Much Ado About Nothing

It’s been 20 years since the big-screen debut of Kenneth Branagh’s joyous, sun-drenched adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. Critically acclaimed and modestly successful at the box office, Branagh’s Much Ado boasted a powerhouse cast (Denzel Washington, Keanu Reeves, Emma Thompson, Michael Keaton and a nearly unrecognizable pre-whatever-the-work-she-had-done Kate Beckinsale, among others). More importantly, it represented an exuberantly manifested understanding and love of the source material, faithfully presented by a talented director.
Now, two decades later, Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing has landed in theaters, and though the cast may be less star-studded and the golden hues muted to a cool black and white, the result is nearly as pleasing.
In Hollywood, a 20-year gulf between a successful film adaptation and some sort of reboot, remake or sequel would usually signal a failure in the performance of the original, or at least some interesting story of development hell and battling property rights. But this is the Bard, in some ways immune to the industry’s insatiable need to repackage, sequelize and rip off anything with a track record in the popular imagination. Granted, Shakespeare’s works are rivaled only by the Bible as inspirational material for pretty much every movie genre out there. (And the day a version of Twelfth Night brings in $100 million will be the day before the green-lit production of an Eleventh Nightprequel is announced.)
Unlike the 1993 film, in which Branagh roughly maintained the setting of the original play, Whedon places his Much Ado About Nothing in present-day California. (The film was shot in Whedon’s Santa Monica home.) Though the setting has been updated, the language has not—a reason for lovers of Shakespeare to rejoice, and for those less familiar with him to go, “Wait, what…?” Much as with Branagh’s version, it’s a decision that guarantees Whedon’s Much Ado will not venture far beyond the confines of the art house theater and Netflix’s “Shakespeare Films” category. Of course, the language is also pretty much the reason the plays of this particular 16th Century playwright are still being made into movies. (Consider Shakespeare contemporary Christopher Marlowe, who has appeared in more films as a character than had his own work adapted to the screen.)
As its title suggests, Much Ado’s plot is a light and airy thing (yet still so, so much better crafted than most movie fare)—Don Pedro (Reed Diamond), fresh from victory over his bastard of a brother, Don John (Sean Maher), stops at the estate of a loyal supporter, Leonato (Clark Gregg). In Don Pedro’s entourage are Claudio (Fran Kranz) and Benedick (Alexis Denisof). Residing with Leonato at his estate are his daughter, Hero (Jillian Morgese), and her cousin, Beatrice (Amy Acker).
Claudio falls for Hero, Hero doesn’t mind a bit (nor does her dad), and to pass the time between betrothal and wedded bliss, Don Pedro decides to trick avowed matrimoni-phobes Benedick and Beatrice into expressing their love for one another. (For his part, Don John tries to cause trouble.)
As with any well-executed production of a much beloved, older play (be it on stage or screen), Much Ado comes loaded with elegant solutions to the challenges of communicating with a contemporary audience in a non-contemporary (no matter how beautiful) language. A celebratory fist bump here, a shared look there—Whedon and his cast usually insert enough non-verbal cues into the proceedings that most viewers will be able to follow the action even when an understanding of the dialogue proves evasive.