1936 George Cukor Production

Directed by George Cukor, this production starred Norma Shearer as Juliet; Leslie Howard as Romeo; John Barrymore as Mercutio; Edna May Oliver as the Nurse; Basil Rathbone as Tybalt; C. Aubrey Smith as Lord Capulet; Conway Tearle as Escalus, Prince of Verona; Ralph Forbes as Paris; and Henry Kolker as Friar Laurence.

Discussing this adaptation in his 1971 book Shakespeare and the Film, Roger Manvell mentioned the film’s budget, its middle-aged stars, its elaborate sets (28), the excellent delivery of their lines by Shearer and Howard, and Shearer’s “intelligence and feeling” for the part, despite her age (30).

In an article from 1973 titled “Hollywood and Some Versions of Romeo and Juliet: Toward a ‘Substantial Pageant,’” Kenneth Rothwell described Cukor’s adaptation as “a first-rate example of the kind of archaeological production that dominated the theatrical imagination of the nineteenth century. To do Shakespeare himself it was necessary to prettify, to idolize, to sermonize, to elevate and inflate every action into heroic size. Only a Leslie Howard, it was thought, could provide the proper cultural nuance for such a role, and only a Norma Shearer could bring the right measure of post-girlish decorum to the part.” Rothwell suggested that it “was as though the director thought that Romeo was too important a role for a boy, and Juliet too much for a girl,” adding, “Hardly a word was cut and the performances of John Barrymore and Reginald Denny and Edna May Oliver still hold up, for just as the principals in Romeo and Juliet have traditionally failed so the minor actors have usually succeeded” (347). Meanwhile, Jack Jorgens mentioned this production only in passing in his pioneering book from 1977 titled Shakespeare on Film.

In a book published in 1996 titled Shakespeare in Production: Whose History?, Herbert Coursen mainly offered a historical discussion of the production in its time, including its reception, design, advertising, etc. Noting that because of Shearer’s age, references to Juliet’s youth were deleted from the script (40), he reported that nevertheless both the film and Shearer were nominated for academy awards (43). Coursen considered the acting “often good”; wrote that “Romeo is full of witty responses”; and interestingly commented that the “ensemble acting is often very strong. The film is particularly effective,” he said, “in mirroring the Nurse-Juliet sequences with the Friar-Romeo scenes, neatly depicting the age vs. youth concerns of the script, and contrasting both sets of characters, particularly Henry Kolker’s sober Friar with Edna Oliver’s shallow gossip of a Nurse.” He regretted that Shearer tried to act like a teenager; appreciated that Howard did not do the same (47); and ultimately credited the film with being “an early and valid effort to translate a Shakespeare script into a modern cinematic format” (50).

In his 1999 overview of a century of Shakespeare films, Kenneth Rothwell wrote that the producer (Irving Thalberg) and director (George Cukor) of this film “revered Shakespeare so much that they suffocated his play” (39), adding that a “veritable wax works of British upper-class snobbery filled the screen, although Shearer (an American) was recruited to play Juliet partly because she was Thalberg’s wife” (39) and partly because older women had often played the role. Rothwell thought that the “dialectical structure of Romeo and Juliet with its deeply embedded antitheses between light and dark, womb and tomb, youth and age, love and death lent itself admirably to the cinematic style of George Cukor and the classical Hollywood film,” with Cukor using “parallel editing and montage that reflect the alternate surges of subversion and containment wrenching Verona apart,” so that “geometrical symmetries of parallel shots correlate with a Verona ruled by reason, and the montage and random cuts become metaphors for overwhelming passion” (40). According to Rothwell, the “movie works symbiotically with Shakespeare’s text by taking its cues and camera angles from the thematic implications and rhythms of the play itself,” with, for instance, symbolically different houses for the two main families (41). “This,” Rothwell wrote, is “highly skilled, technically proficient movie making whose shifting camera angles, splicing and dubbing of bits and pieces of action and sound create a photographic mosaic that mimics actuality” (42). Ultimately, however, Rothwell felt that the film ran out of steam, became tediously slow, and misfired in its occasional attempts to be funny (42) with well-spoken but passionless speeches resulting in a “reverential but not warm and vibrant Romeo and Juliet, received respectfully but not lovingly by the critics, and ultimately too wrapped up in a high mimetic bardolatry for either Shakespeare’s or Hollywood’s own good” (44).

In his book from 2000 titled Shakespeare in the Movies, Douglas Brode regretted the producers’ excessive awe of Shakespeare but did think that the film is better at storytelling and more original than has often been assumed (45). He noted its “emphasis on spectacle” (especially in the ball episode); its independent take on Mercutio (presented as a troublemaking ladies’ man) and Tybalt (depicted as a stuffed shirt [47]); and the unfortunate artiness that contributed to its box-office failure (48).

Daniel Rosenthal, in his lavishly illustrated book from 2000 titled Shakespeare on Screen, admired the effort behind this production more than the production itself, mentioning the age of the two leads as a “fatal flaw” and also regretting their unemotional delivery (122) despite some “real pain” when Juliet disobeys her father and “silently renounces the Nurse”—“scenes which helped earn her a Best Actress Oscar nomination.” Rosenthal called Rathbone “one-dimensional” and Barrymore “hammy,” concluding that “[b]y the time the lovers have died prettily, the energy of the opening scene (a massed swordfight broken up by the prince’s cavalry charge) seems a distant memory” (123).

In another book from 2000—Shakespeare in Hollywood, 1929–1956—Robert F. Willson saw in this movie a “conflict between style and substance” and disliked not only its “self-congratulatory conventionality” (59) but also its “mature actors in youthful parts,” its “monumental, lavish, and imposing sets,” and “Thalberg’s excessive reverence for Shakespeare.” He reported that “[c]ritics tended instead to praise the studio for its attempt to bring a classic of this magnitude to the screen: like many moguls, they too wanted to see the movies become a respectable, artistic medium” (64).

Discussing this film in his 2002 book Shakespeare in the Cinema, Stephen Buhler noted the film’s splendid design, Shearer’s genuine talents as an actress (61), her unfortunate efforts here to seem younger than she was, the way she becomes to object Romeo’s gaze at the ball (62), and the almost voyeuristic aspects of the balcony scene (64).

In his book from 2004 titled Cinematic Shakespeare, Michael A. Anderegg disliked the opening episode (“a ponderous mob scene”); condemned its focus on “spectacle for its own sake” (60); praised Howard in some respects but considered him too tame to play the passionate Romeo; quoted Howard himself as saying he found the role “essentially unrewarding”; and termed Shearer, early in the film, “close to insufferable.” He wrote that when “she forgets to simper and pose, she can be affecting”; praised her speaking of the lines; said she improved as the film developed; but found Barrymore much too old to play Mercutio. Mainly he disliked this movie’s sentimentality and lack of countervailing irony (61).

Russell Jackson, writing in a book from 2007 titled Shakespeare Films in the Making (128–61), noted this film’s emphasis on its Italian setting; its status as a prestige production, especially in its elaborate sets (132); its stress on local color; its use of classical music; and, in general, its “impressive, elaborate historical detail and effectively romantic musical scoring” (136). He wrote that the lighting “created a soft gray-white glossy look,” with “little gloom” (136); mentioned the elaborate costumes; and said that the “overall effect is to idealise the Renaissance” (137). Noting the stress on dancing at the ball—a “feast … on a grand scale” (138)—he offered a detailed discussion of the festivities, commented that this Rome and Juliet were played by “stars”; and mentioned music from Tchaikovsky’s “Fantasy Overture.” Jackson praised the restraint exhibited by both leads; said there was no overacting; discussed the film’s promotion and reception; and reported that the “critical response was overwhelmingly respectful, with some reservations” (156). Surveying various reviews (157), he said that “[o]n both sides of the Atlantic, the reception of the two principals was respectful but muted” (158).

Commenting in the Cukor film in her 2010 book on Romeo and Juliet, Courtney Lehmann called it “a geriatric adaptation,” saying that “despite the garish sets, gorgeous costumes, and Tchaikovskian musical accompaniment, nothing could turn back time for these would-be youngsters” (88). Noting that roughly half of the play’s words were retained (“possibly the most of any adaptation of Romeo and Juliet”), she reported that several “interpolated scenes” were added (88) and that some “[l]ater directors showed their familiarity with this version through their echoes of it” (88–89).

Edward Rocklin, in brief comments about the film in his book on the play from 2010, discussed its genesis, history, budget, and casting; mentioned it “vivid scenes” (116); and called it a pre-baby-boom film, before teenagers became a major segment of the audience for movies (117).

In his 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare, Peter Cochran mocked this production’s “stunning vulgarity,” including its sets and costumes (165). Calling the whole effort kitschy and “offensive” but admiring the black-and-white photography while finding the two lead actors too old (166), he derided Shearer’s performance in particular and found Howard insufficiently masculine (167).

In a book from 2016 titled Shakespeare Films, Peter E. S. Babiak wrote that the Cukor production combined “cinematic and theatrical conventions” (50); mentioned other movies in which the stars of this one had already performed (50); found the two leads here too old for their roles (50); said that the film juxtaposed “pastoral images” with Verona (51); suggested that this Mercutio was associated with urban energy (51); and felt that this Juliet instigates the relationship with this Romeo (51).

In an essay from 2017 titled “Romeo and Juliet on Film,” Christopher Baker wrote that “Howard and Shearer carry a ‘star quality’ into their roles. Most, though not all, of Romeo’s lines are delivered with an expressive authority stemming from Howard’s stage experience. As Juliet warms to her new love, Shearer is often shot in extreme close-ups, gazing wistfully into the middle distance, her hair constantly backlit. Her light-colored, rhine-stoned dancing gown and gauzy balcony peignoir are cleverly lit so as to virtually glow from within.” However, he found her hand movements distracting but reported that in “the latter half of the film, her costumes become darker to match her tragic fate; her soliloquy at the end of act four, scene three, in an extreme close-up of her terrified face, is a passionate meditation on the memento mori theme.” According to Baker, “Other cast members have a Dickensian individuality but remain largely one-dimensional. Basil Rathbone (Tybalt) bears a supercilious grudge against practically everyone, while Edna Mae Oliver as the zanily squinting, cackling Nurse anticipates Margaret Hamilton’s Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz three years later.” He thought that, “As Mercutio, John Barrymore is a belching, low-comic raconteur whom the other characters seem to endure as much as enjoy. But his Queen Mab speech bubbles with energy” (132).

Eric Sterling, in an essay from 2017 titled “Comparisons and Contrasts: Some Filmed Versions of the ‘Balcony Scene’ in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet,” wrote that “[w]hen we first see Juliet, who looks middle-aged, she is wearing a billowing, finely crafted diaphanous gown as she leans with both hands propped against an ornately carved post. Thick, white classical columns, with elaborately carved tops, can be seen behind her. She speaks her famous opening line slowly, sadly, and romantically as she stares off into the distance.” According to Sterling, “The camera now quickly cuts below to Howard, costumed in a richly decorated, tight-fitting Renaissance-era outfit as he stands within a ‘V’ created by the trunk of a mature tree and one of its thick lower limbs. He stares up at Shearer yearningly, his mouth slightly open and his expression excited, but he remains silent.” Sterling noted that in “this one brief moment, then, we see many of the aspects that typified Cukor’s entire production: authentic period costuming, rich sets, realistic staging, and acting that seems (at least by contemporary standards) a bit artificial and melodramatic” (81–82).

Álvaro Albarrán Gutiérrez, in an essay from 2024 titled “Ut Pictura Kynesis: Pictorial Art in Romeo and Juliet Film Adaptations,” discussed the ways different films of the play drew on works of visual art to determine their own visual styles. He argued that the fact that “Juliet should be coded as a fifteenth-century Virgin in Cukor’s and Castellani’s productions is a revealing choice—one that suggests both directors’ endeavors to use pictorial art to translate Shakespeare’s Neoplatonic idiom into cinematic language, employing religious iconography” (263).

In an essay from 2023 titled “The Anguish of Youth in Film Adaptations of Romeo and Juliet,” Delilah Bermudez Brataas noted Shakespeare’s own emphasis on youth in this play (48); discussed the deemphasis on youth in the Cukor film (49); and commented in detail on the literal focus on younger actors by Zeffirelli and Luhrmann (50–51ff).

1954 Renato Castellani Production

Directed by Renato Castellani, this adaptation starred Laurence Harvey as Romeo; Susan Shentall as Juliet; Flora Robson as Nurse; Norman Wooland as Paris; Mervyn Johns as Friar Laurence; Bill Travers as Benvolio; Sebastian Cabot as Lord Capulet; Lydia Sherwood as Lady Capulet; Ubaldo Zollo as Mercutio; and Enzo Fiermonte as Tybalt.

In an article from 1955 titled “Castellani’s Romeo and Juliet: Intention and Response,” Paul A. Jorgensen, who enjoyed the film, wrote that “it is sad to step from the sparsely filled theater into the fully populated American city streets. For almost three hours, one had come to accept as normal a quietly passionate ancient world in which every physical shape, texture, and color was incredibly beautiful; in which all faces were worthy of long and anxious scrutiny; in which there were few words, but these the quintessence of Shakespeare’s poetry; and in which two young people, who seemed to belong more to the story than to stage or screen, fled through brief sequences of Shakespeare’s play.” According to Jorgensen, “So immersed in Castellani’s wonderfully hybrid world, one carries out into the heedless street throngs some of the proselytizing fervor that the Italian himself had brought to the venture. Critics who carried no absorbing emotion, none of the intended pity, from the experience are surely fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils”—an allusion to Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice (10).

Alice Griffin, discussing the Castellani movie in 1956, wrote that “Renato Castellani’s film Romeo and Juliet bears little resemblance to Shakespeare; he could have used Bandello [one of Shakespeare’s Italian sources] as well for his particular purpose, which seems to have been a scenically splendid film about two young lovers not too different from the usual Hollywood pair. The outdoor scenes of Italy are very beautiful, and the indoor ones are visually gorgeous, being patterned after Renaissance paintings, with actors and properties arranged for balance and the artistic unity of the whole frame. But Shakespeare’s contributions to the original plot,” Griffin continued, “are absent here. The speeches are limited to about the first two lines of each, and there are quite a few additional lines supplied by Mr. Castellani” (239).

In 1958, in an essay titled “Shakespeare and the Movies,” Margaret Farrand Thorp advised that no one “should be permitted to see [this] film except Shakespearian scholars of long experience. They will find it enlightening, like reading Shakespeare in juxtaposition with Holinshed [a source for Shakespeare’s histories], but a young person with no notion of the play upon the stage will come from the movie with a dangerously distorted impression of the loveliest of tragedies.” Thorp did admit that even a Shakespeare film quite different from its source play could in fact motivate “thousands of high school boys and girls to their public libraries,” but she nonetheless “warn[ed] anyone who really cares for Romeo and Juliet away from the Castellani film” (359).

Mentioned only in passing in the pioneering books by Roger Manvell (1971) and Jack Jorgens (1977), the Castellani effort was substantially discussed by Kenneth Rothwell in a 1973 essay titled “Hollywood and Some Versions of Romeo and Juliet: Toward a ‘Substantial Pageant,’” where he wrote that “Castellani’s compulsion to reproduce the Italian painters on the screen extended even to the point of casting Susan Shentall as Juliet, not so much because she could act the part as that she resembled a young lady in a fifteenth-century portrait. Even so. despite this handicap,” Rothwell continued, “she brought a great deal more to the role of Juliet than did her leading man, Laurence Harvey, to Romeo.” Rothwell felt that “even Leslie Howard [from Cukor’s film] managed to look more virile in the duel scene with Tybalt. It takes, in the parlance of today’s youth culture, a considerable ‘hunk’ to fill out the flounces and puffs of a cinquecento costume. For a man to recite poetry and get away with it before an audience, he needs the dimensions of a heavy-weight fighter.” But Rothwell did say that in addition to “the visual splendor of the Castellani version,” it also “manages some distinct triumphs. There are cameo moments when bits and pieces of the Shakespeare text come alive in a memorable way” (347–48).

Castellani’s film was discussed at some length by Douglas Brode in his book from 2000 titled Shakespeare in the Movies. He noted that it “was hailed as the first to feature actors who approximated the characters’ ages” and was also “acclaimed [for] the breathtaking color photography” and for “stunningly capturing Italian locales” (49). Brode noted that Castellani “liberally added material”; that the film was praised in Italy but despised in England (50); and offered his own view that as “cinema, it’s terrific, as an adaptation of a great play, it’s terrible.” He faulted the acting, especially by Shentall, and found Harvey too subdued (51).

Daniel Rosenthal, in his 2000 book Shakespeare on Screen, praised this film’s cinematography; called Harvey’s performance self-involved and understated and his verse-speaking flawed; considered the love story “flat” and the Nurse, Friar, and Mercutio underemphasized; and regretted that some much of the dialog was cut and so much of the behavior seemed “confusingly unmotivated.” According to Rosenthal, “Castellani’s cuts allow him more time for pretty images rather than urgent action, so the film drags. In the interior scenes, figures appear in neat, static poses with the edge of the screen acting like a picture frame; the costumes and production design were heavily influenced by Renaissance artists like Raphael and Bellini. If he was attempting to match the beauty of Shakespeare’s poetry with his screen imagery,” Rosenthal concluded, “Castellani succeeds only in providing rich material for art historians, and leaves most viewers starved of involvement” (124).

Michael Anderegg, in his book from 2004 titled Cinematic Shakespeare, disliked the “clumsily dubbed dialogue and the disregard for the meaning of words (sometimes almost creating moments of sheer nonsense” [63]); but did praise the “visually poetic physical world” with its “different levels of reality” and its allusions to particular “Renaissance paintings” (63), so that “Castellani’s Renaissance is a quiet, pre-Raphaelite world of peaceful cloisters and subdued interiors” (64). Interestingly, Anderegg called Shentall “without a doubt the most effective and affecting of screen Juliets, not only in appearance but in her speech” (65), although he did call Harvey “badly miscast,” faulting his “dry manner” and his “too calculated and intellectual” delivery, which made his Romeo “too lacking in variety and nuance to be truly sympathetic” (66).

Russell Jackson, writing about the Castellani production in his 2007 book Shakespeare Films in the Making (161–91), noted that these lovers were at least relatively young (17 and 26); that “most of the settings were genuinely Italian” (161); and that Castellani was a “(partly) neo-realist director” (163). He commented on the preparation of the script; reported that the film was set in the fifteenth (rather than the fourteenth) century; and said that Castellani preferred actors who looked right and moved appropriately and whose lines could be dubbed if necessary. Jackson offered detailed discussions of particular scenes; observed the film’s realism and its symbolic use of religious imagery; and observed its emphasis on characters’ everyday lives in a recognizable community. He wrote that the film offered a “radically simplified version of the play’s conclusion”; described promotion of the movie in Britain; and, quoting from numerous reviews, said that although most British commentators were unenthusiastic, the film was better received in the United States (177). He criticized Harvey’s subdued, “stagy speech” (saying the dubbed voice used in Italy was better); thought that only after Tybalt’s death “does Romeo become credibly adolescent in physical energy” (179); and found this film’s Juliet a bit more complex and appealing (181). Jackson did, however, admire the realistic scene involving Romeo arriving at Juliet’s tomb (184).

In her 2010 book on films of the play, Courtney Lehmann called this version an example of “[s]oft neorealism,” saying it “employs a palette of exquisitely muted colors”; noted its focus on the two leads; and asserted that “Mercutio and Friar Laurence—not to mention the Nurse—are virtually non-existent” here (89). “Unfortunately,” she claimed, “the hideously-dubbed soundtrack unwittingly makes the film resemble a Renaissance period version of a classic kung fu parody” (90).

Assessing this film in his 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare, Peter Cochran called it exceptionally flawed because of its cuts, its additions, as well as its edits, sound, camera work, lighting, acting, and direction (167).

In an essay from 2017 titled “Romeo and Juliet on Film,” Christopher Baker wrote that this film’s “strong evocation of Italian culture would later influence Zeffirelli, but Castellani’s decision to replace much of Shakespeare’s text with vivid images of buildings and costumes (shot in the heavily-saturated hues of Technicolor, especially a deep, Titian red for the Capulet’s ball) means that the film’s visual text challenges its poetic text in importance.” He reported that in “the balcony scene, Castellani (who had studied architecture) frames Juliet within huge Moorish arches suggesting Capulet power and makes liberal use of contemporary paintings to fashion his shots, combining the stylistic features of Vermeer, Filippo Lippi, Pisanello, and Lorenzo Monaco.” Baker commented that “Shentall—whom Castellini chose for her lustrous skin and blonde hair—often seems to be posing within a frame rather than acting; … she is even filmed from the back so that her intricate, golden braids take our attention instead of her face” (133–34).

Eric Sterling, in an essay from 2017 titled “Comparisons and Contrasts: Some Filmed Versions of the ‘Balcony Scene’ in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet,” wrote that in this film, “Romeo, hidden in shadows, is barely visible. Harvey wears a flowing cape and, before Juliet’s entry, briskly walks up a flight of stone stairs towards her balcony. He is thus standing only a few feet to her right when she begins to speak. In many other productions,” Sterling explained, “Romeo stands far below the balcony, but Castellani places the lovers almost at the same level. When Shentall does appear, she speaks a few words before we actually see her, from behind, leaning against a stone pillar. Her blonde hair (most filmed Juliets have been brunettes) is pulled back into a tight braided bun.” Sterling continued: “She wears authentic period costuming, including a flowing and loose white gown. Shentall languishes as she leans on the pillar positioned behind the actual balcony itself. She speaks with emotion but without the excessive passion of a teenager. She does, however, cover her eyes and cries just after she speaks her famous line. She appears,” according to Sterling, “determined to be with Romeo and resolute in her affection, yet except for her weeping, she controls her passion, and when she removes her hands from her face she glances repeatedly toward the dark sky” (82–83).

Álvaro Albarrán Gutiérrez, in his 2024 essay “Ut Pictura Kynesis: Pictorial Art in Romeo and Juliet Film Adaptations,” argued that the fact that “Juliet should be coded as a fifteenth-century Virgin in Cukor’s and Castellani’s productions is a revealing choice—one that suggests both directors’ endeavors to use pictorial art to translate Shakespeare’s Neoplatonic idiom into cinematic language, employing religious iconography” (263).

1968 Franco Zeffirelli Production

Directed by Franco Zeffirelli, this adaptation starred Leonard Whiting as Romeo; Olivia Hussey as Juliet; John McEnery as Mercutio; Milo O’Shea as Friar Laurence; Pat Heywood as the Nurse; Michael York as Tybalt; and Bruce Robinson as Benvolio.

Roger Manvell, in his 1971 book Shakespeare and the Film, wrote that in this production “everything is done to beautify the appearance and enliven the action at the expense of Shakespeare’s dramatic poetry,” partly because of inexperienced actors, an emphasis on action, and naturalistic acting, although he did praise a fine performance by Pat Heywood as the Nurse. He also admired the “pace and fluidity” of the action, but his assessment of the film was over almost before it started (99).

In any essay from 1973 titled “Hollywood and Some Versions of Romeo and Juliet: Toward a ‘Substantial Pageant,’” Kenneth Rothwell wrote that “Zeffirelli s version manages to perpetuate the Cukor-Antonelli desire for the High Renaissance set against an Italian backdrop of authentic settings. At the same time, his use of decisive theme music (melos) to support the theme (dianoia) of youthful, rebellious love, adds a new dimension. The result, while extravagant, nevertheless,” Rothwell thought, “brings about a plausibility, an energy, lacking in previous cinematic treatments. Put it this way. Hussey and Whiting, while very young and inexperienced, have nevertheless been coached to within an inch of their lives to read selected passages with cogency and fidelity. Film production,” he continued, “allows opportunity for infinite pains in rehearsal and retake which can cover blemishes that would reduce a stage performance to shambles. Film, properly used, allows modern directors an opportunity to use very young actors successfully in the roles of Romeo and Juliet. They do not need the ability to sustain a lengthy part; only the talent to reenact bits and fragments, one at a time. The audience,” therefore, “spared the details of their rehearsal, sees only a finished product. It is, of course, for an actor a lesser achievement, but the end result may appear superficially more attractive to hypnotized audiences in the dark womb of the movie theatre. Add to that the seductiveness of the memorable theme music, and the results are indeed mesmerizing” (350).

Discussing the film in his 1977 book Shakespeare on Film, Jack Jorgens, noting its source in a stage production, mentioned its financial success, its settings and costumes, its appealing lighting and painterly feel before calling it “spectacular, extravagant, full of nervous motion, energy, camera movement, [and] rapid cutting.” (80). He was less impressed with the verse-reading, which was intentionally intimate and conversational (84–85); observed the important change of look and tone after the death of Mercutio; noted how three appearances by the prince help structure the work; but ultimately considered the film less accomplished than the play, saying, “It is not merely that the hero and heroine do not ripen in understanding. It is that their deaths are conceived too simply. The sorrow, the sense of loss, the sexual overtones of death are present at the end, but the insight and defiant anger are missing” (91).

Jay Halio, in an essay from 1977 titled “Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet: The Camera versus the Text,” argued that the film, “[h]owever excellent, … is nonetheless an interpretation which needs to be recognized and weighed. I refer to the final significance of the play—the sacrifice of the young lovers to the necessity for healing up the costly and increasingly dangerous feud between the two families.” Halio felt that this “point is consistently played down by Zeffirelli from the start. Although line 8 of the opening Prologue is preserved, asserting that the couple’s death buries their parents’ strife, the rest of the prologue which amplifies the point is deleted.” Therefore, “Zeffirelli emphasizes instead the real hatred between the families, from the first scene on through the scenes with Tybalt at the ball and in the piazza. So great an enmity is not easily reconciled, not even by the deaths of the two children. Refusing to go for sentiment, Zeffirelli cuts the concluding lines and their optimistic justification.” Halio maintained that “[o]nly in the procession through the arch, as the screen credits begin to roll, do we get the suggestion—and only that—of a possible reconciliation,” so that a “sense of waste, much more than the sense of sacrifice, remains paramount in this rendition of Shakespeare’s tragedy” (324–25).

Discussing the film in a 1977 essay titled “Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet: Words into Picture and Music,” Kenneth Rothwell discussed and defended the play’s use of music and then concluded: “For the cineaste there may be other irritations: excessive use of ‘theatrical’ and operatic effects; bondage to Shakespeare’s text; an obtrusive musical score and set-piece dancing. A musicologist could complain that the score is too ‘sticky sweet’ … for a connoisseur of Renaissance music. But balanced against that view,” Rothwell continued, is the “feeling [of one critic] that Rota’s score is ‘cogent, eloquent, a major contribution to film-music’” (330).

J. L. Styan, in an article from 1977 titled “Sight and Space: The Perception of Shakespeare on Stage and Screen,” suggested that in “Zeffirelli’s idea, it is Mercutio, not Tybalt, who seems to be looking for trouble, and it is Mercutio whose imaginatively expanded details of characterization steal the scene from Tybalt. Nor is Romeo’s presence much felt during the subsequent duel.” Thus, “[w]hen Mercutio whistles with the sword at his throat, has his rapier pinned to the ground, and pretends cowardice by running up a cart in the piazza; when he humiliates Tybalt with some pretty business with a pitchfork and puts him in a temper—in all this Zeffirelli’s focus is wholly on his favorite and we are repeatedly offered Mercutio’s point of view.” According to Styan, “The scene extraordinarily extends the action of the fighting, where such emphasis is barely suggested in the text. Repeatedly the element of realistic spontaneity is introduced (as when Mercutio chances on a pitchfork, or Romeo grabs a weapon at the last minute). The natural street setting is thoroughly exploited for a deadly arena, the pace of the battle pursued for suspense from square to street and back again. Physically,” Styan thought, “it is exhilarating, and spatially it is wholly convincing, although, clearly, the energetic use of the actors in their work area is not always conceived for the sake of the tragedy. Is all of this of sufficient representation of Shakespeare’s careful plan for his own stage: the spaced-out rhythm of the scene, with Romeo’s static moments of isolation and evaluation, principally designed to keep the spotlight on Romeo, not Mercutio, and on the play’s theme? Shakespeare’s scene,” he concluded, “the turning point in the play, is planned to show Romeo in the painful process of becoming a tragic hero” (23–24).

In an essay from 1986 titled “Artifice and Authenticity in Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet,” Michael Pursell wrote that a “combination of apparently absolute visual and aural authenticity” and a “revealing, textually inspired use of detail pervades the film. It is an intense yet clearly controlled naturalism that Zeffirelli offers. That is why the colours of the market produce complement the colours of the characters’ costumes. That,” he continued, is also “why framing is important throughout, particularly since the overall camera style is very fluent, and is thus a persuasive extension of the detailed naturalism within the image.” Later Pursell noted that, “[l]ike all the characters who propel the tragedy directly, Tybalt is introduced in close-ups, in an image that contains a visible tension between the naturalism of the setting and the artifice of the framing, angle, or, in this case, lens.” He thought that Zeffirelli “certainly gives Tybalt added stature and menace by suddenly compressing the space between us and him.” At this point, the “wide-angle lens and hand-held camera of documentary have been replaced by the mounted camera and telephoto lens of conscious fiction. As the visual rhyme implies, Tybalt is about to initiate a resurgence of the violence already begun by Capulet’s retainers. The rhyme points to a structured train of events; a sense of structure emphasized by the film’s symmetries of composition, controlled colour range and, here, the overt contrast of camera styles” (174).

Jill Levenson, in her 1987 overview of performances of the play, commented on the previously unknown lead performers, saying they simply are Romeo and Juliet (105); called the film a montage of brief shots (106); noted the realism and color of the settings (107); and discussed how the movie “adds words, conflates passages, and reallocates lines,” inserting “sprinkled interjections as well as other monosyllables to give the flavour of colloquial expression” (111). She noted how “the screen-writers broke up the blank verse and other poetic lines by altering their rhythms, sound effects, or figurative devices” (113), thereby “enhancing action as well as expressions of feeling” and making the actors sound “more like ordinary people,” even at the expense of long and eloquent speeches (115). Levenson reported that some viewers have been less welcoming of these changes than have others (122).

In 1994, Ace Pilkington, in an article titled “Zeffirelli’s Shakespeare” (165–73), asserted that Zeffirelli prided himself on knowing the play and especially on knowing Renaissance Italy. Pilkington also noted this director’s tendency to prune and rearrange the texts he adapted (165) and even to rewrite original lines or add new ones in pursuit of a larger, popular audience (168). He discussed Zeffirelli’s successful use of real Italian locations and his stress on the real dangers of the family feud (172); praised the convincing beauty of the actors and the film in general; and defended the ways the text was cut (173). Pilkington praised the film both as an interpretation of Shakespeare and as a powerful work of art (173). Meanwhile, discussing “Popularizing Shakespeare: The Artistry of Franco Zeffirelli” in a 1997 article of that title, Robert Hapgood wrote that it “is in Romeo and Juliet that Zeffirelli’s artistry as a popularizer is at its best. In every way the film represents a happy conjunction of play, medium, style, cast, audience, and cultural moment” (92).

Douglas Brode, in his study from 2000 titled Shakespeare in the Movies, wrote that Zeffirelli profited from some relevant criticism of his filmed Taming of the Shrew so that he cut words from the script that duplicated images shown on screen (52). Brode also suggested that Zeffirelli “opted for a unique interpretation of the Tybalt-Mercutio duel, logically deriving from contemporary gangs. Rather than play the scene as Shakespeare intended, where the youths meet with bloody conflict in mind, Zeffirelli chose to show bravado gone bad” (53).

In a book from 2000 titled Interpreting Shakespeare on Screen, Deborah Cartmell reiterated the charge that Zeffirelli “sacrifices the words of the play for visual spectacle”; praised in this film a “striking … use of colour and its careful orchestration of figures”; observed how the movie becomes notably less colorful after Tybalt’s death (43); and suggested that the work implied that “youth is superior to age.” She thought that the lovers “show little development” (45) and considered the film “somewhat overly sentimental.” According to Cartmell, “The ending of Zeffirelli’s film seems to advocate unregulated sexuality based on a Romantic and 1960s belief in the purity and superior wisdom of youth,” so that a fearful “Friar Laurence is made to look far more guilty” for the play’s tragic outcome (54).

Discussing the play in his book from 2000 titled Perspectives on Shakespeare in Performance, J. L. Styan suggested that Zeffirelli’s treatment of the fight between Mercutio and Tybalt makes presents Mercutio as the one “looking for trouble,” so that he seems to “steal the scene from Tybalt, and ultimately from Romeo, whose presence is hardly felt during the subsequent duel” (104). Styan commented that “[f]or all its excitement, Zeffirelli’s realistic detail does not supply a sufficient re-creation of Shakespeare’s meticulous plan for the scene as designed for the Elizabethan stage” (104–5).

Graham Holderness, writing about the Zeffirelli film in his 2002 book Visual Shakespeare (165–71, 177–81), thought Shakespeare’s play, suggesting that passion can be dangerous, does not justify the lovers to the same extent the film does (169). He noted how differently the roles, especially Juliet’s, and even the entire play can be presented by diverse directors (171) but reiterated his argument that Zeffirelli’s film is more “romantic” than Shakespeare’s play (181). Meanwhile, in an essay from 2003 titled “‘What tongue shall smooth thy name?’ Recent Films of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’” Chris Palmer discussed in detail the ways varied kinds of sounds emphasize comedy in the first half of the film and tragedy in the second (64–65).

Writing in his book from 2004 titled Cinematic Shakespeare (66–72), Michael Anderegg faulted the ball in this film for being too long but admired the balcony scene (67) and suggested that in this film “Zeffirelli gives us the young as they wish themselves to be” but remarked that these lovers are less mature than Shakespeare’s; that they are therefore more victims than his are; that Zeffirelli makes Romeo look more girlish (especially at first) than in Shakespeare and therefore less infantile. Complaining about flaws in the dubbed soundtrack (69) and about Zeffirelli’s departures from the text and disinterest in proper verse-reading (70). He considered the film “dated” (71); called it a “watered-down, emaciated, overly sweetened version” of the play; and said that as a film it “has little resonance” and thus highlights by contrast the strengths of Shakespeare’s original work (72).

Maurice Hindle, writing about the film in his 2007 book Studying Shakespeare on Film (170–76), provided background about the original stage production (170–71); said Zeffirelli’s efforts were a colorful contrast with many of the bland dramas on London stages at that time; noted that the positive reaction of the influential critic Kenneth Tynan helped lead to the production’s transfer to film (171). Hindle provided a history of the production and the filming; noted the film’s opening emphasis on light (172); and described all kinds of shots used in the opening fight scene. Reporting that Zeffirelli cut seventy percent of Shakespeare’s lines, Hindle suggested that the film was more concerned with youth than with language; commented on the director’s preference for showing rather than telling (173); noted the film’s phallic sword symbolism; saw foreshadowings of tragedy in the movie’s sunny first half (as when Mercutio pursues Romeo); and saw a naturalistic Italian tendency in the emphasis on the physical appearance of the actors (especially the two leads) rather than on any particular acting skills (174).

Discussing the Zeffirelli film in his 2007 book Shakespeare Films in the Making (191–221), Russell Jackson compared and contrasted Nino Rota’s score for the Zeffirelli film (often to Rota’s disadvantage) with the music used in earlier films of this play (192); said that Zeffirelli, unlike earlier directors, appropriately stressed “the vulnerability and youth” of the two lovers; noted the contrived nature of the crucial letter’s failed delivery (197); and sat the “Capulet gang” as “more elegant and self-assured than the Montagues” (198). Jackson thought that in “Milo O’Shea’s performance Friar Laurence becomes a point of intersection between intimate, warmly expressed feeling and religious consciousness, almost as informal as the Nurse with his young charges” (199). He contrasted the “conventionally decorous” behavior of Lady Capulet with the impolite, “disruptive,” sometimes dangerous, and often uncontrolled conduct of Mercutio (200) and observed that although “this Romeo and Juliet may be more frankly passionate and uninhibited than their film predecessors, … they still have to marry rather than cohabit, and their rebellion against their parents’ wishes is neither emotional nor (so far as either of them is aware) generational. Neither of them,” Jackson continued, “expresses or indicates dislike of their parents and when [Juliet] tries to defy her father [she] shows no signs of sharing a modern audience’s understanding of her situation as a consequence of living in a patriarchy” (208). Later, Jackson commented on such matters as Zeffirelli’s various stagings of Shakespeare; details of the director’s own life; his close work preparing Whiting and Hussey for their roles; and the informality in the relations between many of the film’s actors. He explored the camerawork in the opening fight scene; offered a detailed discussion of Capulet’s feast and of the balcony scene; stressed the violence of the fights; and reported that the “completed film follows the shooting script closely, though there are differences in detail and emphasis” (212). He noted that the movie received mixed reviews in Britain; that the reviews were sometimes condescending; that some reviewers disliked the “appeal to youth” (217); that some objected to the attempt “to combine realism with the stylized language” (218); and that others complained about the acting of Hussey and Whiting (218–21).

Mentioning the Zeffirelli film in passing in his 2008 overview of Shakespeare and Film (12–13, 55–57), Samuel Crowl commented that this was one of the earliest popular Shakespeare movies (12–13); discussed it as a film from the 1960s, saying it was widely viewed and then widely taught (13); praised its strengths and described it as a commercial success (55); and discussed such matters as the score, the alterations to the play, the effective camera work (especially its speed), and its importance to the history of Shakespeare on film (57).

Courtney Lehmann, in her 2010 book on films of Romeo and Juliet, called Zeffirelli’s movie “the first traditional, ‘doublet-and-hose’-style Shakespeare film ever to cross-over into youth culture.” Considering it a typical work of the freedom-loving 1960s, including in its popular musical score (134), she provided much information about its genesis and filming (134ff); noted its “impressive range of hand-held camerawork” in the exceptionally violent opening feud (142); noted Zeffirelli’s emphasis on visual (and often symbolic) details (143); and reported that “John McEnery’s deeply-nuanced portrayal of Mercutio … forever changed the way that this role is interpreted.” She observed that Zeffirelli radically prunes “speeches that allude to the ‘tragic inevitability’ embedded in Shakespeare’s play” (147) and commented again on his heavy use of music (149). Praising the effectiveness of the score, she noted an emphasis on reconciliation in the final scene (165) and then described at length critical responses and disagreements as well as the film’s continuing significance (222–32).

Describing the film in his lively 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare, Peter Cochran called it an “exciting” work with “gorgeous … costumes,” very memorable fights, excellent performances of Mercutio and Tybalt, and much emphasis on dust. Noting the occasional “whip-pan” and finding the film quite believable despite its flawed synching of voices (25), he commented that Zeffirelli, gay himself, understood Mercutio’s frustrated longing for Romeo; said that “[a]ll the male leads are beautiful”; and admired the excellent camera placement in various speeches and scenes. Suggesting that Hussey had a “limited emotional range” and giggled too much in moments of supposed passion (26), he thought that both fight scenes were excellent at displaying character, noting, for instance, that Mercutio thought the second fight was simply a game (27). Cochran considered Tybalt’s death especially powerful; noted the emphasis, in the love scene, on Romeo’s buttocks; found Hussey “less and less convincing in the second half”; said Juliet was deserted by Friar Laurence; and reported a stress on the cold as the film ended. Clearly he admired this production.

In a discussion of Zeffirelli’s adaptation in the 2013 book Welles, Kozintsev, Kurosawa, Zeffirelli (157–69), edited by Mark Thornton Burnett and others, Ramona Wray noted the actors’ conversational speech, the use of handheld cameras, and the use of natural light as well as backlighting from natural sources to increase authenticity (159). She observed the symbolic movement of the camera toward a church in the opening fight scene, and the symbolic appearance of that church on three different occasions (160). The attractive lead actors were often filmed in close-up in “exchanges of glance and gaze” to suggest developing passion (163). Later, the second fight resembles a “high-school brawl” of the sort featured in teen films of the 1950s, with Mercutio as the unexpectedly dead class clown (166) and with the fight itself (and other later scenes) resembling scenes (such as the dance at the ball and Romeo’s arrival at the crypt) from earlier in the movie (166–67). Similarly, the presentation to the Prince of the bodies of Romeo and Juliet echoes the earlier presentation of the bodies of Mercutio and Tybalt, but now the crowd, rather than being divided into factions as earlier, is joined by a common tragedy (168). Wray’s discussion is full of these kinds of insightful comments about the film as a film and as a complex work of art.

Peter E. S. Babiak, in his 2016 survey of a hundred years of Shakespeare films (108–10), thought that Zeffirelli not only “eschews the idealized spectacular sets of Cukor’s film and grounds his [own] film in a realistic depiction of a Renaissance town by shooting the film entirely on location in Italy” (108–9) but also “conspicuously foregrounds the inner dynamics of the Capulet family” in ways not true of the Montagues. According to Babiak, Zeffirelli emphasizes the Nurse’s hypocrisy concerning Juliet’s marriage; implies that Romeo and Juliet enjoy “an incorruptible love in a corrupted world”; suggests that they “form the anima and animus components of a ‘shared soul’” and are “sacrificed to purge the world of corruption”; and presents the Capulet family in particular as “deeply corrupted” (109). He argued that the film juxtaposes “the artificial and the organic”; suggests that the Prince rules over the “artificial world” (109); and associates the two lovers with the organic world, such as the garden where they fall in love even as he emphasizes Friar Laurence’s association with gardening (110).

In an essay from 2017 titled “Romeo and Juliet on Film,” Christopher Baker wrote that Zeffirelli’s movie “can still be regarded as the best traditionally Shakespearean film of the play to date.” According to Baker, “Zeffirelli was fortunate in his two leading actors. Whiting is attractive, agile, and emotive in his role, without falling back on the stiffly theatrical postures of previous Romeos. Hussey is even better, in the first half conveying moods of the romantic young girl as well as the coy mistress with a natural beauty that sidesteps the contrived glamour of a Hollywood matinee idol.” He thought that “Zeffirelli’s inclusion of nakedness … manages to be erotic without being prurient” and asserted that the “most impressive supporting roles belong to Peter McEnery (Mercutio), Pat Heywood (the Nurse) and Milo O’Shea (Friar Laurence). McEnery is engaging as an actor playing an actor without falling into self-parody like [Cukor’s] Barrymore. He has fun with his lines, even when speaking them while neck-deep in a fountain.” But Baker added that “[h]is role is complicated with a darker, more introspective side,” while “Heywood believably steers a middle course between Edna Mae Oliver’s caricature and Flora Robson’s amiable compatriot [in the Cukor and Castellani films, respectively]. With a genuine affection for Juliet, she almost seems to believe she could become a Capulet herself but for her crooked teeth, Cockney accent, and shameless guzzling of wine” (135–36).

Eric Sterling, in an essay from 2017 titled “Comparisons and Contrasts: Some Filmed Versions of the ‘Balcony Scene’ in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet,” wrote that “Romeo, played by the handsome, teenaged Leonard Whiting, with his thick brown hair cut in a style popular in the 60s, stands below in the night. He is hidden effectively behind rich Italian summer green vegetation in a garden beneath the balcony.” He “wears a dark blue doublet and, underneath, a blue shirt with puffed shoulders and white stripes that extend from his shoulders to his hands. Just before Olivia Hussey (who plays Juliet) appears, light warmly illuminates the balcony as Romeo moves through the garden for a better view of Juliet.” Sterling reported that “[s]oft music plays as he repositions himself, and the camera moves slowly before both Romeo and we—finally—catch a distant glimpse of Juliet, who seems far above, tiny in the distance. Romeo pushes thick foliage aside to get a better view of her and seems awestruck by her beauty.” Sterling described Hussey as a “convincingly youthful and childlike Juliet, [who] first stands and then lounges on the white sculptured stone balcony as she ruminates about her Romeo (although she cannot discern his appearance because he is hidden in the dark vegetation). The balcony is realistically imperfect: some stones are smooth while others are rough.” According to Sterling, “These imperfections—those of an actual Renaissance Italian house—help remind us that we are not viewing an artificial movie set” (83–84).

In an essay from 2023 titled “The Italian Job: Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet and the 1960s,” Samuel Crowl discussed Zeffirelli’s film in numerous historical contexts. He noted its origins in a 1960s stage production (33); commented that both the staging and the film were typical of the decade (33–34); described the genesis of the film (35–36); reported an emphasis on youth both in the theatrical and stage efforts (36); and observed that long hair was deliberately stressed in both productions not only to achieve a “Renaissance” look but also because that kind of hairstyle was increasingly popular in the 60s (37). He recounted efforts to find funding for the film (38); described its opening scenes (38–39); and detailed the first fight scene (39–40). He also discussed the ball and dance (40–41) while providing information about the song featured there and defending it from criticism (42–43). Observing the film’s involvement in the “sexual liberation” trend of the 1960s (53) and comparing and contrasting Zeffirelli and Roman Polanski as directors (44), Crowl also discussed the influence of Zeffirelli’s film on such later directors as Kenneth Branagh (45), Baz Luhrmann (45–46), and even Quentin Tarantino (46).

Delilah Brataas, in an essay from 2023 titled “The Anguish of Youth in Film Adaptations of Romeo and Juliet,” noted Shakespeare’s own emphasis on youth in this play (48); discussed the deemphasis on youth in the Cukor film (49); and commented in detail on the literal focus on younger actors by Zeffirelli and Luhrmann (50–51ff). Using ideas from Sigmund Freud and Jacques Lacan, she discussed the theme of youthful anguish (51–53) as well as Shakespeare’s own interest in anguish and anger (53–54); explored Zeffirelli’s interest in young people’s anguish; and said he stressed this interest through an abundant use of close-ups (54–55). She contrasted his film with a later film by Julian Fellowes (55–56); considered the Fellowes film less effective (56–58); and then compared and contrasted the tomb scenes in the films by Zeffirelli, Luhrmann, and Fellowes, calling the last one the least powerful (59–60).

1978–79 BBC Shakespeare Production

This adaptation, directed by Alvin Rakoff, featured Patrick Ryecart as Romeo; Rebecca Saire as Juliet; Celia Johnson as Nurse; Michael Hordern as Capulet; John Gielgud as Chorus; Joseph O’Conor as Friar Laurence; Anthony Andrews as Mercutio; and Alan Rickman as Tybalt.

Henry Fenwick, in his essay on “The Production” in the booklet the BBC published to accompany the first broadcast of the play, interviewed many people involved in presenting this version. Thus, Odette Barrow, the costume designer, explained that she set the play in 1490 in Tuscany, when costumes were simpler than Elizabethan costumes, and drew on various Italian artists of the era. Director Alvin Rakoff and producer Cedric Messina explained that they took a naturalistic or realistic approach, partly to appeal to an audience used to seeing real things, including real violence, on television (20). Rakoff said that he admired the Zeffirelli film but did not want to be influenced by it (21), while Alan Shallcross, the script editor explained that although the play had to be trimmed, most of the cuts he made involved obscure passages or lines (21), particularly near the end, when Friar Lawrence essentially retells the whole plot of the play. Fenwick reported that Rebecca Saire was chosen to play Juliet both despite and because of her youth and noted that Celia Johnson, cast here as the Nurse, had previously been played upper-class characters but assured the director that she could play someone from the lower class (23). Rakoff commented that this is one of the rare plays in which Shakespeare focuses on wealthy families who are not members of the nobility (23–24) and also remarked that the Mercutio-Tybalt fight “is a classic fight, good fight. The other one [between Romeo and Tybalt] is a street brawl. Romeo can’t fight Tybalt. The only reason he wins in my mind is that Tybalt is tired and Romeo’s so furious that his passion kills Tybalt …. It’s a sordid fight,” and Romeo fights it in a sordid way. Rakoff also said that he was especially proud of the way he filmed the ball scene, which was all done in one long take (25).

J. C. Bulman and H. R. Coursen, in their helpful 1988 critical anthology Shakespeare on Television, surveyed numerous broadcasts between the 1940s and late 1980s of many Shakespeare plays, which is why it is surprising that they dealt with only two productions of Romeo and Juliet (and the first of those very briefly). One might have thought that this play would have been done repeatedly on TV during those four decades. In any case, the second Romeo and Juliet they did cover (but even here the coverage is comparatively brief: just one page) was the BBC version. Surveying several American reviews, they reported a New York Times assessment strongly praising the two leads, the delivery, and the “incredibly good” cast in general, but they also quoted from a Washington Post reviewer who was disappointed by the leads, disliked the “sing-songy and cantish” delivery, and thought this production’s Juliet was too tame. In contrast, a writer for the Los Angeles Times said that the “savage” fight scene had been superbly staged, that the sets were “beautifully done,” and that Saire’s Juliet was “fresh as dew, fragile and innocent” if not exceptionally beautiful. On the other hand, a reviewer for the New Orleans Times-Picayune wrote that “Miss Saire … seems more a petulant child than a passionate young woman” but did find the fight scene especially “gripping.” An academic writing for Critical Quarterly disliked the way the text was pruned, especially in the case of Friar Laurence’s warning words to Romeo, and also thought that this production in general tended to present the passionate young lovers too uncritically, resulting in a sentimental take on their relationship that underplayed (or completely cut) some sensible misgivings. Another academic—Jack Jorgens, a pioneer in scholarship concerning Shakespeare on film—found “many flaws” in this production; said that “Patrick Ryecart’s rouged, pretty Romeo and Rebecca Saire’s rather plain Juliet never arouse our interest” and “never mesh either as actors or as characters supposed to be lovers”; suggested that this version suffered from “weak screen presences and inadequate rehearsals”; and thought it “incredible that so experienced a Romeo could be so taken with such a simple, pale young girl” (253).

In a lengthy review for the Shakespeare on Film Newsletter, Charles B. Lower thoughtfully discussed the difficulties of doing Shakespeare on TV. He asserted that television “greatly restricts both style and camera-work”; said that it privileges realism, close-ups, and maximum attention to the views and emotions of each character depicted in a close-up, thus, in this case, losing a tight necessary focus on the two young lovers. He praised Celia Johnson for effectively portraying “a convincing long-faithful family servant … sharing a special intimacy with Juliet”; admired “the close-knit Capulet family unit” as an example of “what television is most comfortable with”; saw a “fatherly intimacy”—not outrage—in Capulet’s discussion with his daughter; but wrote that the “sincerity” of the mother, father and nurse, while heightening our sense of Juliet’s “tragic plight,” nevertheless “leaves us no one to blame,” so that our ultimate sympathy for the grieving family helps “diffuse the tragic focus. But,” he explained, “to feel for and with the Capulet household is a product of televising: its credible action thrives on intimate facial close-ups” (1). According to Lower, “In effect, television lets everyone upstage everyone with near consistency, thus (with Shakespeare) undermining one’s sorting out dramatic priorities.” Lower admitted, however, that his “wholesale albeit sympathetic criticism risks ignoring many fine moments in the BBC production” (7). He ultimately concluded that “the cutting is minimal and without thematic master plan; the production is not only ungimmicked but usually moment to moment richly attentive to individual lines. Nevertheless … this ‘straight’ Shakespeare askews the play subtly yet significantly, making” too many details “serious competition to the young lovers” (8).

In his book from 2004 titled Cinematic Shakespeare (166–67), Michael Anderegg thought that the BBC Romeo and Juliet well illustrated “some of the virtues and limitations of the entire series,” with the virtues including “a nearly full text” allowing for “a complexity and even ambiguity so often lacking” in films as well as a full focus on characters whose roles are otherwise often cut or severely trimmed. He noted, for instance, that the BBC’s Capulet “is allowed to retain the rich mix of drollery, nostalgic musing, randiness, immaturity, enthusiasm, anger, and grief with which Shakespeare endowed him”: and admired Hordern’s complex performance (166). Anderegg also thought the fuller text could benefit the two leads and said that “to some extent, it does. We are given a richer sense of Juliet than in either the Zeffirelli or Luhrmann films, for example. But,” he continued, “both of the young actors lack the emotional range the fuller version requires,” especially in the case of Saire as Juliet, although he also found Ryecart’s Romeo too “strong and sophisticated” and ironic for the role (166).

Assessing this production in his 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare, Peter Cochran thought it got off to a promising start but that things began falling apart when Romeo entered. He faulted the nurse, Juliet, Mercutio, the ball, and much of the delivery (169) and mocked the balcony scene and the lighting but admired the actors playing Tybalt, the Prince, and the friar (170).

In an essay from 2017 titled “Romeo and Juliet on Film,” Christopher Baker wrote that this adaptation “has been generally judged to be one of [the BBC’s] least effective presentations. The problem of age versus skill again plagued the casting of the principal roles. Rebecca Saire, only fifteen at the time, captured Juliet’s youthful innocence but her waif-like temperament carries on for too long into the tragic second half, where she seems to be merely speaking her lines instead of acting them. More convincing,” Baker thought, “is older Patrick Ryecart’s Romeo, who is emotionally dynamic even in his briefest speeches. Anthony Andrews presents Mercutio as a wise-cracking showoff full of frantic posturing that recalls Barrymore [from Cukor’s film], and, in his first screen role, Alan Rickman displays in Tybalt the trademark sneer that would mark his part as Severus Snape in the Harry Potter films twenty-five years later” (139).

Eric Sterling, in an essay from 2017 titled “Comparisons and Contrasts: Some Filmed Versions of the ‘Balcony Scene’ in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet,” wrote that the BBC production “makes a strong and successful effort to be realistic in setting and costuming: much attention is given to period details. Patrick Ryecart, as Romeo, sports well-coiffed blonde hair and wears a white shirt and a crushed velvet brown Renaissance-era doublet. The doublet features light brown embroidery.” Meanwhile, “Rebecca Saire, who plays Juliet, wears a loose-fitting, simple white dress. Above this, she wears a more formal gown; it is light green and is decorated with pale white flower patterns and pink ribbons on the shoulders.” Sterling commented that “Ryecart was twenty-five when he played Romeo, while Saire was merely fourteen; the age difference could explain their lack of chemistry, including in the balcony scene. Saire speaks her famous line softly and fairly quickly rather than languorously or erotically” (86).

1996 Baz Luhrmann Production

This adaptation, officially titled William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet, was directed by Baz Luhrmann and starred Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo; Claire Danes as Juliet; John Leguizamo as Tybalt; Harold Perrineau as Mercutio; Pete Postlethwaite as Father Laurence; Paul Sorvino as Fulgencio Capulet; Brian Dennehy as Ted Montague; and Miriam Margolyes as the Nurse.

In an essay from 1998 titled “Postmodern Shakespeare: Strictly Romeo,” Jim Welsh suggested that this film—William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet—“is deceptively titled, because it is really Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo & Juliet. Visually it is more Strictly Ballroom [an earlier Luhrmann film] than strictly Romeo, though the dialogue—what survives of it—is strictly Shakespeare. It would get high marks if its evaluation were strictly verbal, perhaps, but the setting is so visually bizarre that its ‘fidelity’ is questionable.” According to Welsh, “The film’s spectacle constantly overpowers and overwhelms the poetry. This Romeo & Juliet is packed with about as much exuberance as one might expect from writer Craig Pearce and director Baz Luhrmann, the creative team that made Strictly Ballroom a high-camp triumph” (152).

Commenting on this movie in his 1999 overview of Shakespeare on film, Kenneth Rothwell wrote that viewers get used to the non-British accents, partly because the “flat American voices lack the stagy sonorities of John Gielgud but carry fierce conviction” (241). He also thought that the “film’s blurring together of the multiple planes of perception in the world of the audience, the world of the movie, [and] of the illusory television newscast, which is so easily confused with an actual newscast, gets as bewildering as Shakespeare’s own meta-dramatic taste for putting plays within plays within plays” (242).

Deborah Cartmell, in her book from 2000 titled Interpreting Shakespeare on Screen, said that Luhrmann’s film “shifts the focus from the eroticism of the central pair to the violent world which they inhabit. The updating is ingenious, if somewhat distracting,” with the lovers (associated with water and simple clothing) contrasted to the kitschy world around them. Cartmell saw allusions to the Zeffirelli film in this work’s “appeal to a particular youth culture” and in the song sung at the party and also noted “its use of camera techniques of the kind often found in music videos.” But she also suggested that despite its “visually radical” techniques, it is a “far more conservative” film than Zeffirelli’s, partly because it “makes Romeo and Juliet more mature and therefore more responsible for their fate” (46) and makes Juliet’s suicide-by-gunfire seem more appropriate to a “police drama” than a moving tragedy (47).

Discussing the film in his book from 2000 titled Shakespeare in the Movies, Douglas Brode suggested that Luhrmann had studied “Zeffirelli’s version and retain[ed] most of its carefully cut script” while giving it a gangland setting (55). Admiring such details as the updating of the Chorus to a television newscaster, the way Friar Laurence’s message is misdelivered, and the treatment of the apothecary scene as a drug deal, he nonetheless found some changes “too much of a stretch” (56). Observing that Luhrmann’s film can be seen either as a dumbing-down or as a worthy attempt at making Shakespeare relevant (57), he noted the repeated stress on the “divinity” of the lovers’ love and the frequent use of religious symbolism and thought the film conveyed a religiously conservative message about the need for spirituality. He was surprised that DiCaprio and Danes were not better speakers of Shakespeare’s words; thought both Paul Sorvino and Brian Dennehy were merely stereotyped mafia dons; but did admire the performances of this film’s friar and nurse (57). He was revolted, however, by Juliet’s grotesque suicide, and ended by wishing the film, although worth watching, had been even better (58).

Lucy Hamilton, in an essay from 2000 titled “Baz vs. the Bardolaters, or Why William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet Deserves Another Look,” suggested that for Luhrmann conventional approaches to the play are “stultifying; the choice of name for his film gives an indication of his mission in approaching the complications of adaptation. He has tried to reclaim the play from its association as rarefied and stagy. Recognizing the rambunctious, sexy and violent elements to Shakespeare’s story-telling, as well as the boisterous comedy and passion, was significant for him in returning to the play’s roots. Shakespeare,” according to Hamilton, “knew that he was providing entertainment, a fact seemingly often forgotten. Luhrmann sees the driving force behind the film as ‘addressing the original Shakespeare,’ reclaiming the play from the snobbery of the Victorian inheritance in theatre and redeeming the power of the Shakespearean tale for a less hide-bound audience; the original audience did not watch it as a British classic” (120).

Daniel Rosenthal, in his 2000 book Shakespeare on Screen (130–33) asserted that in Luhrmann’s production “the essence of the play does not just survive, it leaps off the screen in heightened colours. Claire Danes’s intelligence and Leonardo DiCaprio’s intensity make them the most affecting Romeo and Juliet cinema has yet produced.” Noting the fast edits, the brisk rearrangements, the quickly alternating locations, and the “wonderfully clear sense of the characters’ lives and styles” (130), Rosenthal said that everything about the film made Shakespeare’s meanings comprehensible. He especially praised Danes’s performance; was somewhat less impressed by DiCaprio (calling him “the movie’s weakest link” [131]); did admire the acting of Margolyes and Postlethwaite (131); and was generally (not entirely) impressed with the conclusion in the church (133).

In an essay from 2000 titled “Pop Goes the Shakespeare: Baz Luhrmann’s William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet” Elsie Walker wrote that the “obvious disjunction between the verse and the setting in Luhrmann’s film throws the verse and its filmic context into a kind of defamiliarizing relief. This disjunction between verse and setting,” she continued, “works to make ‘strange’ the familiar, to make ‘new’ the ‘text(s)’ we know as Romeo and Juliet, inspiring the audience to ask new questions about the socioeconomic context of the drama” (138).

In his book from 2002 titled Shakespeare in the Cinema (89–93), Stephen Buhler noted the film’s many allusions to various kinds of media; the innovative settings; the nods to varied genres of speech (such as the newscast); and the strong influence of television in general (89).

Alfredo Michel Modenessi, in an essay from 2002 titled “(Un)Doing the Book ‘Without Verona Walls’: A View from the Receiving End of Baz Luhrmann’s William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet,” described how the film exhibits many characteristics of postmodernism, including “furious juxtaposition; re- and decontextualization; rejection of representation; seemingly random self- and cross-reference and allusion; media- and genre-jumbling; undermining of plot and character (and of their conventions in general: conflict, motivation); and, of course, the quintessential denial of totalizing and totalized meaning” (64). He compared and contrasted this film with [Peter Greenaway’s version of Shakespeare’s The Tempest titled] Prospero’s Books (66–68); discussed whether this film should be called an “adaptation” (68); and emphasized Luhrmann’s allusions to Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet (68–70). He noted its focus on “urban decay” (71); discussed in detail the implications of its Mexican setting and Catholic imagery (71–77); but concluded by asserting its “inability to critically undermine the grand mechanism of received authority” (79).

In an essay from 2003 titled “James Dean Meets the Pirate’s Daughter: Passion and Parody in Romeo + Juliet and Shakespeare in Love,” Michael Anderegg argued that “if Luhrmann’s young lovers speak the language of Shakespeare, they project images drawn from popular culture. Leonardo DiCaprio’s Romeo, a more complexly drawn character than Claire Danes’s Juliet, combines a number of cultural signifiers.” These include “DiCaprio’s own image as a kind of asexual love object for adolescents; then the sensitive, essentially white-bread teen, roughly equivalent to Richard Beymer’s Tony in West Side Story, and, very consciously, the James Dean allusions, especially the latter’s incarnation of Jim Stark in Rebel Without a Cause.” Anderegg thought that these “reference points, needless to add, are not all necessarily aimed at the 1990s teen audience that would constitute the obvious target of the film’s production and marketing strategies, an audience for whom James Dean might be only slightly more (or slightly less) familiar than Shakespeare.” In fact, he felt that “Luhrmann’s film is cunningly designed to appeal to the parents and even the grandparents of that ‘natural’ audience” (61).

Samuel Crowl, in his 2003 book Shakespeare at the Cineplex (119–34), began by asserting that the “‘liberating energy’ of Luhrmann’s camera work and editing and the film’s remarkable ability simultaneously to transcend and deify its Shakespearean source has … made it attractive to leading figures in Shakespeare on film scholarship.” Surveying numerous critics’ comments and discussing many of its details (especially involving editing), Crowl wrote that “Romeo and Juliet’s suicides are imagined and envisioned not as a tragedy of fate, nor of bad timing or impetuous passion, but as a glorious apotheosis: a juvenile version of Antony and Cleopatra” (126). He admired Luhrmann’s creation of a “fascinating alternative universe for his retelling of Shakespeare’s tale”; noted the settings’ allusions to previous films (127); commented on this movie’s multiculturalism (129); but noted that the two young stars are safely white (129). He considered DiCaprio’s Romeo rather bland; said Luhrmann “is not yet an actors’ director”; found Luhrmann’s imagination more impressive than any of the actors’ performances; and asserted that “space at the center of the film where Romeo and Juliet should be, but DiCaprio and Danes can neither fill nor hold it” (130).

Publishing in 2003 in an article titled “‘What tongue shall smooth thy name?’ Recent Films of Romeo and Juliet,” Chris Palmer considered Luhrmann’s film “an aggressive updating and also postmodernisation of Shakespeare’s play.” He thought that “[b]oth the film and the society it depicts reflect the notion that there is no clear division between high and low culture—between classic and kitsch—and both reflect the notion that there is no clear centre of value, but a competition of diverse values” (67).

In his book from 2003 titled Shakespeare and the Force of Modern Performance (133–49, 222–31), W. B. Worthen commented on Lurhmann’s “obsessive reiteration of signs” (212); noted the film’s emphasis on Latin places and Latin culture (140); and said that the young lovers are implicated in a “deeply racialized culture.”

Michael Anderegg, in his 2004 book Cinematic Shakespeare (72–83), called the film’s language “at once familiar and strange” (70); said that “[w]hat is passionate intensity in Shakespeare’s play is a passive, puzzling reflection in the film”; found this movie’s Juliet too simple and tame; and said that she “is an ideal Victorian Juliet, but she is far from the Juliet Shakespeare created” (79). He thought that in general the film “sacrifices the complexity of its young lovers in favor of drawing a powerful social picture. In this film, worldliness trumps innocence; the real overcomes the ideal; speed is all, and lyricism, though it emerges from time to time, is almost entirely transferred to the mise-en-scene and the music” (83).

Writing in her book from 2006 titled Selling Shakespeare to Hollywood (32–35, 107–16, Emma French mainly discussed the way the film was marketed, often focusing on DiCaprio (32–25); saw this movie as one created for and marketed to teens; reported the director’s attitudes toward adaptation; said that elements of postmodernism were evident both in the film and in the marketing campaign; commented on the ways the film was inspired by notions of Shakespeare’s own originality and creativity; and explored the various ways in which the film exhibits “hybridity” (107–16).

Maurice Hindle, in his 2007 book Studying Shakespeare on Film (177–84), noted that the Luhrmann film broke “all box office records” for a Shakespeare movie; commented on its use of “hyperreal” approaches to the world (“in which the real has in many ways been displaced by media images” [57]); and observed its appeal to “Generation X” by its echoes of popular culture and advertising (85). In a later, separate essay on the film, he suggested that the film’s opening emphasizes the ways media filter reality (178); discussed such methods as montage, slam-zoom, establishing shots, zoom-outs, match cuts, wipes, whip-pans, and shot/reverse shots (178–80); saw in implication that the Christianity depicted in this movie is shaped by corporate rivalries and/or family feuds (180); and observed that Mercutio’s romantic interest in Romeo is made especially obvious here (181). He thought water in this movie is a symbol of the two lovers’ love (181); said the film echoes an early adaptation of the play by allowing Juliet to awaken before Romeo dies; noted the use of Richard Wagner’s famous Liebestod (“love-death”) music; and suggested that Lady Capulet’s sexual interest in Tybalt is one of various hints of family dysfunction (182). He concluded that Luhrmann’s greatest cinematic achievement involved showing how media could replace real life; discussed the director’s ambivalent treatment of Shakespeare’s language; considered Luhrmann’s own cinematic language most effective in the Sycamore Grove scene where Mercutio dies (183); and discussed the various kinds of shots used in this especially powerful episode (183–84).

Commenting in passing on this film in his 2008 book Shakespeare and Film (108–10, 116–18, 142–43), Samuel Crowl discussed the film’s editing, especially its use of quick cuts and the ways setting is established (108–9) and observed its use of such methods as “point of view” shots, “slam zooms, tumble shots, whip pans, and extreme close-ups”—terms all defined in the book’s final pages (109). He noted the film’s resemblance to music videos of the 1990s (109) commented that some shots anticipate later developments; and emphasized the importance of editing in this film (110).

In her book from 2008 titled Filming Shakespeare, from Metatheatre to Metacinema (123–25), Agnieszka Rasmus said critics have called attention to the film’s “frenzied camera work, staccato editing, unnatural saturation of colour, and numerous references to other films and film genres and styles” (123). She cited various “alienating effect[s],” including emphases on various other media (124) especially television (125).

Also in 2008, in an essay titled “‘Closed in a Dead Man’s Tomb’: Juliet, Space, and the Body in Franco Zeffirelli’s and Baz Luhrmann’s Films of Romeo and Juliet,” Lindsey Scott found it ironic that a film as recent as Luhrmann’s “should offer audiences a Juliet who is passive, rather than active, by comparison” with Zeffirelli’s movie. She wrote that “[a]lthough both films satisfy many of the conventional requirements for the category of ‘teen-Shakespeare,’ Luhrmann’s Romeo +Juliet features a Juliet who is oddly lacking in the desire and agency of Shakespeare’s heroine” (141), adding that “Luhrmann’s camera transforms Danes’s Juliet into a still, objectified body, and at moments where Shakespeare’s play demands passion and energy, she is virtually erased from the spectator’s gaze” (142).

Courtney Lehmann, in her 2010 book on the play, discussed the postmodernism of Luhrmann’s film, especially in its use of pastiche (170), as in its opening, which she called “evening-soap fiction meets evening-magazine ‘real life,’ [with] the lines separating titillation from truth, melodrama from docu-drama, … fuzzy at best” (171). She wrote that the “south-of-the-border-cum-spaghetti-western Capulets are characterised by an excess of ethnicity, while the pasty-faced Montague boys sport a lack thereof, becoming, in effect, ‘beastie boyz’ as they rap, grind, and signify in classic wanna-be style” (172). Lehmann mentioned Romeo’s “ecstasy trip” as an allusion to Zeffirelli’s dance scene; and the way a love song is centrally featured in both films (173). Offering extended discussion of postmodern theory in general (173ff), Lehmann called Romeo + Juliet “nothing less than an allegory of ‘adaptation’” (177), with Shakespeare’s borrowing from previous writers justifying his own borrowings from Shakespeare (179) and from previous films (183–85) as well as previous versions of the Romeo and Juliet legend (185–95). Commenting on Luhrmann’s pervasive use of images of water and of the cross (including in the film’s title), Lehmann suggested that these patterns “are inextricably linked through the rite of baptism,” which in this film symbolizes escape (191). Both Juliet and Romeo are both shown immersed in water; they first see each other through an aquarium; this film’s “balcony scene” is set in a swimming pool; and, “on the eve of the newlyweds’ consummation, Romeo arrives wet with rain and leaves the next morning by way of the Capulet pool” in a film already set beside the ocean (192). As the waters slowly seem to threaten “enclosure” rather than escape (196), Lehmann also discusses such matters as Jacque Lacan’s psychoanalytic ideas of hysteria (199–201); the ways the + sign can serve as a “symbol of religious devotion” (202); and the further relevance of cultural theory to an interpretation of the film (204–6). She concludes by describing critics’ reactions to the film, including on such matters as its similarities to “pop” culture; the appeal of the actors (especially DiCaprio); its multicultural and multiethnic characters; Lurhmann’s own explanations of his directorial choices; the film’s striking camerawork; the actors’ accents; the film’s use of music and songs; its “heavy-handed use of religious symbolism”; and much else (206ff).

Edward Rocklin, discussing the movie in his 2010 book on the play, noted its debts to West Side Story and to Zeffirelli and commented on the importance of its soundtrack, its “young actors,” and its “post-modern aesthetic” (123). He wrote that the Prologue prepares for the film’s effects and mentioned the film’s “hyperkinetic tempo” (124), “densely allusive style,” flat voices, emphasis on the play’s first three acts, and stress on water symbolism (125).

In his 2013 book Small-Screen Shakespeare, Peter Cochran began with high praise (170); described the updated setting and plot; called Di Caprio “the best screen Romeo ever”; noted the water imagery; thought this Mercutio loves this Romeo (171); and commended the camerawork and edits (172). He admired the ways Capulet is played; thought the dual suicides are a bit overdone (172); and disliked the positive spin put on Friar Laurence’s final behavior (173).

Commenting on the film in his 2016 survey of the first hundred years of Shakespeare films (157–59), Peter E. S. Babiak saw it as a nihilistic look at American capitalism; observed that a statue of Christ is positioned between the Capulet and Montague towers; and suggested that such imagery contrasts “materialism and violence” with “the unconditional, redemptive love of the divine” (157). Babiak noted that Romeo is first shown in a playground, suggesting his innocence; speculated that he and Juliet seem to be “enacting a preordained plan”; and thought that Romeo first sees Juliet in a “moment of clarity” (158). According to Babiak, some of the symbolism associated with Tybalt is raised briefly then dropped; the fascist symbolism is insufficiently emphasized; some plot details are insufficiently explained (such as how the police knew Romeo had returned to Verona Beach); and the film’s ending suggests the “divine in human nature and hopes for the next generation have been completely eradicated by the violence and materialism of the corporate world” (159).

Antony Johae, in an essay from 2016 titled “‘Thy Drugs Are Quick’: Postmodern Dissolution in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet,” wrote that “[w]hile an eclectic mix of contrapuntal music and cinematic styles, parody and pastiche, camp and kitsch all play a part in rendering the movie compatible with the dispositions of contemporary audiences, I have tried to show that there is an underlying seriousness and symbolic density in the way Shakespeare’s text has been transposed to film.” He continued: “The early reviews may have panned Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, but time, re-viewing, and reflection will, I believe, prove them wrong” (116).

R. S. White, in his 2016 book Shakespeare’s Cinema of Love, discussed the documented influence (sometimes suicidal and even murderous) of the film’s soundtrack and the film itself, with one bishop having warned that it would indeed encourage suicide, as in fact it sometimes did. White suggested that this result “is surely something to do with the music, which is popular culture’s instant access to emotion not rooted in reality, and to the way the director links music with impossible aspirations on the one hand and social despair on the other. But in the end,” White continued, “even the director is simply filtering the culture around, and the real fault-line seems to be that very culture itself, where innocence, realistic optimism, and fresh hope are hard to find” (190).

Christopher Baker, in an essay from 2017 titled “Romeo and Juliet on Film,” wrote that although “Romeo and Juliet live in this [film’s] world, they are not of it; seen at the ball, Juliet’s costume wings mark her as an angel on earth, while Romeo’s chivalric armor suggests him as the knight in pursuit of an ideal courtly lady. Frequent shots of them in, near, or through water (such as Juliet’s courtyard pool or her aquarium) imply their liminal position between the earthly corruption around them and the spirituality of their love” (137–38). Baker thought that “Shakespeare’s language is not always delivered with the precision it deserves, but Pete Postlethwaite, playing Friar Laurence like an aging biker with a large cross tattooed on his back, speaks with clarity and vigor.” Reiterating that “[m]ost of the cast speak with little sense of poetic pacing, instead allowing the energetic camerawork to become its own visual language,” Baker nonetheless concluded that “if we resist the urge to compare Luhrmann’s film too closely with Shakespeare’s play and instead see it as a work that is of, by, and for the cinema, it gains a provocative identity” (138).

Phillippa Shepherd, in her 2017 book titled Devouring Time (153–61), first compared and contrasted Luhrmann’s film with Michael Almereyda’s postmodern Hamlet movie from 2000 before then focusing on the Luhrmann film itself. She noted that most of the examples of “Catholic kitsch that appear in every scene are generally treated by the characters as little more than accessories”; suggested, nonetheless, that “the characters still have rituals surrounding death that lend a kind of beauty and even meaning to their grief” (154); observed that the film’s climactic mourning scene is trimmed but still important (157); and described that scene in detail, calling the setting “very beautiful” while also noting the mixed reactions and interpretations the scene has elicited. Shepherd herself suggested that “Luhrmann is drawn to the operatic drama of a traditional Catholic funeral,” especially since so many contemporary death rituals are so plain and simple (158). Reporting that Shakespeare himself gave his own play a Catholic twist (160), she thought that Luhrmann emphasized religious and romantic symbolism throughout his film but especially in the scene of mourning (160–61), perhaps because he felt nostalgic for that element of an earlier culture.

Eric Sterling, in an essay from 2017 titled “Comparisons and Contrasts: Some Filmed Versions of the ‘Balcony Scene’ in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet,” wrote that in Luhrmann’s “‘balcony scene,’ Leonardo DiCaprio, looking much younger than his twenty-one years and wearing the grey chainmail shirt that had been part of his outfit in the preceding costume ball, stealthily enters a courtyard featuring a large, built-in swimming pool. After he reaches a certain point,” Sterling noted, “security devices suddenly switch on bright lights that make the pool shimmer. Romeo comically scrambles for cover in an alcove, managing to knock over a metal plant stand in the process, and later, he suffers yet another comic misadventure when he approaches the wrong window by mistake.” Meanwhile, “When Juliet (played by seventeen-year-old Claire Danes) finally appears, Romeo is standing just to her right, on the other side of a white stone statue. He is literally only a yard or so distant from her and has to whisper his lines so she can’t hear him.” Sterling reported that “Danes wears a loose-fitting, sleeveless nightgown with two shoulder straps and a scoop neckline, exposing her entire neck and the top of her bosom. She also wears a small silver crucifix necklace. A thick white band wraps around her slim waist and is tied in a knot behind her. She looks straight ahead as she delivers the famous line, not realizing that DiCaprio is standing so close by” (87).

In 2023, Olivia Coulomb published an essay titled “Transgressive Catholicism: Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet (1996)” exploring the film’s “omnipresent religiosity” and arguing that it “creates an unconventional combination of a dystopian world—where violence, love, wealth and Catholicism are closely intertwined—and keenly focuses on the Capulets’ and the Montagues’ troubling relationship with religion. Drawing on previous studies by critics such as Christopher Baker, James N. Loehlin and Alan Hager,” Coulomb dealt, “first, with the various ways in which Luhrmann shows transgressions of Catholic faith and practices; second, how his film transgresses the original source text in religious terms; and third, how these transgressions also relate to a spiritual journey towards reconciliation” (49).

Delilah Brataas, in an essay from 2023 titled “The Anguish of Youth in Film Adaptations of Romeo and Juliet,” noted Shakespeare’s own emphasis on youth in this play (48); discussed the deemphasis on youth in the Cukor film (49); and commented in detail on the literal focus on younger actors by Zeffirelli and Luhrmann (50–51ff). Using ideas from Sigmund Freud and Jacques Lacan, she discussed the theme of youthful anguish (51-53) as well as Shakespeare’s own interest in anguish and anger (53–54); explored Zeffirelli’s interest in young people’s anguish; and said he stressed this interest through an abundant use of close-ups (54–55). She contrasted his film with a later film by Julian Fellowes (55–56); considered the Fellowes film less effective (56–58); and then compared and contrasted the tomb scenes in the films by Zeffirelli, Luhrmann, and Fellowes, calling the last one the least powerful (59–60).

Victoria Bladen, in an essay from 2023 titled “Aquatic and Celestial Space in Baz Luhrmann’s William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet” (1996), noted an emphasis on Shakespeare’s own play on “celestial and aquatic spaces”; observed a similar emphasis in Luhrmann’s film (62); commented on connections between love and war and also love and death in Shakespeare’s play; and saw Luhrmann’s focus on crucifixes as a way of stressing the love/death connection (63–64). She thought that the parents in the play were motivated by an Old Testament stress on vengeance; noted Luhrmann’s use of baptismal imagery (64); observed that in his film Romeo and Juliet are often associated with water (65–67); and said that the film’s music helps emphasize the celestial/aquatic theme. She cited the appearances of that theme in this film’s “balcony scene” (69–72) and commented that, after the deaths of Romeo and Juliet, imagery appears that once again combines the celestial and the aquatic (75).

In an essay from 2024 titled “Ut Pictura Kynesis: Pictorial Art in Romeo and Juliet Film Adaptations,” Álvaro Albarrán Gutiérrez discussed the ways different films of Romeo and Juliet drew on works of visual art to determine their own visual styles. He wrote that in “deviating from Cukor and Castellani, Zeffirelli does not resort to religious iconography but, rather, deploys pictorial art and techniques to portray Romeo and Juliet’s bond as one that is inherently physical” (265).

Bibliography