Shakespeare Plays Available in Video Format
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All’s Well That Ends Well
Antony and Cleopatra
As You Like It
The Comedy of Errors
Coriolanus
Cymbeline
Hamlet
Henry IV, part 1
Henry IV, part 2
Henry V
Henry VI, part 1
Henry VI, part 2
Henry VI, part 3
Henry VIII
Julius Caesar
King John
King Lear
Love’s Labour’s Lost
Macbeth
Measure for Measure
The Merchant of Venice
The Merry Wives of Windsor
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Much Ado About Nothing
Othello
Pericles
Richard II
Richard III
Romeo and Juliet
The Taming of the Shrew
The Tempest
Timon of Athens
Titus Andronicus
Troilus and Cressida
Twelfth Night
Two Gentlemen of Verona
The Winter’s Tale
Shakespeareana

Available versions

1936: George Cukor

1954: Renato Castellani

1965: Val Drumm, Paul Lee

1968: Franco Zeffirelli

1976: Joan Kemp-Welch

1978: Alvin Rakoff

1993: Norman Campbell

1994: Alan Horrox

1996: Baz Luhrmann

2010: Dominic Dromgoole

2013: Carlo Carlei

2014: Don Roy King, David Leveaux


Adaptations

1961: West Side Story

1992: Efim Gamburg, Dave Edwards (animated)


Related

2015: Shakespeare Uncovered, Season 2, Episode 2


Romeo and Juliet

One theory of dramatic composition holds that tragedy grows out of a fundamental character flaw — sometimes called a “tragic flaw” — in the principal character or characters. Not all people subscribe to this theory, which has its origins in the Poetics of Aristotle. I don’t particularly think it addresses the fundamental issues even of Greek tragedy, let alone later types of tragedy. You may agree or not as you like.

But if we reject that position, it does leave an important gap: we need to figure out what other salient feature what makes a tragedy a tragedy. We are used to hearing the word “tragedy” bandied about by newscasters as if it were a synonym for “calamity”, or just a lofty term for “Really Bad Stuff”, and so we may be immune to the overtones of such a claim. But in a dramatic sense, “tragedy” means something more. It’s more than just an unhappy outcome. Would a play be a tragedy if a random gunman entered and shot everyone in the last scene of a play that was otherwise a comedy? Is it a tragedy if the hero falls down the stairs and is killed when the play is really about something else? Instinctively most people want to say no. We have a sense that the outcome, whatever it is, must be to some measure a natural outgrowth of the ingredients of the story — character, perhaps, or at least the plot — but in any case, not something superadded when everything else has run its course.

But if that is a valid criterion, then we have to ask whether the crisis and climax of Romeo and Juliet actually emerges from its basic material or not. Is it, instead, an accidental set of mishaps that respond to the tonal tension of the earlier part of the play, but don’t really grow out of it in any kind of narrative sense? How we think about this question, and what conclusion we come to, will have a lot to do with what we make of the play in the long run.

For this reason, and for a few others, Romeo and Juliet has never been among my favorite Shakespeare plays. It is capable of great power and beauty if it is done right, however, and it has magnificent language. It has exerted a disproportionately large fascination for both filmmakers and filmgoers since the beginnings of the medium, and the cinematic medium is very friendly to the intimacy of the relationship of two lovers. The range of renditions one can find on film is truly spectacular. Some of them are brilliant, and some of them are (to my way of thinking) mind-numbingly wrong-headed. The range in toto, however, does suggest something about the plasticity of Shakespeare’s storytelling, and watching several versions is an education in itself.