Michelle Grey and members of the ensemble. (Photo by Lucia Ledoux)
Reviewed by Joel Beers
Porters of Hellsgate at the Los Angeles Community of Acting and Entertainment
Through November 23
Democracy ain’t easy. That’s readily apparent in even the most cursory examination of America’s nearly 250-year-old experiment, but you don’t need a textbook or a Twitter feed to realize it — just a ticket to Coriolanus. While Shakespeare’s tragedy isn’t among his most commonly produced works and probably wouldn’t top many desert island must-haves, its depiction of a proud, autocratic soldier undone by personal pride, political manipulation, fickle public opinion and populist rage is a far cry from a faint echo on planet Earth 2025.
Unfortunately, this production rarely raises the volume enough to make those personal and political conflicts fully register.
It’s not that it’s a quiet play; the starving lower-class plebeians shout as they excoriate and glorify the Roman soldier at the center of the story. And that soldier, Caius Marcius (played by Michelle Grey in this Porters of Hellsgate nontraditional, inclusive casting adaptation), who is given the honorific Coriolanus early after capturing the enemy city of Corioli, directs plenty of bluster at just about everyone — the plebeians she disdains, the tribunes who manipulate them, the aristocratic patricians who both use and abandon her, and the enemy Volscian troops, most notably their general, Tullus Aufidius (Dawn Alden).
The problem is that while it’s clear in this L. Stephanie Tait-directed production that Coriolanus is driven by a need to dominate—from battlefield savagery to her refusal to flatter the common folk or play politics for a consulship — it’s never fully clear where that drive originates or what catalyzes the engine of her self-destruction: that old deadly sin called pride.
Conveying that sense of pride is crucial because while it’s what makes Coriolanus a raging prick, as well as unreasonable and incapable of introspection (if not downright Trumpian), it also makes the character one of the few Shakespearean protagonists who is absolutely true to their self. There is no Hamlet-like vacillation, no Macbeth-like corruption or self-deception, no Caesarian compromise. There is a nobility to Coriolanus, although it is personal, not civic, grounded in rigidity and devotion to honor (unlike the insecurity of some contemporary leaders). In short, it’s a nobility so unwavering that it leads to her downfall.
That clarity is muddled in this production because, aside from Thomas Bigley’s well-drawn Menenius, every character shares Coriolanus’s pride and lack of self-awareness — yet theirs is all about currying favor, or gaining or retaining power. Where Coriolanus differs is that power and popularity are subordinate to personal honor, but that distinction is insufficiently emphasized here.
Some of that may come down to costuming. The program states the setting is “Rome, in a world reminiscent of the 1960s,” and the street graffiti and television screens showing battle scenes and talking heads convey that visually. Most characters wear either suits and ties like the patricians and Coriolanus’s father, combat boots and fatigues like soldiers, or 60s-inspired styles like the plebeians. Coriolanus herself is usually outfitted in all black, a choice that could work if the garb felt militant or professionally soldiery (whatever that looks like), but here it mostly reads as plain clothing.
That seems minor, but Coriolanus is a soldier, trained for combat from near-infancy. Her upbringing underpins her dogmatic adherence to honor and inflated sense of pride, which is the root of the tragedy — yet that sense of military valor is mostly absent from this portrayal.
On the other hand, what is conspicuous is a trait that Grey skillfully conveys, one not commonly associated with most productions of Coriolanus: vulnerability. This makes the character more human and psychologically nuanced — but as interesting as that choice is, it risks undercutting what makes Coriolanus so quintessentially Coriolanus. Pride may go before her fall, but we rarely see the rocky path whereon that stumble begins.
Los Angeles Community of Acting and Entertainment, 11031 Camarillo St., Los Angeles; Tues, 8 p.m.; Fri, 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. Thru Nov. 23. https://www.portersofhellsgate.com/tickets. Running time: two hours and30 minutes, with an intermission.
