The Tempest

In Brief: There were few movies I was so looking forward to in 2010 than Julie Taymor's version of The Tempest. Unfortunately, it died (at $277,000 on a $20 million budget) long before it penetrated the provinces. Upshot? I, of course, snatched up the DVD as soon as possible. Result? Disappointment, but nowhere near the disaster it was painted to be. After two viewings, it's my belief that, while some thought it "too much of a muchness," I don't think it was enough of a muchness — certainly not from the woman who gave us Titus (1999) and Across the Universe (2007). I won't say it seems ordinary, but neither does it truly take flight like Taymor's best work. And it probably doesn't help that she chose The Tempest, Shakespeare's final play and the one which has spawned such things as: Forbidden Planet (1956), a sci-fi version (complete with pneumatic cutie lead) of the story; Derek Jarman's 1979 version (which stops dead so Elisabeth Welch can sing "Stormy Weather"); and Peter Greenaway's epic spectacle of skin, biology, fantasy, magic and sheer excess, Prospero's Books (1991). These are tough acts to follow — especially the last — if you want to raise an eyebrow or cause a jaw to drop or send hushed expletives rippling through the theater. Doing a sex change on Prospero (making him Prospera) and casting Helen Mirren doesn't seem so bold in comparison. (And handing over comic buffoonery to Alfred Molina and Russell Brand seems even less so.) Yet, Taymor's film is not without merit and pleasures. Just don't expect to be blown away or outraged.