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Fiennes’ fine film

Actor-turned-director gives bold, homoerotic spin on Shakespeare classic

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The final image in Ralph Fiennes’ fine adaptation of Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus” is riveting — two men in a war-torn landscape locked in a deadly embrace. Their final coupling sums up the passionate love-hate relationship and the series of personal and political betrayals that have led them to this fatal climax.

One of the men is the Roman general Caius Martius (played by director Fiennes) and the other is his sworn enemy, the Volscian leader Tullus Aufidius (played with brooding intensity by Gerard Butler, probably best known to gay audiences as the title character in the movie version of “The Phantom of the Opera” and the buff, scantily clad Spartan general in “300.”) When the movie opens, Martius is at the top of his game. He brutally but effectively suppresses an uprising by the starving plebians and almost single-handedly halts an attack on Rome by the Volscian army. (He is given the honorific Coriolanus to mark his conquest of the Volscian city of Corioles.) The tables turn, however, when his mother and their well-meaning patrician friends try to push the warrior into a political career. The skills that serve him so well on the battlefield (rage, invective, decisive action, foolhardy risk-taking) fail him in the public sphere. The fallen war hero is banished from Rome and joins forces with his former Volscian enemies.

Screenwriter John Logan (Gladiator) does an excellent job of streamlining and updating Shakespeare’s timeless and timely tale. He and Fiennes present the story in a modern-day setting yet retain the richness of Shakespeare’s language, story and characters. The text is tidily trimmed throughout, but the only major excision is the famous fable of the belly, a charming parable used to keep the lower classes in check. Several expository scenes and messenger speeches are transferred with great facility to television anchors and pundits (on the wittily named Fideles TV). Battle scenes were shot in Belgrade and most of the secondary roles are filled by Serbian actors. Cinematographer Barry Atkinson (who worked with Fiennes on the award-winning The Hurt Locker) captures the noise, rage, terror and brutality of contemporary warfare in horribly effective detail. The savage intensity of the battle scenes contrasts nicely with the suave treachery of the political scenes.

Fiennes and Logan also follow Shakespeare in highlighting the homosocial bonds between the politicians and the soldiers and the explicitly homoerotic nature of the relationship between Coriolanus and Aufidius. Soldiers routinely greet each other by declaring they are happier to see their returning colleagues than they ever were to see their wives. Politicians taunt each other with charges of feminine or boyish behavior. Aufidius declares that Coriolanus is his enemy, yet welcomes him gladly to the Volscian camp. Under Fiennes’ assured direction, the two men literally cannot keep their hands off each other, yet they cannot stop battling for dominance. Their smoldering glances burn up the screen and their scary fight scenes only stop when one of the participants loses consciousness.

Fiennes’ focus on the homosocial and misogynistic world of the battlefield and the halls of power (in this case, smoke-filled bars, marble hearing rooms and brightly lit television studios) give a clear context for Vanessa Redgrave’s chilling performance of Coriolanus’ monstrous mother Volumnia, clearly one of the most intelligent people in this Rome, but there she has no effective outlet for her brains or passion. Instead of participating in the great events at the Capitol, she is forced to watch them unfold on TV. Her thwarted ambition is poured into her son, an inadequate vessel for her grand dreams, and the result is tragedy. Redgrave shines in every scene, whether chastising her daughter-in-law for her fears, tenderly dressing her son’s wounds, attacking the opposition or pleading with her son to return to Rome. The picture of Redgrave as Volumnia giddily applauding her warrior son while wearing the same junior military uniform as her young grandson is an unforgettable image of the societal price of sexism.

The rest of the cast is also uniformly strong. Brian Cox (Menenius) and John Kani (Cominius) give nuanced performances as leaders of the patrician party and they are well matched by the oily Tribunes of the People, James Nesbitt (Sicinius) and Paul Jesson (Brutus). Newcomer Jessica Chastain (“The Help”), one of the breakout performers of 2011, makes a surprisingly vivid impression as Coriolanus’ wife Virgilia, who he describes as “my gracious silence.”

For many years, “Coriolanus” was rarely produced, although there has been a resurgence of interest in the play in recent years. Shakespeare’s tricky political tale is very well-served by first-time director Ralph Fiennes (who has played the role onstage). He deserves extra credit for highlighting the homoerotic undertones that many directors shy away from, especially since the end result is a nuanced and fascinating portrayal of thwarted ambition, military bravado and political treachery. This is not a warm and fuzzy film, but it is a compelling and important one.

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Arts & Entertainment

In an act of artistic defiance, Baltimore Center Stage stays focused on DEI

‘Maybe it’s a triple-down’

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Last year, Baltimore Center Stage refused to give up its DEI focus in the face of losing federal funding. They've tripled down. (Photo by Ulysses Muñoz of the Baltimore Banner)

By LESLIE GRAY STREETER | I’m always tickled when people complain about artists “going political.” The inherent nature of art, of creation and free expression, is political. This becomes obvious when entire governments try to threaten it out of existence, like in 2025, when the brand-new presidential administration demanded organizations halt so-called diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) programming or risk federal funding.

Baltimore Center Stage’s response? A resounding and hearty “Nah.” A year later, they’re still doubling down on diversity.

“Maybe it’s a triple-down,” said Ken-Matt Martin, the theater’s producing director, chuckling.

The rest of this article can be found on the Baltimore Banner’s website.

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Books

Susan Lucci on love, loss, and ‘All My Children’

New book chronicles life of iconic soap star

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(Book cover image courtesy of Blackstone Publishing)

‘La Lucci’
By Susan Lucci with Laura Morton
c.2026, Blackstone Publishing
$29.99/196 pages

They’re among the world’s greatest love stories.

You know them well: Marc Antony and Cleopatra. Abelard and Heloise. Phoebe and Langley. Cliff and Nina. Jesse and Angie, Opal and Palmer, Palmer and Daisy, Tad and Dixie. Now read “La Lucci” by Susan Lucci, with Laura Morton, and you might also think of Susan and Helmut.

When she was a very small girl, Susan Lucci loved to perform. Also when she was young, she learned that words have power. She vowed to use them for good for the rest of her life.

Her parents, she says, were supportive and her family, loving. Because of her Italian heritage, she was “ethnic looking” but Lucci’s mother was careful to point out dark-haired beauties on TV and elsewhere, giving Lucci a foundation of confidence.

That’s just one of the things for which Lucci says she’s grateful. In fact, she says, “Prayers of gratitude are how I begin and end each day.”

She is particularly grateful for becoming a mother to her two adult children, and to the doctors who saved her son’s life when he was a newborn.

Lucci writes about gratitude for her long career. She was a keystone character on TV’s “All My Children,” and she learned a lot from older actors on the show, and from Agnes Nixon, the creator of it. She says she still keeps in touch with many of her former costars.

She is thankful for her mother’s caretakers, who stepped in when dementia struck. Grateful for more doctors, who did heart-saving work when Lucci had a clogged artery. Grateful for friends, opportunities, life, grandchildren, and a career that continues.

And she’s grateful for the love she shared with her husband, Helmut Huber, who died nearly four years ago. Grateful for the chance to grieve, to heal, and to continue.

And yet, she says of her husband: “He was never timid, but I know he was afraid at the end, and that kills me down to my soul.”

“It’s been 15 years since Erica Kane and I parted ways,” says author Susan Lucci (with Laura Morton), and she says that people still approach her to confirm or deny rumors of the show’s resurrection. There’s still no answer to that here (sorry, fans), but what you’ll find inside “La Lucci” is still exceptionally generous.

If this book were just filled with stories, you’d like it just fine. If it was only about Lucci’s faith and her gratitude – words that happen to appear very frequently here – you’d still like reading it. But Lucci tells her stories of family, children and “All My Children,” while also offering help to couples who’ve endured miscarriage, women who’ve had heart problems, and widow(ers) who are spinning and need the kindness of someone who’s lived loss, too.

These are the other things you’ll find in “La Lucci,” in a voice you’ll hear in your head, if you spent your lunch hours glued to the TV back in the day. It’s a comfortable, fun read for fans. It’s a story you’ll love.

The Blade may receive commissions from qualifying purchases made via this post.

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Theater

Minimal version of ‘Streetcar Named Desire’ heading to Dupont Underground

Director Nick Westrate on this traveling take on Williams’s masterwork

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Lucy Owen and Nick Westrate (Photo by Walls Trimble)

‘A Streetcar Named Desire’
Produced by The Streetcar Project
April 20-May 4
Dupont Underground
19 Dupont Circle, N.W.
Tickets start at $85.
Dupontunderground.org

An aggressively minimal version of Tennessee Williams’s “A Streetcar Named Desire” is poised to run at Dupont Underground (April 20-May 4), the nonprofit cultural space located in a repurposed, abandoned 1949 streetcar station beneath Dupont Circle.

The Streetcar Project’s production performs in site-specific spaces. It’s almost entirely without design elements. There is no steamy, cramped Vieux Carré apartment. You won’t see Blanche’s battered trunk exploding with cheap finery, faded love letters, and demands for back property taxes, or the familiar costumes. 

Co-created by Lucy Owen (who stars as Blanche DuBois) and out director Nick Westrate in 2023, this traveling spare take on Williams’s masterwork about a fragile woman on the margins in conflict with her brutish brother-in-law seems a reaction to necessity. It’s also an exploration of whether, like Shakespeare’s “Henry V,” it can subsist on language alone.   

With little distractions (even Blanche’s cultivated southern belle accent has been daringly stripped away), the spotlight shines almost solely on text. “This play holds that,” says Westrate, 42. “I remind the actors that the while there is plenty of movement, language is really the only game in town.”

New York-based Westrate, who’s best known as an esteemed actor with New York and regional credits including Prior Walter in János Szász’s production of “Angels in America” at Arena Stage, describes “Streetcar” as “the most perfect play on earth” but not one he thinks of acting in (“I’m not right for Stanley Kowalski or Mitch”) though he agreed to direct. 

“These days if you’re not a not a movie star or an established director, you’re not likely to do “Streetcar.” So, for us, we have to be able to do it with almost nothing, on the New York subway if necessary. And that’s kind of how we built it.” 

Westrate first experienced Dupont Underground while attending a staged reading. He was so obsessed with the space as a prospective place to take the production, he found it hard to concentrate. He says, “With its long, curved track and tunnel, Dupont Underground is a terrifying, beautiful room that carries so much metaphorical weight, so much possibility for our production.”

WASHINGTON BLADE: Is finding the right space for this “Streetcar” part of the thrill?

NICK WESTRATE: Whenever I enter a weird room or pass by an abandoned CVS, I try to figure out how we might do the show there, especially places that are dilapidated, architecturally odd, or possibly haunted. And each space we use, lends something to the production. The Rachel Comey store in Soho was a very Blanche coded space. And an artist’s workshop on Venice Beach in California with its huge saws and metal hooks lent raw imagery. The scenes between Blanche and Stanley near the end were absolutely terrifying.

BLADE: More recently that same bare bones production has played in more traditional spaces like the Wheeler Opera House in Aspen and San Francisco’s A.C.T. Is it hard to now go to Dupont Underground? 

WESTRATE: Each time we do this we have to crack open the play again because the staging is entirely new, but we’re used to performing in unusual spaces and Dupont Underground rather takes us back to form. As a former streetcar station, it’s the most appropriate space we’ve had yet. 

The cast will literally act on streetcar tracks and go without dressing rooms but they’re game, and because they have history and authorship over the work, the sacrifice is more meaningful than if they were just some hired guns.

BLADE: Audiences have an expectation, especially with a work they’re likely to know. How do they react seeing such an unadorned take on Williams’s American classic?

WESTRATE: For the first 10 or 15 minutes, they’re unsure. Then, you can pretty much see the audience members’ brains click in and their imaginations turn on. It’s like they’re scratching an itch that they didn’t even know they had.

BLADE: Did you and Lucy foresee gaining this kind of momentum behind your vision?

WESTRATE: Absolutely not. Lucy had a philosophy that we’ll just walk through open doors. Early on, we were given spaces and artists filled the seats, and increasingly we’ve begun to rent some spaces and attract more regular theatergoers. 

We basically sell tickets in order to pay a living wage to artists involved. There isn’t some big institution or commercial producer who’s getting a lot of money from this. Audiences of all types seem to respond to this mode of making theater.

BLADE: In presenting “Streetcar” intermittently, usually with the same cast over three years in wildly varying venues, have you learned more about a piece that you already loved?

WESTRATE: Mostly I’ve come to realize that Blanche is the smartest character I’ve ever read in a play. She’s like Hamlet – tormented by dreams and terrified of death. She’s skilled at wordplay and always ahead of everyone else in the room. Also like Hamlet, people think she’s insane and she uses that to her advantage. 

Blanche is certainly the Everest of roles for actresses and watching Lucy sort of break it apart in a different way than you’ve ever seen, and knowing that I’ve helped to facilitate this performance has been one of the great joys of my career.

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