Here's the plot: a demagogue threatens democracy and his own allies in the Senate have to decide whether to remove him. So it's no wonder that the Public Theater's minds went to recent events when they staged Julius Caesar in Central Park. Their modern-day version, with a familiar-looking Caesar, has made some headlines. I won't lie: the murder scene was disturbing to watch. Art often attempts to be dangerous, but it rarely succeeds. This production, which we attended on its final weekend, truly felt dangerous.
But alas, protesters outside claimed that everything had been misconstrued. The knives were just metaphors, they said, as the play was about the dangers of tyranny. The central question of the play is whether the conspirators were right to remove Caesar. And Shakespeare, who was paid by kings to perform for them, wasn't exactly antiauthoritarian. We shouldn't expect him to endorse kingslaying, and he doesn't.
As Brutus says, "As he was valiant, I honor him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him." But how ambitious was Caesar? Was Brutus right to fear for democracy? There's a key scene that answers this question. In it, Caesar, who "would not be a wolf / but that he sees the Romans are but sheep," is offered a crown three times and refuses it. The smartest person in Rome, Cicero, then gives a brilliant speech. And here's the funny (and quintessentially Shakespearean) thing about that scene: we don't see it. It's narrated to us by Casca, a conspirator, who tells us that he thinks Caesar was just holding out for a better crown. And that speech by Cicero? Well, it was in Greek. Casca didn't understand a word of it. The famous phrase, "It was Greek to me," represents Shakespeare allowing us to decide.
But whether Caesar was a tyrant or not, the result of his removal is chaos. No one wins. What happens after Caesar is another Caesar - Octavius, his adopted son, depicted in Central Park wearing a dorky flak jacket. He and Marc Antony go to war against the conspirators; Brutus and Cassius commit suicide. By the end, nothing has really changed. Once Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon with his army - we're talking about history here, not just Shakespeare - democracy in Rome never recovered. When we ask, "How can we protect democracy? Is it by taking extreme measures to remove the threat? Or should we hope our government can survive him on its own?" Shakespeare answers: if you're asking the question, you've already lost.
Bummer that we couldn't have watched this play a couple years ago. “How many ages hence,” asks Cassius, “Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, / In states unborn and accents yet unknown!” and we're left wondering, hopefully just one more?