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The Taming of the Shrew
Seriously? Take Shrew, with all its much-debated misogyny, add LaBute and all his much-debated misogyny, and invite the provocateur prince to draft a modern story that sends up Shrew’s outdated politics as well as current sexual power struggles. Well, it’s certainly risky.
The resulting frame has a theater struggling to tech Shrew while the Director (Mary Beth Fisher) and her Kate (Bianca Amato) air their dirty laundry. As the two women buck against their relationship, escalating humiliations parallel the abuse of the Petruchio-Kate story. What begins affectionately enough, à la Noises Off meta-theater, soon dips into LaBute’s predictable bile. A truly regrettable tantrum from the Director about her “twat” girlfriend launches a repugnant second act, which never tackles the central problem of Shrew: What’s funny about seeing a woman crushed? The modern story has no clear message, other than “lesbians can hate women, too.” How daring. Any intended commentary is undercut by Kate’s final salvo: “Fuck this!” Fuck what? Her treatment? Relationships? The play?
Yet there’s much to like in CST’s latest play-within-a-play, which benefits from Rourke’s skilled direction and top-notch physical comedy. Lucy Osborne pulls impressive double duty with set and costumes, using myriad doors, balconies, Uggs and codpieces. Brian Sills’s servant Tranio is a gift, and Amato gives Kate a rueful dignity. By all means, see this glorious ensemble’s work. But don’t look for meaning in the contemporary scaffolding. “Fuck this!” is neither a thesis nor a revelation. It’s a weak response to the joke played on women for ages: Their tragedy is men’s comedy.
