1967 Zeffirelli/Cooke Production

This adaptation, broadcast by BBC television in 1967 (directed by Alan Cooke) was based on a prior stage production for the National Theatre (directed by Franco Zeffirelli). Not easily available today, it starred Derek Jacobi as Don Pedro; Ronald Pickup as Don John; Michael Byrne as Claudio; Robert Stephens as Benedick; Gerald James as Leonato; Caroline John as Hero; Maggie Smith as Beatrice; and Frank Finlay as Dogberry.

Discussing this production in her 2011 overview of the play (121–29), Alison Findlay commented that it controversially “incorporated over 300 modernisations of the text by Robert Graves” (121); that apparently “Zeffirelli disowned” it; that Maggie Smith’s Beatrice “had a less intimate relationship with the camera [than Robert Stephens’s Benedick]”; but that “the razor-sharp quality of her wit made her performance absolutely compelling” (123). Findlay reported that the production prominently exhibited a “mood of carnival festivity” (26); thought the broadcast’s “strange mixture of styles … effectively brought out the uneasy resolution to the play”; and asserted that “[c]onfusion about the seriousness of Antonio, Leonato or Benedick’s challenges suffused Act V scene I” (128).

1972–73 New York Shakespeare Festival Production

Directed for television by Nick Havinga, this adaptation starred Sam Waterston as Benedick; Kathleen Widdoes as Beatrice; Barnard Hughes as Dogberry; Jerry Mayer as Don John; April Shawhan as Hero; and Douglass Watson as Don Pedro.

J. C. Bulman and H. R. Coursen, in their fine 1988 critical anthology titled Shakespeare on Television, cited and quoted from several responses from 1973. Thus a writer for Time magazine praised this production’s suitability for television, its effective close-ups, and its “almost 3-dimensional illusion of depth,” while a commentator for the Washington Evening Star and Daily News dismissed it as a “travesty of Shakespeare [that] has no wit, no pace, no point.” He called it a “stagnant pond of tedious, pointless and embarrassing bad-mouthing” full of “dim-witted misunderstandings of the original” and brimming with botched jokes, “amateurish” acting, forgetful actors, and fake laughter. A slightly more positive assessment came in the New Republic, where a writer suggested that in this production a second play had been superimposed upon Shakespeare’s original while “leav[ing] Shakespeare’s script intact,” although the playwright’s words had to “compete with bright busy images and a sophisticated musical score” (243). Noting that in one scene the words were clearly not only “audible and well-paced” but also “effectively reinforced by stage business that in other scenes proved distracting,” this reviewer nonetheless concluded that in general, instead of being given “a light comedy and the appropriate emotional levels for light comedy, we are treated to a big, loud, indiscriminate bundle of farce, tragedy, melodrama and fairy tale.” Meanwhile, a writer for the Shakespeare on Film Newsletter, commenting in 1978, praised the production’s credible characters and their (and their setting’s) “nostalgic distance and familiarity.” This reviewer commended the production as a “romantic Much Ado, impressive for its eros of wit, good nature, and richness of texture, all of which seem implicit in the text but in performance too often yield to brittle sarcasm” (244).

Alison Findlay, discussing this production in her 2011 book on Much Ado, called it “a national story as well as a domestic one”—one emphasizing the “gulf between polite civilian life and military action” (129) as well as stressing “an easy, luxurious style of living” (130) in an environment in which “[i]nsecurities about masculine identity were bound up with the film’s self-conscious nostalgia.” Findlay noted that “the whole of [Leonato’s] diatribe against Hero in the wedding scene was cut and the character’s anachronism, as part of a bygone age, was emphasized” in a production in which “the emergence of female agency … was hinted at from the opening scene” (132) and in which “[m]en were unsure how to interact with women in this environment, which reflected the emergence of first-wave feminism in the 1900s and spoke to a generation of men trying to find their place between the action of the Vietnam war and second-wave feminism at home” (133). Findlay concluded that the “film presented its idealised, old-style American Messina as no less fragile than a dream inspired by an expensive childhood toy” (134).

In his 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare, Peter Cochran called this production “colourful” but noted some anachronisms (239). He observed that the language had been Americanized; admired the way the party is presented; praised the way Don Pedro reacts when Beatrice turns him down; commended various scenes (240–41); but found the apprehension of the criminals too farcical (241). He applauded the production’s intelligence and termed it a “superb” and exemplary Much Ado (241).

1984 BBC Television Shakespeare Production

This version, directed by Stuart Burge, starred Lee Montague as Leonato; Cherie Lunghi as Beatrice; Katharine Levy as Hero; Jon Finch as Don Pedro; Robert Lindsay as Benedick; Robert Reynolds as Claudio; Gordon Whiting as Antonio; Vernon Dobtcheff as Don John; and Michael Elphick as Dogberry.

Discussing “The Production” for the 1984 booklet the BBC published to accompany the first broadcast of the play, Henry Fenwick reported that director Stuart Burge discussed the challenges of doing the comedies for television but noted that the “humour of Much Ado is very dry and therefore lends itself to the screen more than the more rambunctious comedies” (19). Meanwhile, producer Shaun Sutton stressed the play’s wit, clever language, and skillful and efficient design (19) and remarked that this production is firmly Italian, even Sicilian, in setting, costuming, and music, drawing for inspiration on Renaissance Italian compositions and folk tunes. Sutton thought Shakespeare set the play in the early sixteenth century in Sicily when various kinds of war were going on and said the play demands not so much a realistic staging as one that is largely stylized. Set designer Jan Spoczynski said that she drew on classical and North African inspirations and emphasized perspective and distant vistas (20), while costume designer June Hudson discussed in detail her use of colors and texture and said that the different sets must resemble one another rather than being very distinctly different: “What I wanted was the feeling that whatever acting area you’re in, you’re always in the same environment, [and that] there should be all one textural feeling throughout.” Fenwick noted that much of the emphasis of the settings involves stone, with allusions to the architecture of Moorish Spain and that the clothing was designed to look “very flowing and very soft” in ways that resembled Turkish styles of dress. The set deliberately used colors such as “terracotta, pink, gold, a lovely deep blue, a winey red” (22), with the costume designer discussing many of her goals and decisions in great detail (22–23).

Fenwick reported that Burge, the BBC director, emphasized that Leonato is of a lower social class than the aristocrats who visit, commenting that “the Prince and Claudio are two characters who are very hard to play—they are appallingly arrogant, and in the end appallingly thoughtless and absolutely ruthless in their treatment of Hero,” so that “Leonato show signs all the time of being subservient to the visiting aristocrats, but the women will have none of that—there’s a kind of freemasonry between them that is very engaging” (23). Burge suggested that Don Pedro may be a bit jealous about losing Claudio to Hero and that Don Pedro and Claudio feel especially betrayed by Hero because she allegedly has committed infidelity on the night before her wedding, especially since there is even a bit of homoeroticism in Don Pedro’s attachment to Claudio. Burge reported that he deliberately chose younger actors to play Beatrice and Benedick; he thought Beatrice should appear “very sexually attractive but tremendously independent,” adding, “I thought an independent spinster would not be as interesting” (24). Meanwhile, Cherie Lunghi, as Beatrice, wanted to play her as a younger woman than she often is portrayed as being. She stressed Beatrice’s vitality and also suggested that many of Shakespeare’s most interesting heroines are those whose fathers are absent for one reason or another. Lunghi wanted to emphasize the theme of friendship in the play—friendship not only between women but also between men, suggesting that friendships between men are often more competitive than those between women and suggesting, too, that ultimately Benedick moves to a closer friendship with Beatrice then he had had with the other men. Lunghi admired the friendship that Beatrice and Benedick eventually develop, predicting that it would be long-lasting and remarking that audiences want to see good friends fall in love (25–26). She explained how she and the actor playing Benedick imagined the history of the couple’s relationship before the play began, suggesting that Benedick had earlier pulled back from developing a relationship with Beatrice and had thus made her feel exploited (26). Robert Lindsay, playing Benedick, saw his character as an archetypal Englishman with absent or hidden emotions. Lindsay explained how he and Lunghi would tease and torment and josh with one another during rehearsals in the way that Beatrice and Benedict do and agreed with her that because they have fun with one another Beatrice and Benedict are likely to have a happy marriage. Lindsay explained that television, because of its use of close-ups, can allow actors to be subtle, especially in facial expressions, but he regretted that television, unlike a stage performance, does not usually have an audience present for an actor to play to; he therefore decided that in some of his soliloquies he should address the television audience by looking into the camera (27). Burge extolled the power of the scene in which Beatrice asks Benedick to kill Claudio, with Lindsay saying that in this scene Benedick admires Beatrice’s grit and determination. He too considered this scene immensely powerful, and Lunghi said she tried to play this scene so that she emphasized simultaneously her fury at Claudio, her pity for Hero, and her love for Benedick. She suggested that Beatrice essentially accuses Benedick of impotence in order to motivate him to kill his friend. Finally, director Burge emphasized the battle of the sexes aspects of the play, while Lindsay emphasized its cheeriness, its appealing characters, and Benedick’s ability to understand and love women and feel sympathy for Hero (28).

J. C. Bulman and H. R. Coursen, in their 1988 critical anthology Shakespeare on Television, quoted from a 1984 review in the Washington Post that called this production “handsome, thoughtful and … sober” and suggested that the “self-doubts [Beatrice and Benedick] allow themselves when others aren’t looking … make them uncommonly attractive” (309). An assessment by Peter Kemp from 1985 published in London’s Times Literary Supplement called this version “rich,” “handsome,” and “[c]onvincingly costumed,” with a “combination of grimness and gaiety,” seriousness and comedy, and “[p]sychologically acute performances from Cherie Lunghi and Robert Lindsay.” Kemp wrote that Beatrice’s “banter is kept pointed and polished,” adding that “the play’s intimation that she has been hurt in some earlier involvement with Benedick emerges more noticeably here than usual.” He admired the complex ambivalence of this production’s Benedick and thought that the relationship between the leading couple was “invested with ambiguity to the end” (38).

Susan McCloskey, in an initially mixed but ultimately positive 1985 review for the Shakespeare on Film Newsletter, began by admiring the effective use of light-and-dark contrasts in the production’s lighting and setting, suggesting that this contrast was central to the play’s main theme. However, she found the moods and behavior of both Beatrice and Benedick too dark at first, so that the actors’ conduct sometimes contradicted the way the play initially describes them. McCloskey thought that even Dogberry and Verges were initially unfunny and tedious and that physical comedy was mostly rare. Although praising Burge’s “fine eye for composing scenes with multiple actions,” she thought he “ignored the potential for slapstick,” but she did think that he “handles the play’s darkest moment, the wedding scene, superbly” and that, “from this point forward, the production succeeded far more than it had in its first half. When Beatrice and Benedick confess their love,” they “proceed to enjoy it with an entirely engaging sweetness.” She admired Burges’s command of his limited space; cited many examples of his skill in filming it; and intriguingly noted how often arches are featured in the set, saying that they “are not mere passageways through which characters enter and exit, but images of opposing forces maintained in perfect poise. They are the ideal emblem for Much Ado’s beautifully orchestrated comedy and tragedy, an emblem Burge learns to read only late in this production” (5).

Commenting on this production in her 2011 overview of the play (134–39), Alison Findlay wrote that the setting’s “overdetermined historicism suggested a romanticised, former age,” so that “[p]resenting a place of privilege and wealth gave substance to the production’s reading of Claudio …as a fortune hunter.” Describing the rich costumes and colorful settings, Findlay, when turning to the characters, considered Jon Finch’s Pedro “very camp”; called Claudio “a beautiful, self-assured and rather vain young man”; suggested that his “rejection of Hero in the chapel was motivated by hurt pride rather than love”; and thought the “mourning scene was another elaborate show” (136). Findlay wrote that “[t]he pivotal exchange between Beatrice and Benedick in the church was curiously downplayed here” (137); called this production’s Dogberry and Verges “television everymen”; and argued that they “provided an easy point of access to an environment which for many viewers was visually and verbally alien” (138).

In his 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare, Peter Cochran called the production “beautifully designed and lit, immaculately acted, and boring” (242). He found the design flawed; thought this Don Pedro might be a gay man who knows he can never have Beatrice; thought Don Juan may also be gay; and found the episodes involving him intriguing (242). Saying that this production suffered from lacking a live audience (242), Cochran concluded that it is watchable but not as good as some earlier and later versions (243).

1993 Kenneth Branagh Production

This big-budget and very successful film, directed by Kenneth Branagh, starred Branagh as Benedick, along with Emma Thompson as Beatrice; Richard Briers as Leonato; Kate Beckinsale as Hero; Denzel Washington as Don Pedro; Keanu Reeves as Don John; and Michael Keaton as Dogberry.

In an essay from 1994 titled “‘Your Answer, Sir, Is Cinematical’: Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing,” Ellen Edgerton called the film humorous (sometimes excessively); considered some scenes awkward; praised the accessible opening; admired the characters’ physical interactions; but was skeptical of Keaton as Dogberry (43). She noted the prominence of the song “Sigh no more”; commented on various cuts; saw and heard allusions to other films; and noted the frequent use of close-ups (44).

Commenting on this production (117–19) in an essay from 1994 titled “Shakespeare Comedies on Film,” Russell Jackson discussed the options that film made possible that are less available in the theater, such as in making Claudio’s suspicion of Hero more plausible (117). Jackson also saw the opening sequence as a kind of prologue; noted that Dogberry’s scenes were “redistributed … to make better use of the material in terms of a film audience’s attention”; and commented on the challenges and opportunities presented by this play’s emphasis on verbal wit (118–19).

In his 1996 book Shakespeare in Production (102–17), Herbert R. Coursen mainly surveyed others’ reviews, noting an “enthusiastic reception in the U.S. popular press”; suggesting that the fact that the “script does not contain much poetry to lose probably makes the translation to a modern medium a bit easier than with scripts more embedded in blank verse”; admired “the set and the camera’s exploration of it” (108); and wrote that “Branagh did not mount any subversive challenge” to the play’s “manifest content.” Coursen did regret that Beatrice and Benedick ultimately “never emerged from the [film’s] tender traps to suggest their ongoing self-hoods,” suggesting that they never return “from the acquired shores of comedy”; considered the music often sentimental; and faulted the final music for making “no distinction between the indigenous instruments and voices of Messina, and the invisible orchestra,” calling it “merely a sticky ‘reinforcement’ of the film’s general unironic romanticism” (115–16).

In an article from 1996 titled “Kenneth Branagh’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing’: Shakespearean Comedy as Shakespearean Romance,” Carol Moses argued that “[i]f the play begins on a mythic note, it also ends on one as Branagh lets the audience know, cinematically, that the happy conclusion is based on a cosmic world view. As the audience follows the winding dancers through various courtyards, down alleys of trees and bushes, the camera angle slowly moves from being on a level with the dancers to being above them. In effect,” Moses continued, “the audience moves from being human spectators to having a God’s eye view of these humans, the same sort of double vision that critics have noted in [Shakespeare’s late] romances.” According to Moses, “In directing Much Ado About Nothing, Branagh focuses on the romance elements in the comedy. Although his film is surely only one way to interpret this play, it is an interpretation solidly based on Shakespeare’s text. Just as the Freudian Hamlet is present in Shakespeare’s tragedy, so the romance elements of Shakespeare’s later period surface, intermittently, in the earlier comedies. Branagh has made these elements the foundation of his film” (40).

Michael J. Collins, in a 1997 essay titled “Sleepless in Messina: Kenneth Branagh’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing,’” asserted that ultimately “the film suggests the power of actors and acting to shape both a production and our response to it: none of the doubts that the script raises about the love of Hero and Claudio are invited to make any impact on us in the film because John Sean Leonard and Beckinsale can convince us, even without much dialogue,” Collins thought, “that they are deeply in love, as they do at various moments in the film before the broken wedding and, most effectively, as they tearfully and silently embrace one another when they are reconciled at the end of the play. But, as students come to recognize,” Collins continued, “such acting finally makes Hero not a real woman but a conventional figure playing a conventional role, and thus it helps turn Shakespeare’s complex, disquieting script into Branagh’s simpler, more comforting, but undeniably enjoyable film” (39).

Discussing the book in his 1999 History of Shakespeare on Screen (250–54), Kenneth Rothwell noted some “striking cinematic moments, especially in the opening quotation from The Magnificent Seven,” but felt that the film’s main “strength lies in the style and elocution of Emma Thompson as the petulant but brilliant Beatrice, who was born to play the role.” Calling this Beatrice “an eiron aware of her own limitations,” Rothwell also praised the film for its “[a]lternating camera angles and close shots”; commended it for “correctly privileg[ing] the play’s wit over its sentimentality”; noted that “British critics uncovered flaws where Americans were more likely to find virtues” (250); and wrote that “[c]inematic rather than theatrical elements dominate three parts of the movie—the establishing shots, the garden scene, and the grand finale—while elsewhere the movie lapses into theatricality” (251). Suggesting that “Branagh resists any transgressive temptation to deconstruct the psychology of the Benedick-Beatrice relationship” (252), Rothwell also (and unusually) defended Keanu Reeves and Michel Keaton from some of the harsh criticism their performances often received (saying the play’s text could justify their choices (252–53).

Tanja Weiss, in her 1999 book Shakespeare on the Screen (91–95), provided a useful “descriptive outline” of the play (91–95) and commented on “The Opening Scenes, the Setting, and the Spirit of the Film” (96–108). She reported that “roughly one half” of the play is cut, especially in the opening scenes (96); discussed the extensive use of the “Sigh no more” song (96–99); and discussed the way it is sometimes used to emphasize irony and deception (97–98), the way the early preparations of the men and women are “much ado about nothing” (99), the vitality of the play’s speech(es) (99–100), and its use of many rhetorical figures (100–2). She observed the speeches’ often “musical rhythm” (102), the effective use of “lighting, cinematography, and sound” (103); the film’s emphasis on visual rather than verbal vitality (103); the way the film emphasizes setting more than the play does (104–5); and the complexity of the film’s mood (106–7). Discussing “The Transposition of the Watch, Fraud, and Gulling Scenes” (108–13) so as to make Borachio’s deception of Claudio more credible (108–11), Weiss also commented on “Other Additional Scenes and the Adaptation of One Crux of the Play” (113–15), noting a greater emphasis in the film on the “Claudio-Hero plot” (114), the way the film creates sympathy for Claudio (114), the way it expands the gulling episodes (114), the way it clearly depicts Borachio’s plot (114–15), and the way it clarifies part of the plot of the play (115). She next commented on “The Cast and Characters” (116–20), including how the film’s international, multiracial cast (116–17) highlights the play’s universality (117) and makes it more widely accessible (118) and how the evil characters wear black trousers while the good characters wear blue (119). Weiss concluded that the film’s Dogberry not only talks in ridiculous ways but looks and behaves ridiculously as well (120).

In her book from 2000 titled Interpreting Shakespeare on Screen, Deborah Cartmell wrote that “[u]nlike Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet, Branagh’s film stresses maturity over youth and authoritarianism over rebellion” (49); said that Branagh had taken “the threat of death out of” Much Ado and that he had “defus[ed] the eroticism of the play text”; and commented that the “film begins with an overtly lusty atmosphere and ends on an exceedingly chaste note. Branagh and Thompson emerge as a restrained, older, established and quintessentially British couple, incapable of public or private displays of affection.” (54).

Discussing the film in her very fine 2000 Companion to the Shakespearean Films of Kenneth Branagh, Sarah Hatchuel reported that Branagh had encouraged actress Judi Dench to direct Much Ado for the stage in 1988 and that her production influenced his film (56–57); noted that the costumes for the two productions were similar; commented on the film’s emphasis on “heat, wine, grapes, and sensuality” (57); and noted the similar openings of the play and the film (58). Hatchuel thought Branagh’s film suggests that Beatrice and Benedick may have been hurt in a previous relationship between them; suggested that their “ironic and witty facades” hide “two of the most romantic characters in all of Shakespeare’s plays” (58); admired the touching love scene between them inside the chapel; and suggested that the fact that Claudio and Hero are in their early twenties helps explain their behavior (59). Writing that the film’s Dogberry is given “both verbal and physical eccentricities,” Hatchuel suggested the positive influence of Dench’s stage production on Branagh’s film (62); said that Branagh’s use of the song lyrics “Sigh no more” in his opening not only helps the audience “tune into the language” of the play but also suggests Beatrice’s character (104–5); noted that Branagh cuts passages from the play that reestablish situations, repeat plot details, or foreshadow future details (105); and reported that Branagh deemphasizes the women’s gulling scene—a change some critics regretted (106). Observing that Branagh makes Claudio more sympathetic by showing him legitimately confusing Margaret with Hero (107), Hatchuel argued that besides making Claudio more forgivable, Branagh’s cuts help the pace of his film and help the film offer a fairly traditional (rather than much darker) approach to the play (108). Hatchel thought that the opening scenes suggest an “escape from reality … into [a] fairy-tale world” where Don John doesn’t belong, which is one reason he is “mostly filmed in underground cellars by ominous firelight, suggestive of Hell” (124). She argued that the film “evokes an imaginary world that could have existed anytime between 1700 and 1900” (125); that early in the film the characters “place themselves on a virtual chessboard” appropriate to later developments; that close-ups often stress the play’s “tragic side” (involving anger, pain, sorrow); that the film’s music is important, with a mixture of “epic and pastorale” moods in “the huge and bold overture” (126); and that Branagh makes “good use of the Steadicam” to help create a sense of “energy, dynamism, and fluidity” (127).

Daniel Rosenthal, commenting briefly on the Branagh film in his 2000 book Shakespeare on Screen (162–63), praised the opening for successfully and efficiently serving several functions, including hooking the audience; considered Thompson and Washington more effective than Branagh as actors; found Reeves wooden; and thought Branagh made “an inexcusable error in overindulging Michael Keaton’s grotesque Dogberry” but added that fortunately his several “excruciating appearances put only a small dent in the surrounding joy, good humour and sexual energy,” which he said had “won over even those critics who thought that Branagh had overdone the thigh-slapping jollity” (152). Douglas Brode, also offering a rather brief assessment in his 2000 book Shakespeare in the Movies wrote that Branagh’s film “suggests that the earthy, sensuous wisdom of women is far preferable to the macho posturings of men, which he mercilessly ridicules.” Brode found the film’s dances “not only fast and furious” but also “central to the director’s vision of community.” Reporting that the movie’s “hidden chapel … [was] built specifically for the film,” Brode noted that this is where Beatrice and Benedick “speak beneath a cross, conveying Shakespeare’s insistence on the need for his heroic couples to restrain and contain passion within conventions at once social and religious.” Finally, Brode commented that the elaborate estate on which the movie was filmed “highlighted the spying so dear to [Shakespeare’s] heart” (88).

In an essay from 2002 titled “The Marriage of Shakespeare and Hollywood: Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing,” Samuel Crowl discussed, the Hollywood influence on Branagh in general and this film in particular, noting how Branagh, including in this film, had helped revive interest in filming Shakespeare. Crowl also discussed the place of Much Ado in Shakespeare’s development as a comic writer; commented on the film’s Italian setting and many details of its plot; and asserted that the “one corner of the play … that is not well served by Branagh’s lush emphasis on sunburnt romance and comic mirth is his visual treatment of Claudio and Hero.” He thought that the “film fails to drive home the ways in which the play repeatedly favors the independent, unruly, intelligent wooing behavior of Beatrice and Benedick [over] the empty, socially conventional path followed by Claudio in his courtship of Hero” (120). But he concluded by calling this movie the “most successful version we have of a Shakespearean comedy on film” (122).

Samuel Crowl, in his 2003 book Shakespeare at the Cineplex (64–78), called Branagh’s Much Ado a “visually romantic film,” with its “swirling dance” scenes effectively captured by “fluid use of a Steadicam,” and with Patrick Doyle’s lush score contributing to the “festive” atmosphere, with “four sweeping cinematic moments in which the soundtrack abandons dialogue for swelling score or song” (71). Crowl thought that “Branagh’s film has its climax and its finest moment where wooing and wedding meet and clash: Claudio’s shameful despoiling of his marriage to Hero and the genuine union of Beatrice and Benedick that rises from its ashes.” He called “Leonard’s Claudio … an insecure boy”; noted that Branagh gave him enough physical space in which to enact his “petulant tantrum” (74); but argued that the “film fails to drive home the ways in which the play repeatedly favors the independent, unruly, intelligent wooing behavior of Beatrice and Benedick [over] the empty; socially conventional path followed by Claudio in his courtship of Hero.” In fact, Crowl felt that Branagh and Leonard unfortunately endorsed “a particularly American sentimentality about the precariousness of youthful innocence,” one that “champions innocence over irony,” so that “Leonard’s playing of Claudio imposes this American sentimental tradition on Shakespeare’s more-tough-minded tale.” Thus, rather than “revealing Claudio’s insecure and immature male malice (in contrast to Benedick’s immediate move to support Hero’s innocence) … Branagh’s film asks us to understand the wounded lover’s anger and to sympathize with Claudio rather than to judge him” (77)—an outcome Crowl regretted in a film he otherwise strongly admired.

Michael Anderegg, in his 2004 book Cinematic Shakespeare (123–26) called the Branagh adaptation “undeniably lovely to look at” but said it “fails in significant ways to come to terms with the rich and complex wit of Shakespeare’s play. Comedy, one suspects, is not Branagh’s forte,” so that the “melodrama of the Hero/Claudio plot clearly engaged his interest far more than either the Beatrice and Benedick romance or the Dogberry scenes.” According to Anderegg, this Claudio and Hero “provide the innocence and vulnerability that ensure the success of their scenes, whereas Branagh as Benedick and Emma Thompson as Beatrice only intermittently find the emotional core of their characters. Too often,” he thought, “slapstick substitutes for comic finesse, as when Benedick is made to struggle with a folding chair. Very little,” according to Anderegg, “is earned in this film—we are continually being told how to respond, what to think and feel. Too many moments in Much Ado about Nothing feel pumped up and exaggerated, sometimes to the detriment of common sense” (124).

In an essay published in 2005 titled “‘Sigh no more ladies’—the Song in ‘Much Ado About Nothing‘: Shakespeare and Branagh,’” Philippa Shepherd suggested that the lyrics of the famous song “have to suggest, almost single-handedly, the rich consideration of the challenges facing couples that makes Much Ado About Nothing such a complex play.” Sheppard felt that “Branagh holds the view of men and women expressed in the song to be accurate: men are deceivers, and since it is their nature, women had better just accept it, consoling themselves by not taking it too seriously.” She thought that “Branagh very consciously decided to have the lyrics sung three times in the film and wanted the words themselves up on screen so that the audience would tune in to the language and, [Branagh] writes, ‘understand the simplicity, gravity, and beauty of the song lyrics’ …. ‘Gravity’ is the right word for some of the lyrics, and yet this quality is not well served by their presentation in the film, with Beatrice delivering the words wryly and her on-screen audience laughing uproariously at her conclusion” (94).

Samuel Crowl, in his 2006 book The Films of Kenneth Branagh (73–94), called Branagh’s Much Ado the director’s “sunniest film” and said it was even more important than Henry V in reviving interest in films of Shakespeare’s play (73). He discussed the rise of Emma Thompson’s career prior to this film (73–74); said filming a Shakespeare comedy was risky; noted that no such comedy before had ever been especially popular (74); and praised this film’s energy and (most of) its performances (74). Crowl wrote that Branagh emphasizes the play’s comedy without downplaying the troubling subplot; that this film, like others, shows Branagh’s talent for creating effective openings (75); that the same song lyrics begin and end the film (75); that the opening implies a relevant skepticism about romance (76); and that the song featured in the opening has various uses and implications. Describing the opening Italian setting, the comic approach of the men on horses, and the implied “battle of the sexes,” Crowl suggested that the opening is designed to appeal particularly to teenagers (77). He discussed the risks Branagh took in making this film (78); noted its emphasis on varied accents and its deemphasis on the play’s darker aspects; observed its emphasis on social coherence (79); noted its emphasis on similarities in costumes, so that differences in appearance are largely absent (80); and said it offers an unusually memorable Claudio and Hero (80) and implies criticism of patriarchy (81). Crowl saw an emphasis on Claudio’s “romantic insecurity” (81); asserted that Branagh’s Benedick is more complex and vulnerable than most Benedicks have been; said that Branagh uses physical comedy (as in the problem with the folding chair) to enhance Benedick’s “boyish charm” (82); and noted a nice contrast between this Benedick and the confident, intelligent Beatrice played by Thompson (82–83), who displays great flexibility in her range of emotions (83). He compared Thompson to past talented actresses, such as Katharine Hepburn, who had played this role (83); said her Beatrice “anchors the film” and that she is associated with the film’s “wit and social critique” (83); but found Keanu Reeve’s acting here bland and unsuccessful (83–84) and also claimed that Michael Keaton fails by being too over-the-top (89). Crowl said that Branagh makes the accusation against Hero somewhat credible by showing how it evolved rather than merely reporting it (84–85); said the violent wedding scene succeeds dramatically, noting that most of the men (including her father) turn against Hero; and suggested that Benedick and Beatrice, in the chapel, share vows that contrast with those from the just-disrupted wedding (85). Justifying Branagh’s performance in this scene, Crowl noted that normally in Shakespeare’s comedies a couple comes together in love but that here the mutual vow is one of revenge. He quoted other critics who also admire the chapel scene (87); suggested that this film, in presenting the relationship between Beatrice and Benedick, may be alluding, in part, to the tradition of Hollywood “screwball comedies” (such as ones involving Hepburn and Cary Grant [87]); and noted the film’s debt to various other Hollywood traditions (88–90) and Branagh’s familiarity with—and use of—those traditions (90). Crowl discussed the big closing extravaganza and the theatrical nature of this film (91–92); praised this production as perhaps Branagh’s best venture into cinematic Shakespeare; noted its reliance on his favorite actors (92); but cited Courtney Lehmann’s criticism of the film, especially the final exclusion of Don Pedro (played by Denzel Washington) from the closing dance, although Crowl justified this choice and reported that Washington himself apparently suggested it. Crowl reported that the film was popular at the box office but was nominated for few awards (93).

In her 2006 Selling Shakespeare to Hollywood (76–82), Emma French mainly discussed various marketing strategies, while in his 2007 book Filming Shakespeare in the Global Marketplace (30–41), Mark Thornton Burnett compared and contrasted Branagh’s movie with Michael Hoffman’s later film of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and saw Branagh as influencing Hoffman, especially in his treatment of history. Discussing Branagh’s production, Burnett commented on its Italian location, carnival atmosphere, (30), and demythologizing of Shakespeare’s play (33) as well as its deemphasis on British actors and traditions and its allusions to previous films and theatrical conventions (33–34). According to Burnett, “to achieve a culturally denuded Shakespeare is the ambition of both films, even if ideological accretions of Englishness, and American economic realities, complicate that transformative project” (35). He found an emphasis on books in both films, discussed debates about “auteurship” and gender (36–38), and argued that in both movies “the articulation of authentic identity for women is invariably compromised” (38). He offered a detailed discussion of Branagh’s opening focus on Beatrice (29–41); saw a closing emphasis on male authority (43); and said that Hoffman’s film “distorts Much Ado About Nothing while simultaneously replicating it, demonstrating Hoffman’s ambivalent relation to Branagh—[a] mixture of antagonism and homage” (45).

Commenting on Branagh’s film in 2007 in his book Studying Shakespeare on Film (114–21, 243–47), Maurice Hindle discussed its use of “overhead shots, cross-cutting, medium-close reaction shots, shot/reverse shots, dissolves, subjective viewpoints, long-shots, eyeline matches, two-shots, and use of Steadicam.” He offered a thorough exploration of the film as a film; provided a detailed chart showing its structure, “emotional registers” (light, dark, neutral), use of “screen time,” plot summary, and screenplay pages for all its episodes (245–47). Meanwhile, in his 2008 Shakespeare and Film: A Norton Guide (135–36, 176–77, 190–92), Samuel Crowl, noting that Keaton’s performance was frequently criticized and that scenes involving him were often moved around (135) and transformed (146), praised the movie’s energy (176–77); discussed details of the final elaborate shot; called that shot an example of “comic populism”; suggested it was designed especially to appeal to teenagers (177); and commented on the use of cutting, music, zooming, and the use of other camera techniques in the failed wedding episode and its immediate aftermath (190–92).

In her 2011 overview of the play (139–44), Alison Findlay said the film deliberately softens its portrayal of Claudio and plays up the youthful romanticism between him and Hero (140); wrote that “Emma Thompson’s Beatrice … occupies a central position” in the work; is “[c]onstantly associated with fruit”; and is “a conduit for the film’s emotional energy,” including “the pleasures and sufferings of characters and spectators” (142). Findlay said the movie is “female-centred”; that it may have been designed to appeal to young women; that it shows a male being reformed and implies “sexual equality”; but that it nonetheless “promotes a dominantly heterosexual guide to Shakespearean romance” (142). According to Findlay, “Although the camera loves [Denzel] Washington, he is doubly ‘othered’ in the film by [his] black skin and the character’s position as head of a military unit that fosters exclusively male bonding,” and she also thought that the film’s treatment of “gender politics and homophobia has the unfortunate additional effect of excluding this black man from its white wedding dance” (143).

Assessing Branagh’s film briefly in his 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare (47–50), Peter Cochran described and somewhat mocked the opening scene (47–48); thought there was generally too much forced laughing; speculated that Don Pedro might be attracted to Beatrice; found it odd that Branagh does not speak to the camera when he soliloquizes; considered the gulling of Benedick overdone and therefore unconvincing; and saw the happy music as unnecessary. He called Michael Keaton’s performance the worst he had ever seen on film; considered Keaton totally clueless (49); noted various cuttings, perhaps for reasons of political correctness; thought the sex scene with Margaret laughable but the failed wedding well done; disliked the overdone happy music; and found the closing shot excessive (50).

In his 2016 book reevaluating a hundred years of Shakespeare films (141–46), Peter E. S. Babiak suggested that Branagh’s adaptation was “intended for the summer movie-going portion of the mass audience” (141); noted that, like Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet it cast relative unknowns as the young lovers and emphasized dancing; thought the opening shot variously resembles the opening shot of Zeffirelli’s Taming of the Shrew (142–43); and reported that Branagh’s film, like others from 1993, deals with “women’s issues” (143). Babiak argued that although “the deception of Benedick is overplayed to hilarious comic effect … beneath [that] effect there is an issue of Benedict’s naivety—surely the overstated voices these men are using in a private conversation should indicate the possibility of falsehood to a listener.” Babiak thought that “Benedick’s weak attempts at flirtation with Beatrice, and his outrageous preening of himself in front of the mirror, also indicate an element of narcissism in his character. Although these scenes are played to comic effect, they do indicate a subtext in Branagh’s film that is critical toward the notion of masculinity” (144). He considered Leonato’s anger toward Hero even less justifiable than Claudio’s; said these men express “their latent violence”; asserted that Benedick does nothing to calm them but later does physically restrain Beatrice from pursuing vengeance; but suggested that afterwards Beatrice was now “firmly in control” of her relationship with Benedick (146) and that, at the end, Beatrice has won Benedick over to her point of view, as in Zeffirelli’s Taming of the Shrew (146).

In her 2017 book titled Devouring Time (283ff), Philippa Sheppard discussed the film’s emphasis on music, especially the song “Sigh no more” (286); stated that the “theme of female chastity emerges obsessively in the proliferation of cuckold jokes in the play”; but noted that, of “at least eleven cuckold jests” Shakespeare included, “Branagh omitted eight,” thereby “decreas[ing] the atmosphere of paranoia in Messina” and thus “centering male insecurity in the figure of Claudio, and to some extent exonerating the other men. In Shakespeare’s play,” by contrast, according to Sheppard, “all the men seem anxious about the prospect of their future wives’ infidelity, particularly Benedick” (289). She thought, in fact, that Branagh, by making the cuts just noted and also by emphasizing the song mocking male unfaithfulness, “evens out the balance between female disquiet over male infidelity and male anxiety over female waywardness in a way that exposes modern attitudes to the subject,” perhaps because Branagh did not want to offend his modern women viewers (by repeating the play’s many joking suspicions about feminine infidelity [290]), although Sheppard also suggested that the film’s emphasis on “Sigh no more” might imply that Branagh himself shared such suspicions (291).

Discussing the Branagh production in her 2019 book Screening Gender in Shakespeare’s Comedies (129–31), Magdalena Cieslak often compared the film to the play and also drew on comments from many other critics. She wrote that the casting of Branagh and Thompson was designed “to evoke the Romantic element of their off-screen life”—they were at this point still married—by “providing context, adding depth, and guaranteeing a sense of authenticity to the relationship between the characters they play.” On another matter, Cieslak thought that Branagh “consistently deprives both love subplots of the undertone of economic interests and transactionality” present in the play; “instead he stresses personal emotions, the development of affections, and celebration of true love” (130). Unusually calling Michael Keaton’s performance “superbly entertaining,” Cieslak concluded that Branagh had offered “a blissfully romanticized interpretation of the play” (131).

Discussing the film in her 2017 book Devouring Time (283ff), Philippa Sheppard wrote that in Shakespeare’s play the “theme of female chastity emerges obsessively in the proliferation of cuckold jokes” but noted that Branagh pruned six of the jokes, arguing that their absence “affect[s] our understanding of the play” by “decreas[ing] the atmosphere of paranoia in Messina, cent[e]ring male insecurity in the figure of Claudio, and to some extent exonerating the other men. In Shakespeare’s play,” Sheppard observed, “all the men seem anxious about the prospect of their future wives’ infidelity, particularly Benedick” (289). She suggested that by “removing so many of the cuckold jokes, and stressing the song [‘Sigh no more’], Branagh evens out the balance between female disquiet over male infidelity and male anxiety over female waywardness in a way that exposes modern attitudes to the subject” (290).

2012 Josh Whedon Production

This adaptation, directed by Josh Whedon (who also played many other roles as well in its creation), starred Amy Acker as Beatrice; Alexis Denisof as Benedick; Reed Diamond as Don Pedro; Nathan Fillion as Dogberry; Clark Gregg as Leonato; Fran Kranz as Claudio; Sean Maher as Don John; and Jillian Morgese as Hero.

Eileen Sperry, in an essay from 2017 titled “Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing and the Voyeuristic Audience,” wrote that “Whedon’s production is engaging one of the play’s core thematic concerns. Shakespeare’s text constantly questions the trustworthiness of the ‘spontaneous’ image: Beatrice and Benedick, for example, believe themselves to be witnesses to spontaneity when eavesdropping on friends, only later to realize that those acquaintances staged both scenes for their benefit. Later,” Sperry continued, “Claudio and Don Pedro find themselves staring up at Hero’s window, thinking that they have discovered a secret indiscretion when in reality they are witnesses to a planned deception. In both of these instances, characters believe themselves to be engaging in the practice of voyeurism while they are actually audience members, consumers of a performed spectacle” (15). Sperry thought that “[Whedon’s film] makes the voyeuristic approach so overtly present that the viewers cannot help but to question it; with the characters’ failed voyeurism enacted so explicitly on screen, any push in this direction becomes immediately suspect. And, likewise, each time the viewers find themselves certain of their identities as audience members, cognizant of standing outside the world of the film and confident in recognizing its theatricality, Whedon returns to the motifs of voyeurism” (32); Magdalena Cieslak, in her 2019 book Screening Gender in Shakespeare’s Comedies (131–54), offered a lengthy discussion of Whedon’s film, noting that it “starts with what appears to be a one-night stand between Benedict and Beatrice”—an opening that colors the whole film by making “[w]hatever happens later” seem personal and sexual rather than something larger, more general, and more complex (132). Cieslak thought this opening also “diminish[ed] the value of Benedict in comparison with Claudio” by suggesting that both betray vulnerable women and by “highlight[ing] the personal and emotional aspect of the [Beatrice and Benedict] subplot,” by deemphasizing a “more political reading of it” (133). According to Cieslak, the “film’s opening also reduces the complexity of Beatrice’s character. She becomes defined solely by that past event, and all her emotions are seen as a result of … lost hopes and broken trust,” whereas the “play’s Beatrice is far more ambiguous and interesting” (135). Asserting that “Whedon’s film explores erotic tension also within Don John’s team,” partly because “Conrade is played by a woman, and her sexual relationship with Don John works as a kind of incentive for Borachio” (136). Cieslak summed up many of her claims by suggesting that “Benedick is shown as cowardly, Claudio as naive and rash, and Borachio [as] an unscrupulous villain. Beatrice, Hero, and Margaret, however, in their vulnerability, are relegated to a stereotypical position of victims in intimate relationships” (137). Cieslak discussed how “the play treats Hero’s possible virginity” (138–39); suggested that “by keeping Hero and Claudio in the background, Whedon shows how their lives are organized by [the] patriarchal figures … Leonato and Don Pedro,” whose characters and motives are ambiguous (142); discussed Leonato’s strange response to Hero’s alleged falsehood (146); said the film implies a somewhat simplistic happy ending (147); alleged that it “does not make its politics transparent” (148); suggested that it might critique the “gender assumptions” of Shakespeare’s play; said it can seem to present what is almost a dream or fairy tale (149). Remarking that “[m]arriage in the film is eventually idealized and presented as the desired happy ending for women as well as men,” Cieslak argued that Benedick’s attitude toward Beatrice is mysterious; that Beatrice seems diminished because of the added opening sexual scene; that her attitudes seem more personal than general (150); that the film is generally faithful to the play (151); but that the film is constrained by the need to provide a happy ending (152).

Bibliography