Antony and Cleopatra

When the Romans entered, wearing high boots and World War II uniforms, I wasn't certain whether I was watching Antony and Cleopatra or the stage version of "Casablanca." If it had been the second, there might at least have been some hope of romance. Sparks. Chemistry. All of which are necessary to understand why Antony would, as Scarus said, have "kissed away kingdoms and provinces" for love of his Egyptian queen. All of which are absent between Helen Carey as Cleopatra and Tom Hewitt as Antony, who declaim rather than enact their passion. As Cleopatra, Carey dies beautifully, albeit it awkwardly. Although the actress is equal in majesty to the queen succumbing to her "immortal longings," she is undone by her director. Daniels, who seems to be reaching unnecessarily for effect, has her expire sitting upright in her throne, splendid in gold dress and heavy crown, apparently going into instant rigor mortis, since she stays that way for the rest of the play.

Mark Antony doesn't have an easier death. After his botched suicide attempt, his men bear him to the bottom of the giant pyramid where Cleopatra resides. In order to give his last kiss to his love, he must be wound in ropes and harness by his men and hoisted up via pulleys turned by Cleo's handmaidens, Iras (Opal Alladin) and Charmian (Starla Benford), whom one worries will strain a muscle. There are strong performances from subsidiary characters. Wallace Acton as a repressed, controlling Octavius Caesar. Edward Gero as Enobarbus, Antony's earthy, pragmatic lieutenant, whose heart breaks when he must betray his friend and master. (The performance I attended boasted three understudies. The comic genius of Floyd King was missed in the roles of Messenger and Asp Seller.)

Michael Yeargan's set is simple - giant black cat goddesses signify Egypt and a massive eagle, Rome. Gabriel Berry's eccentric costumes span decades. The Egyptian women, whom we would suppose had better taste, dress in garish green and orange frocks styled like something out of Star Wars. During their last tryst, Cleopatra wears Antony's white shirt, and Octavia (Makela Spielman) and her entourage wear modern mid-length white suits and tote designer luggage.

Two directorial concepts are particularly strong. Caesar is given a colorful 40-foot long map of the Mediterranean that serves as backdrop for his temper tantrum as he attacks it with his riding crop, while discoursing on his wrongs. (I've always wanted a visual of those countries.) At the end of Act One, Mark Antony, Enobarbus, and Eros (Michael Solomon) have been downing trenchers with the other soldiers. Suddenly, they climb atop the long table and begin an Egyptian dance reminiscent of one performed earlier by Cleopatra's women. The Romans back off, then start a counter, masculine response. Seldom has the concept of Antony having been unmanned by Cleopatra been so beautifully embodied, nor the depth of the fascination that was his undoing.