Amazon.com
Kenneth Branagh's 1993 production of Shakespeare's
Much Ado About Nothing is a vigorous and imaginative work, cheerful and accessible for everyone. Largely the story of Benedick (Branagh) and Beatrice (Emma Thompson)--adversaries who come to believe each is trying to woo the other--the film veers from arched wit to ironic romps, and the two leads don't mind looking a little silly at times. But the plot is also layered with darker matters that concern the ease with which men and women fall into mutual distrust. Branagh has rounded up a mixed cast of stage vets and Hollywood stars, among the latter Denzel Washington and Michael Keaton, the latter playing a rather seedy, Beetlejuice-like version of Dogberry, king of malapropisms. The DVD release has optional full-screen and widescreen presentations, Dolby sound, optional Spanish and French soundtracks or subtitles.
--Tom Keogh
From The New Yorker
On the sunny side of the Bard. Kenneth Branagh leads us through the tiffs and deceptions of Shakespeare's comedy, all shot in and around a Tuscan villa. As the opening credits roll, a team of hunks rides back from the wars, and a bevy of maidens heads for the showers in anticipation; both are seen in slow motion, which suggests that Branagh will not be paying much heed to the virtues of restraint. This is confirmed by most of the performances-Branagh and Emma Thompson as Benedick and Beatrice, splashing out with grand comic gestures, and a mangy Dogberry from an unintelligible Michael Keaton. The movie revels in masked balls, creamy costumes, and caramel tans, but all this jollity feels forced-it's more of a guided tour than a relaxed show of wit, and the camera stares into people's faces, waiting for a reaction, when it should be hanging back. What potency there is comes from the characters who refuse to be gripped by good cheer-Don John, played by Keanu Reeves as a pinup with malice, and Don Pedro, played by Denzel Washington, whose cool gravity shames the rest of the movie. You sense that Branagh had more fun making the film than we could ever have watching it. Lucky him. -Anthony Lane
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker