summer's Stratford Festival. Thoughts on those exciting events will be posted as I experience them, as have my ruminations and enthusiastic shout-outs to previous productions. When the anticipation got to be too much, I took the festival's publicity department up on their offer and sampled  their streaming service Stratfest@Home (stratford.vhx.tv). Specifically filmed versions of two life-changing productions from last season: Richard II and Casey and Diana.

While I was eager to experience both productions again, Casey and Diana for a third time thanks to the Toronto transfer, I was uncertain of how to approach these old friends. Live theatre is a quicksilver event that exists only once in that moment that one gets to experience it. There is a magical energy that flows between the stage and the audience that is quite different than the projected, whether bombastic or seductive, energy emanating from a screen. Without the benefit—the curse?—of CGI, theatre coaxes a complicity out of the audience, where imagination, with a little assistance, becomes reality. And of course, the worst critique a reviewer can give an actor's performance is that it is "stagey," something the camera loves to linger on with lascivious loathing. Instead of analyzing, I decided to just see what occurred, how I reacted, and, crucially, what my partner who had seen neither production on stage, thought.

Richard II 's opening explodes, as it did on stage, with pounding disco beats and energetic dancing emulating the pansexual exuberance of Studio 54. What becomes immediately apparent in the difference between the two mediums is that our eye, subtly directed by light cues and staging, is shown a specific interpretation when on film. While Stephen Jackman-Torkoff's magnetic performance drew all eyes to him amidst the swirling choreography, the camera frames him in close-up from below, emphasizing his ecstatic revelry and dominion. The camera does cut to other dancers and characters, but they are less important while crucially vital. From having to claim a spotlight, Jackman-Torkoff is handed one, which is a tidy conceptual metaphor for one of the themes of the show. The close-ups, rather than being constraining, turn out to be revelatory. All of the dancers and minor characters are alive and bristling with energy. Marcus Nance hands Jordin Hall his shirt and the camera catches a relationship I missed completely during the theatrical version.

All of the cast benefits from close-ups. This is one sexy and sensual production coasting on throbbing disco beats. And a very gay production. Jackman-Torkoff' and Emilio Vieira's build-up to a blow job in a hot tub works even better on film where the theatrical magic, while still present, is less of a visual visible flourish. Less so a stylized hanging and the mimed shirtless fight between Hall and Tyrone Savage. One crucial aspect of Brad Fraser's adaptation, the metaphor of AIDS in paradise, becomes forefronted with Charlie Gallant using sheer sizzling physical appeal (if only they had filmed Frankenstein Revived) to break our hearts in the bathhouse scene. Throughout I found parts of the text clearer to the ear, and the finer points of the performances, particularly Jackman-Torkoff's remarkable mash of contemporary colloquialisms and pristine iambic pentameter, smoother. The same result might have been achieved by attending the live production repeatedly, sitting in different sections. But alas, the show could not run forever so this record, and memory, is all we can revisit. 

Casey and Diana is successful in a different way. In this case, though the same film director Nicholas Shields is at the helm, the camera is less frenetic and focusses mainly on mid-shots at eye level. This gives the film a comfortable subversive sitcom feeling. Playwright Nick Green's one-liners zing and we are set up to navigate the unbearable emotional terrain to come. All of the cast shine with naturalistic performances that draw one in. Linda Kash glows as she describes the fraught and homoerotic ritual of brunch, earning laughs while also emphasizing Green's themes of the fear of touch and the very air we breathe. Of the need for family and chosen family and connection at a time when those were all torn apart. All of the performances are nuanced and spectacular without being stagey or showy, operatic emotions channelled by humans. That is except for when Sean Arbuckle is called upon to demonstrate that great gay survival technique of joking and camping to prevail through extreme pain and sorrow. Casey and Diana invites you in to feel every moment and offers a cathartic finale that brings tears to my eyes even as I type hours later.

So my reactions and enjoyment of both productions was inextricably bound up in my reactions to, and memories of, the theatrical productions. Savouring the moments I'd remembered, revelling in a new discovery, guided to a nuance or emotional beat. My partner, having come to both virginally, had as enthusiastic but slightly different reactions. The look, energy and soundtrack of Richard II had an immediate and visceral appeal, but he was astonished to discover how absorbed he became in the political machinations. And how keenly he felt the final betrayal and demise with ironic beautifully encapsulated coda. Casey and Diana was impossible for him to judge because it was so overwhelming and full of triggers. Intensity to the point of incandescence on stage is sometimes difficult to contain or process on a screen. His response was that we needed to watch it again so he could evaluate instead of just react and experience. I say that was a valid evaluation in itself. 

I would watch both again, Stratford@Home serving as a library of favourites as well as a tease for what next season will bring. And, of course, there are multiple other offerings including a comic soap opera, Leer Estates, created by and starring the irrepressible Dan Chameroy. The back catalogue is not as deep as Netflix or Disney+, but what there is is quality. And in these two cases, crucial and moving works of gay art that can't be found anywhere else.