Jack Weston, a failed writer, brings back Shakespeare by means of black magic and sells Shakespeare's work as a television series. The suits change everything in the play around so that, for instance, a balcony scene turns into a subway encounter. Shakespeare shows up at a rehearsal, watches speechlessly as his work is debauched, and storms out.
It's entertaining enough but has its weaknesses. Among the chuckles is Weston's ignorance: Weston keeps pestering his agent, trying to sell tired scripts, but he's an ex streetcar conductor who knows nothing about writing or literature. If a sign in a bookstore offers a first edition of Keats, he asks the saleslady for "a Keat." As for Njinsky, "Sure Njinsky was a great dancer but who remembers her last picture?" John Williams will be a familiar face to fans of 1950s movies. He was usually a detective or a lawyer. Here, he's The Bard, strutting around in 16th-century costume, full of himself, always quoting his own work. "Blow, blow, thou winter wind," and, "Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear," and on and on, until he gets to, "To be or not to be --" Then he stops, scowls with frustration and stalks off because he's forgotten the rest.
The cast list is studded with the names of famous actors or character actors. Among the best is Burt Reynolds as a Marlon Brando clone. As an actor in Shakespeare's mangled play, he's disheveled. He mumbles and wears a sweatshirt. He asks incisive questions like, "What's my tertiary motivation? Y'know, why do I walk through this door at this PARTICULAR time?" Williams clips Reynolds on the jaw and disappears.
The plot, enjoyable as it is, has a few kinks. First, a couple of time-consuming scenes could easily have been cut and pepped up the tempo. I'm thinking of the extended opening in which Weston importunes his agent. We get the picture long before the scene ends. And there is at least a full minute given to Weston strutting around his apartment describing what a big man he's about to become, while Williams regards him with disgust.
Finally, it's impossible to believe that Weston's agent or sponsors would find Shakespeare's words in any way appealing, no matter how they were revised. One of the network's suits objects to lines like, "He produced a pince-nez box and, anon, gave it to his nose, then took't away." The line itself is a near-perfect parody and is funny as hell -- but if you were the owner of Shannon's Soups would you pay for a series based on lines like that?
It's entertaining enough but has its weaknesses. Among the chuckles is Weston's ignorance: Weston keeps pestering his agent, trying to sell tired scripts, but he's an ex streetcar conductor who knows nothing about writing or literature. If a sign in a bookstore offers a first edition of Keats, he asks the saleslady for "a Keat." As for Njinsky, "Sure Njinsky was a great dancer but who remembers her last picture?" John Williams will be a familiar face to fans of 1950s movies. He was usually a detective or a lawyer. Here, he's The Bard, strutting around in 16th-century costume, full of himself, always quoting his own work. "Blow, blow, thou winter wind," and, "Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear," and on and on, until he gets to, "To be or not to be --" Then he stops, scowls with frustration and stalks off because he's forgotten the rest.
The cast list is studded with the names of famous actors or character actors. Among the best is Burt Reynolds as a Marlon Brando clone. As an actor in Shakespeare's mangled play, he's disheveled. He mumbles and wears a sweatshirt. He asks incisive questions like, "What's my tertiary motivation? Y'know, why do I walk through this door at this PARTICULAR time?" Williams clips Reynolds on the jaw and disappears.
The plot, enjoyable as it is, has a few kinks. First, a couple of time-consuming scenes could easily have been cut and pepped up the tempo. I'm thinking of the extended opening in which Weston importunes his agent. We get the picture long before the scene ends. And there is at least a full minute given to Weston strutting around his apartment describing what a big man he's about to become, while Williams regards him with disgust.
Finally, it's impossible to believe that Weston's agent or sponsors would find Shakespeare's words in any way appealing, no matter how they were revised. One of the network's suits objects to lines like, "He produced a pince-nez box and, anon, gave it to his nose, then took't away." The line itself is a near-perfect parody and is funny as hell -- but if you were the owner of Shannon's Soups would you pay for a series based on lines like that?