Conall Morrison's revival is no laughing matter - not in its tedious Carry On Shakespeare buffoonery nor its portrayal of contemporary sexual politics. The production begins in modern times at a boorish stag night, with Stephen Boxer as the drunken Christopher Sly who is plucked from the gutter and propelled into a play as Petruchio. What follows fulfils his nasty misogynistic fantasies. The blowup doll of the stag night becomes flesh and blood in the final moments, as Michelle Gomez's broken Katherina lies limply on the floor, legs apart, for her husband to take his pleasure. This is a woman so abused that her very survival depends upon submitting to her husband's will.
Morrison might have pulled it off if he had had the courage of his convictions. But he tries to sweeten the pill with some excruciating unfunny funny business. In undercutting the appalling bleakness of his vision of the current state of relations between men and women, he muddies his own argument to such an extent that the audience isn't necessarily appalled by Katherina's submission - the performance I saw included some poor deluded souls who tried to clap it. Yes, let's hear it for domestic violence.
In any case, the parallels between 17th-century and 21st-century women do not hold water. Yes, modern women's bodies are objectified, but most women have an economic and emotional independence from men that their 17th-century sisters would die for, even if it sometimes takes the form of believing shaking your bottom in a lap-dancing club is empowering. Katherina has no escape, and will die for it. No amount of funny business can turn that ugly truth into light comedy.
