Did we buy tickets for the Shakespeare Festival or the GUN show

So, Saturday night, by the skin of my teeth, I make it in to see the last performance of Cymbeline from Dallas Shakespeare. Mo had given it a good review. And, for a Shakespeare geek, it’s a rare chance to see one of the less-performed plays.

And there’s a reason why it’s a less-performed play. If this was the only thing ol’ Shakey Bill had written, I would have been going to the Dallas Christopher Marlow festival. By and large, this play is a mess. Pure melodrama, with too many subplots, too many people in disguise, too many big reveals. Though in a time where plot twists are the staple crop of shows like Desperate Housewives and Mad Men, Cymbeline has a shot at, if not captivating a modern audience, at least being accepted for the oddball charmer that it is. Plus, there are a few lines that are the eloquent brilliance that you expect from Shakespeare. I won’t even try to explain the story. Just imagine taking one plot line from every other Shakespeare play, put it in the blender, and add a guy in an eagle costume flapping around the stage (seriously).

The cast was pretty much terrific. Nearly all the major characters were at least competent with the dialogue, some even damn good. And they played this loopy story balls-to-the-wall. Anything less than complete sincerity and the show would have dissolved into parody. The production values were a little spotty. All the male characters were wearing some version of jeans throughout the play, which was otherwise period costume. And there was a lot of duck blind camouflage used to create the outdoor effect. Little cheesy looking. But the money is getting a little tight in the arts these days, so you make do with what ya got.

I can tell you one place they could have saved some dough though. Mo had warned me there was a shirtless scene. And I thought it would be one the young brothers. But then the guy playing Posthumous (yes, Posthumous, it’s that kind of play) pulls of his shirt. Let me tell you, any Shakespeare festival that has screaming women in the audience can count itself a success. Actually, I exaggerate. They weren’t actually screaming. It was more like an “Eeeeeeee!” squeal. Accompanied by things like “Damn!” (that was me) and “Look at those abs!” Any money spent on buying shirts for him was entirely wasted. And he wasn’t just hunktastic. He actually was able to do Shakespeare dialogue too. Maybe not the best I’ve ever heard live (which was probably Benedick over at TCU this summer), but pretty damn good. And he pulled of swordfight choreography. There was a point where he was shirtless, sweaty and manacled. I think I may need to make a donation to Shakespeare Dallas. The $10 ticket price was just not sufficient to cover the happy little place in my memory that image will make for a good long time. Yowza. And when, at the end, he literally sweeps his wife off her feet for a big kiss . . . sigh. Very satisfactory.