Anonymous
Now playing at Fifth Avenue and International Village
When you start digging, it would appear there are more reasons to believe the theory that William Shakespeare was not the author of 37 plays and 152 sonnets.
His parents were illiterate, and, more notably, so were his twin children. He wrote with remarkable familiarity of court life, despite his relatively lowly station. And other than the plays that bear Shakespeares name, no other correspondence exists in his handwriting.
Strange that it should be action-guru Roland Emmerich (2012, The Day After Tomorrow) who brings the authorship question of the planets most famous wordsmith to the screen.
Modern Shakespeare icon Derek Jacobi lends the theory credibility in the films prologue, which sees the actor racing to the theatre to introduce the story. We are transported to a world in which playwrights are routinely locked up for lewd conduct and heresy, but the theatres influence is spreading nonetheless.
In my world, one does not write plays, says Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford (Rhys Ifans), though you would think his ink-stained thumb and forefinger would give him away. Writing was more than an ignoble way to pass the time: it was cause for scandal. The voices, I cant stop them, they come to me, Oxford says in response to his wifes desperate plea that he stop shaming the family. Are you possessed? she queries.
The earl approaches playwright Ben Johnson (Sebastian Armesto), paying him to get his work onto the stage. But Johnsons bruised ego results in a hapenny actor named Will Shakespeare (Rafe Spall) seizing the opportunity to take credit. Johnson is doomed to watch as the earls plays exceed everyones imagination, and to stand by as Shakespeare gets rich. Filmmakers paint Shakespeare as a whoring, blackmailing buffoon.
The earl keeps passing along plays. Now they have a political purpose, as questions about whom will succeed Queen Elizabeth (Vanessa Redgrave) swirl. Will it be James of Scotland, or Essex? Since when did words ever win a kingdom? asks Essex, who has clearly never seen a play. All art is political, else it would just be decoration, is the reply.
One production in particular is designed to sway public support away from the son of the queens adviser, the hunchback Robert Cecil (Edward Hogg). In flashbacks we meet a young Cecil and a young Oxford, raised under the same roof, and watch as Elizabeth (the younger version played by Redgraves daughter Joely Richardson) takes Oxford as her lover. Redgrave shines brightest here, as the Virgin Queen besotted with youth and, to the Cecils chagrin, plays.
Elsewhere, there isnt much light at all; the film feels claustrophobic and convoluted at times. And there are too many players: Shakespeare scholars may know that the Earl of Southampton is in there because he was a staunch supporter of the theatre (Shakespeare dedicated plays to him), but in the film hes just another long-haired distraction. The plays the thing, after all, and Emmerich wouldve been wise to trim some of the unnecessary politicking.
Meanwhile, the titillating offstage Greek tragedy becomes more riveting than anything Will couldve dreamed up. (Shes sleeping with WHOM?!). You never know with the Tudors, is the films biggest joke, sure to evoke titters from history buffs.
We see highlights from Shakespeares tragedies and comedies, there is a smattering of historical accuracy (the murder of Christopher Marlowe), and a few fine performances can be found. All in all, Anonymous is light enough for those whose Shakespeare is limited to Coles Notes, and enough of an affront to earnest English Lit majors to keep the authorship debate boiling.
