Actor shot to fame after being cast in Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 film adaptation of Shakespeare’s play when she was just 15
By Roisin O’Connor
Olivia Hussey, who mesmerised audiences as the female lead in Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, has died aged 73.
The news was shared from her official Instagram account in a statement that said the Argentina-born star died “at home, surrounded by her loved ones”.
Hussey was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2008 and underwent a double mastectomy. The illness returned in 2017 and she underwent treatment to remove a small tumour growing between her heart and lungs.
“Olivia was a remarkable person whose warmth, wisdom and pure kindness touched the lives of all who knew her,” her family’s statement said.
It continued: “Olivia lived a life full of passion, love, and dedication to the arts, spirituality, and kindness towards animals.”
In this time of bipartisan acrimony, many on the left and on the right share one point of consensus: Shakespeare is a problem.
Admittedly, this consensus exists at the ends of the spectrum, and chiefly among the professional prudes and scolds who inhabit those extremities. After a season in which most of the hits Shakespeare took were from the education professionals on the cultural left (he was misogynist, racist, bigoted, colonializing, and Eurocentric), he has been taking some from the right (he was smutty, profane, dallied with homosexuality, and is too hard to read). The most recent sally of this kind was a kerfuffle in Florida over the summer when Hillsborough County teachers decided, or were told, to cut the sexy parts from Shakespeare to avoid falling afoul of Florida’s Parental Rights in Education Act. Then the Florida Department of Education jumped in and told teachers they can do full Shakespeare—for now.
To be fair, Shakespeare is hanging in there despite the sniping. The Common Core State Standards for English mention him nine times, requiring high-school students to read at least one of his plays. Mocking the pursed-lipped, humorless ideologues at both ends is easy. But I worry that despite programs like the National Endowment for the Arts’ modest Shakespeare in American Communities, we will forget why Shakespeare matters deeply, why he really is a universal author, and why he is worth reading even if he talks about sex, features unpleasant male behaviors, and uses words (a good 25,000 of them, some of which he invented) that we find hard to understand [ . . . ]
The search for the truth about Richard III gives Hawkins another excellent showcase for her talents.
Philippa Longley (Sally Hawkins) is having a difficult time in her life. She’s been overlooked for an exciting position at her job, she suffers from chronic fatigue, and she and her ex-husband John (Steve Coogan) are trying to raise their children together as they deal with their separation. After she sees a particularly affecting performance of Richard III, Philippa becomes fascinated by the title character, and the questionable legacy of the man—believing his past to be more fiction than fact. In Richard III, Philippa sees a bit of herself, another misunderstood person who deserves defending. In order to find out the truth about Richard III and his past, Philippa decides to try and find his remains that have long been lost to rumor.
On this journey, Philippa is often visited by Richard III (Harry Lloyd), who waits outside her home, quietly waiting for her assistance in finding his remains. It’s a bit of magical realism injected into this story of a person who followed her beliefs, as opposed to the “truths” that people tried to push on her. Philippa’s quest is largely influenced by her belief that Richard III is buried in a car park, and while Philippa certainly does her research on this matter, it’s her faith that she’s right that seems to guide her journey in The Lost King.
Directed by Stephen Frears (Dangerous Liaisons, High Fidelity) and written by Coogan and Jeff Pope, The Lost King often feels like this trio’s last collaboration, Philomena, which also found a woman (often assisted by Coogan) attempting to find the truth out about a sordid past. Like Philomena, The Lost King is about an underdog trying to take on the establishment, and how that challenge can often feel like fighting against a brick wall.
Philippa finds herself meeting with a group called the Richard III Society, who similarly wants to find out the truth about the departed king, stating that Shakespeare’s play was simply more attractive than the truth. As The Lost King goes on, it seems as though the same could be said about The Lost King itself. This is a decent underdog story that often works thanks to reliable performances, but it’s hard to imagine that the real story isn’t far more interesting than the one that we’re being presented. It’s as if Coogan and Pope almost don’t feel confidence that the original story is interesting on its own, instead, inserting in ghost kings to add a little something to this story of a woman trying to find a buried king.
Like so many of Frears’ films, The Lost King works because of the compelling cast on hand. Hawkins is naturally great as Philippa, a woman who has been passed over far too many times, and doesn’t want the same fate to continue for Richard III. Hawkins brings a vulnerability to the role, and yet a power and determination that sees her through this quest. The Lost King works not because of Frears, Pope or Coogan, but because Hawkins can bring a great amount of compassion and care to this character who just want to make things right—even if it’s for a long-dead royal.
Coogan is also quite good here, and the dynamic between him and Hawkins is also a welcome addition, as John becomes wary of Philippa at first, then slowly becomes warily supporting in her journey. Coogan’s arc is lovely, and some of the finest moments in The Lost King rely on watching these two eventually get closer together in a way they haven’t been in years. If we take anything from The Lost King, it’s that Coogan and Hawkins should certainly play off each other in more films
Like Frears’ most recent films, Florence Foster Jenkins and Victoria & Abdul, The Lost King is slightly meandering for the first half, building to a rousing payoff in the final act for these characters. While the journey to find King Richard III’s bones might drag at times, the third act manages to make for an excellent dénouement—even though it largely focuses on an excavation crew digging holes in a parking lot. Say what you will about Frears’ films, he knows how to win over an audience in the final act.
But it’s in the excitement of the film’s final third where the weight of the rest of the film can be felt. As Philippa seemingly gets closer to her goal, there’s a rousing joy to the end of this journey, especially when she comes face-to-face with the men along the way that have held her back. The real power and heft of this narrative all feels pushed to the backend of the film, which in hindsight, makes the first two acts feel fairly unremarkable by comparison.
Like Frears’ most recent films, Florence Foster Jenkins and Victoria & Abdul, The Lost King is slightly meandering for the first half, building to a rousing payoff in the final act for these characters. While the journey to find King Richard III’s bones might drag at times, the third act manages to make for an excellent dénouement—even though it largely focuses on an excavation crew digging holes in a parking lot. Say what you will about Frears’ films, he knows how to win over an audience in the final act.
But it’s in the excitement of the film’s final third where the weight of the rest of the film can be felt. As Philippa seemingly gets closer to her goal, there’s a rousing joy to the end of this journey, especially when she comes face-to-face with the men along the way that have held her back. The real power and heft of this narrative all feels pushed to the backend of the film, which in hindsight, makes the first two acts feel fairly unremarkable by comparison.
In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare stages the workings of love in unexpected ways. In the woods outside Athens, two young men and two young women sort themselves into couples—but not before
In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare stages the workings of love in unexpected ways. In the woods outside Athens, two young men and two young women sort themselves into couples—but not before they form first one love triangle, and then another. The king and queen of fairyland, Oberon and Titania, battle over an orphan boy. To punish Titania for opposing him, Oberon uses magic to make Titania fall in love with a weaver named Bottom. Bottom and his companions ineptly stage the tragedy of “Pyramus and Thisbe.”
This new unabridged audio recording of the well-respected edition of Shakespeare’s classic—expertly produced by the Folger Theatre—is perfect for students, teachers, and the everyday listener.
Listen to a sample of the recording above and buy the audio as a CD or a download.
