The Moor Next Door

Rereading Othello over the past couple of weeks was a strange experience for me. It was (almost) the first Shakespeare play I read. (The first was actually Romeo and Juliet, but not only can one never really step away from Romeo and Juliet, but I’ve also watched it in more recent years. Othello, however, I have not read, watched, or talked about since tenth grade.) I hardly remember any of the analysis from high school, of course, but so many lines and passages echoed from across the expanse of years during this reading.

I also had a peculiar feeling of reality, and at least Katy agreed with me; all of the events seemed much more plausible than Shakespeare usually does. What makes it so different? Is it the near-obedience to the Greek principles of dramatic unity? Othello is more concise than most Shakespeare plays. There is only one significant setting change, and it happens so early on that we nearly forget that the action started in Venice rather than in Cyprus. Although there are characters who don’t know each other, there aren’t any subplots in the full sense of the word; even the peripheral people and motivations, like Roderigo and his goal to seduce Desdemona, are directly related to the central conflict. As for the progression of the action, the entire play takes place within a couple of days and seems to skip little of importance. Together, all of these aspects present a quite lifelike, immediate story.

More importantly, this play is unusual in its situation—that is, unusual for Shakespeare but more familiar for us. Most tragedies (and comedies, for that matter) deal with matters far beyond my experience: monarchies, incest, murder, family feuds, etc. I don’t relate to Hamlet because, frankly, my father was never murdered in his orchard and my uncle never slept with my mother. Jealousy, however, is a universal situation, or nearly so. Of course, I have never felt the urge to murder due to jealousy, but who has not been led astray by a false friend or become uncertain of a loved one’s affections?

The combination of realism and devastation—the tragic and sad aspects, as Liz would say—makes me curious about what this play implies about the casual little evils we perpetrate every day and how they come about. Othello, after all, isn’t an immoral character; quite to the contrary, he is an exceedingly noble and honorable man. It is in fact his devotion to virtue that gets him into trouble, specifically his devotion to honor. He considers his murder of Desdemona an act done “all in honour,” that is, a fulfillment of his moral obligation to punish adultery (V.ii.301). Othello also casts his suicide in

the light of justice by comparing himself to a “malignant … Turk” who poses a threat to the security of Venice (V.ii.362).

How does a love of honor, in itself a good and virtuous thing, come to such violent ends? I think Iago is the key. The

character of Iago has been interpreted many ways, but I’d like to mention just one here: Iago is the devil. Traditional Christian theology imagines Satan as a powerful being who does evil just because he takes joy in evil, and although the bitter ensign gives a few reasons for his actions at the beginning of the play, I don’t quite see the logic even in a twisted Shakespearean way. If Iago wanted Cassio’s position, why not just kill Cassio? Iago will have no position at all if Othello is dead or imprisoned. As for the adultery claim, Iago says more than once that he has only an inkling and is not at all sure he’s right. Instead, I think that Iago just enjoys making trouble and looks for any excuse to do so. Shakespeare confirms Iago’s true identity when Othello pines that he can’t kill him: “If that thou beest a devil, I cannot kill thee” (V.ii.293). In the ensuing scuffle in which Othello tries to kill him anyway, Iago informs us that he is hurt but certainly not dead, just as Satan would be if attacked.

Iago and Othello: Never trust a man with a mustache like this. (I was unable to determine any genuine information about the artist or source.)

Iago, devilish thing he is, takes advantage of Othello’s dedication to one virtue, honor, by confusing his perception of another, honesty. Everyone knows Iago is “honest” (was there ever a more constant epithet in Shakespeare?), so Othello doesn’t worry about judging that virtue in others for himself. If honest Iago gives a fact, it’s a fact, no matter what anyone else says. I mean, we don’t say “honest Emilia,” do we? “Honest Desdemona” doesn’t have the same ring to it, either. When these two women tell Othello the truth about Desdemona’s chastity, Othello can’t believe it. Othello’s virtue of choice is honor, and honorable Othello is too focused on being honorable to worry about judging honesty; that’s what honest Iago is for. This misplaced moral focus leads to a moral imbalance, which in turn leads to tragedy. Othello realizes this after his grave mistake: “why should honour outlive honesty?” (V.ii.252). The latter virtue is just as important to think about as the first, and he’s been passing off his duty to embody it to another person, who unfortunately isn’t a moral being.

This is all a very preliminary exploration into Othello‘s commentary on human nature and its proclivities towards jealousy, zealousness, and betrayal. I have mentioned the points that meant the most to me, but I’m starting to think that this play is an even deeper rabbit hole than Hamlet is. As I said, though, Othello is more accessible to us in many ways, and its heartbreaking path from minor mistakes to utter destruction ought to be a subject of meditation. Shakespeare’s message is that this could happen to anyone who interacts with other human beings, and that means most of us.

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Fairy Serious Issues of Love

I had the pleasure of getting to perform the role of Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream during my senior year of college in the University of Portland’s 2012 production directed by Andrew Golla.  When I selected it as our play to read next I thought to myself, “It’s been long enough since I was in the play.  It will seem fresh reading it.”  This was both true and not true.  The words were all still in my head as my cast-mates had said them just a year ago, and I still had a lot memorized.  But, as usually occurs when rereading Shakespeare, I did discover new themes and thoughts; those new ideas are what I’d like to share in this post.

Titania v. Oberon

For instance, one of the plot points that is usually considered a “problem” of the play, that of the Changeling, made more sense to me after this reading.  The questions that always need to be addressed are, “Why doesn’t Titania fight for the Changeling back once the love spell is lifted off of her?  Why is the Changeling so important to Oberon in the first place?”  We know he is important to Titania because he was the son of one of her loyal followers who died giving birth to him.  Titania raises the child as her own for her sake.

Many directors try to brush it off or pretend the issue just vanishes.  But it doesn’t vanish; it is resolved.  Because the truth is that it wasn’t ever the real problem in the first place.  Imagine a couple arguing over the dishes.  The husband never does them and leaves them in the sink all the time, and the wife is tired of always having to clean the dishes.  Sometimes, that’s where the problem ends.  But more often, the problem isn’t the dishes.  That can be the tip of the iceberg, the only part that is seen while the real monster lies below.  Is the underlying reason for the wife’s anger that when the husband doesn’t do the dishes she believes he’s lazy or that he doesn’t care about their home?  Or are they arguing about the dishes but really they’re just projecting their anger onto that issue when the source of the anger is something else entirely?  Often in tiny arguments we have in relationships, the little thing we’re arguing about is not really the problem.  The real problem goes deeper.

Oberon and Titania in conflict over the Changeling

In our discussion, we started to view the Changeling as the dishes.  Yes, they’re arguing over the issue, but it’s not the real problem.  They have bigger marriage issues going on underneath, and the argument over the boy is just the surface argument.  Hmmmm.  Perhaps the fact that they both accuse each other of cheating has something to do with it …

We also thought this situation begs the question, “Can Oberon and Titania have children?”  If not, the Changeling could be the closest they have to a child.  The argument over the Changeling could then be considered a custody battle.  A powerful playing of the play might show Oberon and Titania as a divorced couple in a custody battle.  So in the end, when Oberon and Titania get back together and we wonder why she “gave up” the child, the truth is that they’re together again and so the custody issue is resolved.  It’s no longer a battle of who gets the child since they aren’t divorced anymore.

Hermia & Lysander by John Simmons

Apart from new insights into Oberon & Titania’s marriage, my other big discovery during this read-through was the significance of the play-within-a-play in Act 5.  I wish I had discovered this when I was still playing Hermia, but oh well, maybe next time.  Act 5 can seem like it’s just a bit of fun or kept in to wrap up the story of the Mechanics, but there is something very significant about the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, especially in the way it mirrors the story of the lovers in this play.

Lysander and Hermia are in love at the start of the play, but their family (Egeus, Hermia’s father) disapproves of the match, so they run into the forest to meet up and find freedom together.   Pyramus and Thisbe are in love but their families separate them, so they run into the forest to meet each other and find their freedom.  The woods are dangerous in both stories.  Woods=mad.  Woods=crazy.  Going into the woods is entering the chaos.

So when the lovers are watching the play-within-a-play at the end, they are watching what could have happened to them.  If Midsummer was a tragedy, would it not have looked an awful lot like Pyramus & Thisbe?  This is how this story could have ended …

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An Enjoyable Shrew

Shakespeare set in a trailer park? I was hesitant when I first heard about the Seattle Shakespeare Company’s version of The Taming of the Shrew. Yet I enjoyed their production of Love’s Labour’s Lost so much that I had to see this one, too.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way. Trailer parks aren’t exactly the first setting you think of for Shakespeare. As I entered the theater and saw the elaborate aluminum siding, I wasn’t sure it would work. Yet, as the play progressed, I realized that this is probably the only Shakespeare play they could spin in such a way. The characters of this play have such volatile relationships, whether it’s Kate tying up her sister Bianca or Grumio assuming Petruchio wants him to knock him upside the head rather than knock at the door. Of course, Kate and Petruchio’s relationship is known for its abusive undertones, and seeing this in almost any other setting would only heighten our discomfort. The backwoods theme made it feel almost natural. Almost.

The actors’ performances were superb. As I saw in their last play, these actors know how to speak Shakespeare. When they speak it so crisply and clearly, it’s easy to forget that we’re watching a play originally set in the late 16th century. Not only was their speaking great, but their acting was believable. It was obvious that these actors understood the director’s vision and fully embraced it.

Some moments felt a bit over-the-top; however, upon reflection I found justification for them, even if I didn’t fully agree with the choice. For instance, in the scene wherein Grumio misunderstands Petruchio’s order to knock, the two characters spend several minutes preparing to wrestle, complete with sound effects and cheesy action. Although I got bored with it after the first minute or so, I realized later that this extra bit of action firmly shows the audience what sort of people these characters are. Petruchio isn’t weak and won’t let anyone get away with messing with him. Grumio will do anything he thinks his master wants him to do. And, above all this, the scene reminds us that this is a comedy. Let’s not take things too seriously.

One addition that I appreciated a great deal was the fleshing out of the widow’s character. In the text, the widow doesn’t get a back story and we don’t see why Hortensio suddenly married her. In this production, however, we see one very poignant extra scene which explains without adding words. The widow, a young, pregnant military wife, is visited by an officer who gives her news of her husband’s death. Hortensio watches from his neighboring house and runs to meet her and comfort her. We see another side to Hortensio, and it actually made me excited for his later marriage. The widow also was given more stage time, including the role of the tailor, which enabled her to develop more of a sassy persona which worked well for the last scene.

While I thoroughly enjoyed my night, there’s one thing I need to address: the abuse. This production did help me believe Petruchio actually loves Kate. We see her fall asleep against him in one scene, and he strokes her hair as a lover would. His voice is heartbreaking when he tells her they must return to his house after she continues to argue with him over the sun and moon. Petruchio just wants her to play along with him, to be for him and not against him. When she finally agrees to side with him, no matter the silliness of the subject, their relationship turns. They have fun, show each other love with each glance, and exhibit a mutual respect. Even with this beautiful interpretation of the last scenes, I left wondering why Petruchio resorted to starvation. Why the seemingly abusive behavior? Though this performance was comedic enough to make me laugh through the food scenes, I still had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I can’t fully believe it. I’m still waiting for someone to thoroughly convince me that Petruchio made wise choices in the taming of his shrew.

David Quicksall as Petruchio and Kelly Kitchens as Kate in Seattle Shakespeare Company’s 2013 production of “The Taming of the Shrew” Photo by Chris Bennion.

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“We Few, We Happy Few”

We few, we happy few who were able to attend the presentation of Henry V by the Main Street Theater and Prague Shakespeare Company last Saturday night were treated to a truly thrilling experience.  For all the spectacle often seen in many large-scale film and theatrical versions of this particular play, this production equally (if not more so) presented for examination the great themes of Shakespeare’s epic war play: leadership, war, and glory.  In Main Street Theater’s small, intimate, arena-style space, I was part of Henry’s kingdom and army, his “band of brothers.”  A happy few.

At the bottom of this post I’ve attached some reviews of this production as well as professional photos, but first, let me give you a sense of my experience and the new insight I gleaned from the play after witnessing this production.

Henry V at Main Street Theater

Saturday’s production was brilliantly directed by Guy Roberts, who also played the title role.  His performance presented a Henry that contained elements I expected and some I did not.  Henry was young, clearly an energetic, strong, youthful king.  I saw, as is clear in the play and most of its renditions, a strong, bold leader that I would follow anywhere!  The element that surprised me was Henry’s certainty in his decisions.  In reading and discussing the play, I saw Henry V as a continuation of the development of Hal/Henry’s character.  I expected to see in performance a boy learning to become a king, who was very much struggling with every decision and was unsure of himself and how he should proceed.  Instead, Roberts’s Henry knew what he was doing.  While there were human traces of self-awareness and doubt, the young king ruled with assuredness and a confidence that I did not expect but which nonetheless worked excellently for the overall production and supported one of the main theses of the play: Henry V was a magnificent leader.

Some of the problems our group encountered when reading and discussing Henry V back in March were cleverly solved in this production.  For instance, we struggled to understand the justification for the war as presented by the Archbishop in Act I, Scene 2.  Did Henry really buy that complex (and rather bogus) argument for his right to the French throne?  Was he looking for an excuse to go to war?  Or did he feel morally obligated to fight for his divine right as King of France?  In the Main Street Theater production, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s long, rambling explanation of the peculiarities of the law were treated as just that: long ramblings.  The Archbishop rattled through his speech as would a boring professor giving a tedious lecture.  And Henry and his lords started to exchange exasperated looks with each other and the audience, drift off, and roll their eyes.  (All let out a sarcastic chuckle and agitated sigh at Canterbury’s “So that, as clear as the summer’s sun…”).  The audience did not have to pay close attention to the argument that was being made because the King and his court weren’t!

But when all the discussion was done, before Henry ordered the entrance of the Dauphin’s messenger, he turned to each of his Lords in turn and asked a silent question with just a look or small gesture.  The unspoken question was “How would you advise I proceed?”  One by one they all replied: “War.”  “War.”  War.”  “War.”  Finally Henry turned and gestured to an audience member and silently asked the same question.  “War” was the answer.

Roberts’s production balanced Shakespeare’s examination of both glorious leadership and the true, gruesome reality of war.  From the first moment of the play to the last, Taiko, a form of Japanese music, art and sport, was performed on two large drums and other percussion instruments.  The drums set the tone for the war play immediately and pervaded throughout the production.  War was ever-present.  (A sample of the drumming can be heard in this video of photos from the show.)

Guy Roberts as Henry in Main Street Theater’s Production
Photo: Forest Photography

And the weight of war overwhelmed the king.  In Henry’s one scene alone on stage, he contemplates the burden a king must carry and grapple with.  He questions whether the glory is worth the isolation and great responsibility (“And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?” Act IV, Scene 1).

Act IV, Scene 2, in which the French army leers over the weak and terrified English army on the eve of battle, was inserted into the middle of Henry’s introspective scene.  The resulting stage picture was powerful: one man on all fours, weighted down by the burden of responsibility and unknown fate, overwhelmed by a feeling of utter isolation, and seemingly weak when juxtaposed with the large, glorious French army he must now face.  The outcome of the battle, good or ill, rested on his shoulders.  How could Henry ever win?  How could he lead his soldiers despite the odds?

Henry rouses his troops in Henry V at Main Street Theater.
Photo credit: Forest Photography

Answer: some damn good public speaking and a heap of charisma!  The very famous Saint Crispian’s day speech was a thrill to be a part of.  And the audience was a part it, a part of Henry’s army.  The rousing speech was spoken to us as much as to any of his soldiers.  I was inspired!  In this production we saw the horrors of war, but we also saw the spark of leadership that can motivate men to fight regardless of blood and gore and impossible odds.  I felt that inspiration.  In that moment, I would have followed Henry anywhere.

Guy Roberts: Into the Breech by Houston Press

Prague Shakespeare Company/Main Street Theater’s Henry V is Magnificent Feast by Buzz Bellmont: The Critic’s Critic (Houston Chronicle)

Photos from the show can be viewed here: http://forestphotography.smugmug.com/Stage/Top-Theater-Photos/20130315-Henry-V/29096019_nRC93c#!i=2476777501&k=TcxwpdW

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