THE TAMING OF THE SHREW (1967) ***1/2 The drama of their own lives surpasseth e'en that immortalized by the most immortal bard of all. A truth so tall that it might be encompassed not by any lie of even the most beneficent pen, but only by the myth that could only grow in the fair shadows thrown beyond their own truth. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Sitting in a tree would they not, for what good might sitting do when opportunity fails to stand obedient like a hound? It's a spectacular and beautiful film and to seek to find every merit and virtue would be to fail to bask in the achievement for too long. Simply say it is like no other, and offer hat, hearth and friendship. Franco Zeffirelli knows a little bit about what makes Shakespeare go and look like it should, and more than that is reserved boundary for no mortal man. Forgotten lemmings stare at the bottom of an iceberg looking up into the mad decadence of belief in temporal accomplishment, while acquiescent stars weave patterns in the desperate snows of light fearful that their achievements be too slight. To find favour is beyond acquittal, and the promise of that endless bounty that remains. And fail not to understand that the final scene was anything but that, and that a shrew might be a name given to a lion by gnat.
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