Believe it or not, I was never assigned Wuthering Heights in school. My initial encounter with the book was through the classic 1939 film with Merle Oberon and a very white Laurence Olivier. It’d be years before I found out what elements from Emily Brontë’s novel were left out: the entire second-half with the kids; the greater emphasis on the supernatural; the fact that Heathcliff, as written, was certainly not white. (Though the film is considerably less egregious than when Olivier wore Blackface for Othello.)
Having missed other versions (including one film where Heathcliff is Black) and not having seen the Oberon-Olivier version is several years, I was able to go into Emma Rice and Wise Children’s new musical adaptation (through January 1 at Berkeley Rep) with something of a clean slate. I remembered it took place on the English moors and revolved around an urchin named Heathcliff who eventually falls in love with his adoptive sister Cathy. I remembered that Heathcliff leaves their estate still poor whilst Cathy marries rich, then Heathcliff returns Count of Monte Cristo-style with fortune to his name.
I expected a new version to hew closer to the source material. What I didn’t expect was for the infamously dour story to be played for comedy and tragedy at the same time. That’s not just my perception, that’s what they actually do: the play goes for outright slapstick, then immediately goes for heart-rending tragedy—often within the same scene. It’s such a jarring case of tonal whiplash that the audience should be issued neck braces.
The musical is done in a stripped-down, early-20th-century theatre troupe style you may or may not have seen lately. It’s meant to specifically draw attention to the artifice of theatre-making and (supposedly) allows the audience to better immerse themselves with the goings-on of the stage. When done right (like in SF Playhouse’s recent production of Indecent), the effect is fantastic; when done wrong (like with Fiasco Theater’s mid-2010s production of Into the Woods), it just seems like a bunch of pretentious theatre snobs turning their noses up at their own audience. Wise Children’s version is the latter. In fact, when I first saw the non-set, I instantly wondered if Fiasco Theater were behind this production, too.
After entering the theatre lobby (which no longer requires vax checks, though masks are still required inside… for now), one may pick up a few free books from the production’s mini-library before heading in to find the upstage wall a projection screen, with a monochromatic title card likely meant to evoke the aforementioned Oberon-Olivier film. The curtains of the Roda have been removed, allowing one to see people passing back-and-forth “backstage” at various times of the play. The instruments surround the foot-high wooden platform that looks like a giant chopping board. The show will see a series of wooden chairs, ladders, and even marionettes come in and out over the course of three hours run time.
Then, the slapstick starts. After the moors themselves come alive to present themselves as our Greek chorus (led by Jordan Laviniere), Mr. Lockwood (Sam Archer) arrives at Wuthering Heights on a stormy night to ask neighbor Heathcliff (Liam Tamne) for shelter from the storm. That may sound simple, so you should know that Rice and her collaborators stage it like a Mr. Bean sequence that just happens to have dialogue. Yet, Heathcliff is in no laughing mood, as the apparent ghost of his long-dead love Cathy (Leah Brotherhead) is summoning him from out of the storm itself.
This goes on for three hours.
I’ll say this for the famous film version: I can see why they changed Heathcliff’s character arc. If Rice’s version is how Brontë wrote the character, then I can’t imagine how or why Rice thinks he deserves a happy ending. The film may have shaved off rough edges to make him flawed-but-sympathetic, but the version here is an unforgivable, unconscionable bastard who deserves to die alone for all the harm he inflicts on others. Yet, the ending suggests that we should be happy for how he eventually ends up. If you’re going to have conflicting tones and messages, one should at least make it so that they’re easily appealing.
Granted, the music itself is very appealing. Like the accompanying action, it radically shifts from one tone to another as if it didn’t know better. However, it’s a lot easier to get away with that with music. The songs range from Loreena McKennitt-style haunting neo-Celtic tunes to full-on hard rock. No matter what stumbles the show makes by having the cast chew as much scenery as possible, the music remains a delight throughout.
What’s more, nearly every technical aspect is a joy to behold. Gags like an animal skull on a scythe to represent a dog don’t work, but the marionettes of young Heathcliff and Cathy certainly do. As so the revolving doors and walls barely measuring a few feet across. And one should at least give credit to the cast for committing to the madness, even though playing everything turned up to “11” gets really tiring really quick.
I’ve seen some rather strong musicals this year, with Wuthering Heights being the only one (to my knowledge) that actually makes the soundtrack available for listening afterwards. I wish the other shows had done that, but they had much stronger scripts to help them live on in one’s memory post-curtain.
The CO² levels on my Aranet4 peaked at 751ppm, which isn’t bad for a packed opening night. Still, with Berkeley Rep having given up on vax checks, I suspect it’s just a matter of time before they do the same with masks. That means I won’t be going there anytime soon. Shame that the potentially last show I’ve seen is a musical with an admittedly great score, but an absolute mess of a book.
WUTHERING HEIGHTS runs through January 1 at the Berkeley Rep. Tickets and further information here.
