Cheyenne Maberley as a soothsayer in a promotional still for Studio 58's production of Julius Caesar. In the actual play, Maberley is Caesar's wife.
Photo: Studio 58
It starts with a literal knife in the back, and ends with the figurative kind as your best friend plunges a cold metal dagger into your chest.
That’s assuming your name is Julius Caesar and you have the misfortune of being a little too ambitious for your supposed friend Brutus’s liking.
But you can’t fault Brutus entirely. You were just a little too arrogant, and Brutus felt conflicted the entire time. It’s not that he loves you any less – he just loves Rome more.
In director Scott Bellis’s telling of the Shakespearean classic, the scene above happens just the same, barring one notable difference: both characters are female.
In the original version, there were only two female characters. In an unconventional twist, Bellis turned a blind eye to gender, instead opting to cast whomever was best suited for the role. This led to a largely female cast, with 10 out of 16 characters played by women, including Brutus, Cassius and the titular role of Caesar.
Leslie Dos Remedios is the arrogant Caesar, reciting her lines with the kind of male bravado that would make the Bard himself proud.
Andrea Houssin is the noble Brutus, the “man” who eventually chooses his own sense of morality over the bonds of friendship he so strongly feels.
In this world where women constantly wax poetic on what it is to be a man, a “man” is not a gender: it’s a code of honour.
Although all pronouns have been changed accordingly for female characters, traditionally male titles such as “Lord” and “Sir” have been kept. It’s an interesting concept, but sadly, and ironically, makes this telling as biased as the original.
On first appearances, this world seems to be one of gender equality. There are no traits that are decidedly male, and it seems that the qualities a person engenders makes gender a moot point.
Take a closer look, and you see that all of the powerful players in this story are female. All of the spouses are female, and they’re all same-sex couplings.
It’s quite literally a woman’s world, and the men in this play acknowledge it as well. No women are with men and even men don’t want to be with other men. Gender roles are not so much reversed – there are still meek women in this play – societal values are.
Gender-bending added no additional value to this story, and I couldn’t help but think that many of the characters would have been stronger if played by the male actors in the company.
Though all actors were engaging during turbulent scenes, the male actors did a better job of “being” the character rather than just “acting.” Their tonations, inflections, body language, and facial expressions were completely congruent, with Kazz Leskard as Casca the star performer.
The costumes were also confusing. With women clothed from everything from miniskirts and blouses to peasant wear from the middle ages it was difficult to discern the time period represented. The men weren’t any easier to interpret, with their modern suits covered by half capelets.
As for the set, there were no backgrounds and props were used sparingly. Music and lighting were used quite effectively, conveying everything from weather to mood. The LCD stage was also incorporated into the story quite nicely, providing visuals and additional lighting.
Despite its flaws, Bellis’s Caesar manages to convey all of the emotions and drama of the original, was beautifully choreographed, and visually engaging – if you turn a blind eye to gender.
