Romeo Juliet
Every generation has its Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare’s 1597 play was far from the first tale of star cross’d lovers from warring families, though it was one of the pivotal texts in cementing a tragic ending. George Cuckor aged up the teenage lovers to cast Hollywood royalty in an exceedingly proper 1936 version, Robert Wise and Jerome Robbins turned the feuding families into contemporary gang warfare in 1961’s West Side Story, and Franco Zeffirelli placed the 17-year-old Leonard Whiting and 15-year-old Olivia Hussey in 1968’s lushest technicolor period setting.
Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 film adaptation—25 years old on November 1, 2021, and with a “screenplay by William Shakespeare” credit in the opening titles—seems closest to the West Side Story modernizing approach but is perhaps even closer to Zeffirelli’s mentality: both are lavish productions with young, competent leads (Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes were a baby-faced 22 and 17 respectively). Both directors invite comparisons as well; a quasi-obituary for Zeffirelli in the New York Times bears the brilliant, if alarming, title “Franco Zeffirelli Made Subtle, Striking Opera. Until He Exploded.” By following Romeo + Juliet with Moulin Rouge!, Australia, and The Great Gatsby (one maximalist masterpiece and two sweeping, indulgent mistakes), Luhrmann seems poised for the same judgment in the cinematic space.
But if Zeffirelli’s rebellious youth are stifled by society and Wise’s and Robbins’ shaped by it, Luhrmann’s are the active participants. This whirlwind of youth tears the social order (represented by the business-suited Capulets and the old-money Montagues) apart in bright colors and sudden violence. The Montagues and Capulets may be respectively clothed in Hawaiian shirts and leather Catholic paraphernalia, but their outlandish uniforms only emphasize their ruthlessness and ferocity. The soundtrack is a hodgepodge from Mozart to Prince. Its camera moves with equal speed and vivacity, cutting nimbly between faces and places in a kaleidoscope of folly. And thus, Romeo + Juliet does not just bring an extravagant, garish urban beach scene vividly to life but embraces the universal freneticism of youth.
Furthermore, the fact that Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet still works brilliantly 25 years later, despite its plethora of references (current and classical) and visual anchor in the late 90s pop scene, is a testament to what Luhrmann chooses to prioritize in his retelling. Under these trappings, it plays Shakespeare’s tragedy straight, with no wink to youth’s innocence and ignorance or eye-rolling at the melodramatic escalation of events. The glitz, glamour, pace, and punch of Luhrmann’s vision would be fruitless without a clear understanding of why Romeo and Juliet, this eternal tragedy, keeps working five hundred years later. And as charming and vulnerable as DiCaprio and Danes are as the central lovers, they are not its world.
This big, bold approach is almost entirely stripped away in the film’s longest and most striking shot at its emotional center. After refusing to engage the Capulet Tybalt (John Leguizamo), Romeo tries to stop his friend Mercutio (Harold Perrineau) from starting a brawl. In his efforts, however, Mercutio is trapped and Tybalt fatally stabs him. Mercutio staggers towards the sea, spitting alternate curses and jokes at Romeo as his friend comes to his aid. The camera alternates close-ups of Mercutio’s and Romeo’s faces and the anguished bystanders—half confused (how could child’s play have come to this?) and half resigned (it was inevitable, after all, that these new mutinies would end in death).
And Mercutio dies. Romeo wails, no longer able to help or comfort his friend, and Luhrmann refuses to let the viewers—on screen and gathered around the screen—look away. The shot is held for what seems like forever, pulled back wide from the two bodies on the beach. Eventually, Romeo gets up, walking as if stunned and then sprints towards the car to chase Tybalt to his death. The camera never notes. Mercutio’s body is foregrounded and in focus as Romeo tears off behind him, blurry and almost silenced (a mass blares on the soundtrack, but the human noises are deadened), fighting off well-meaning attempts to stop his foolhardy pursuit. Mercutio, of course, will never move again.
Luhrmann is not a director known for restraint, but this rare moment of mourning proves his understanding of the deep tragedy resulting from chaos and confusion. The film may not work near as well without this stunning, time-stopping grief.
Perhaps Luhrmann needs this emotional release, this soaring melodrama and crushing tragedy, to create cinematic gold. Mercutio’s body motionless on the beach, Juliet’s determined suicide to the high ending strains of Wagner’s Liebestod, Christian cradling Satine’s body as the curtain falls—these heartrending moments live on well after his Red Curtain has fallen, burned into heart and mind with their contrast of grandeur and vulnerability. By contrast, Daisy Buchanan’s frivolity and quick abandonment of Gatsby after his murder is fundamentally unsuited to Luhrmann’s melodramatic sensibilities. And perhaps instead of pursuing the biggest titles with the greatest possibility for excess, he will find some of this gravitas and gravity underneath the showmanship once again.
Romeo + Juliet breaks with traditional Shakespearian trappings to deliver one of the most inventive, captivating, and spiritually faithful film adaptations. While mostly employing Shakespeare’s original language (see: the perfectly judged screenwriting credit), it uses archaic words and images as an imaginative jumping-off point. Its heart is never compromised in the loud, brash vision, bleeding anew each time for wasted youth and senseless death. Romeo + Juliet sees Luhrmann’s cinematic flourishes at their most accomplished and remains a treasured addition to the canon.
Baz Luhrmann’s William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet is widely available on DVD and Blu-Ray, and is available to stream on Hulu in the United States.