Friday, September 19, 2014

Blog 9: It Takes a Village...



This week’s blog will seem a little fragmented but for one thing, it’s Friday, and for another, I stayed up late watching Sons of Anarchy last night. More importantly, fragmented or not, this is one I have been meaning to write up for a while. If there is one positive side to the beast known as the Doctoral Comprehensive Examinations, it is the opportunity to read many texts one might not be inclined (or even find the time to do so) otherwise within a packed academic schedule. Though Shakespeare remains my one true academic love (the Boston cream pie to my other desserts, the Chivas Regal to my other scotch and whiskeys, the pants to my non-pants lower body clothing garments[1]) I enjoy the broader scope of early modern drama and I thought I would share some of my thoughts on other dramatists of the period, since they often go neglected in our current cultural landscape …though some clearly should go neglected (I’m looking at you Thomas Dekker!).[2] I wanted to take a break from my rampant case of bardolatry to discuss some of the Renaissance works that struck a chord with me in hopes of perhaps bringing some of you to read new unknown works. So, in no particular order, here goes:

Ben Jonson
I have a love-hate relationship with Jonson’s work. I really enjoyed most of his plays (particularly the two Every Man comedies and The Alchemist), but his cynical attitudes (I think of Jonson as an early modern hipster, but poorer and more jaded) usually spoils them for me. Case in point: Every Man Out of His Humor is a brilliantly savage comedy poking (if not tearing asunder) fun at out of control behaviors, but the cruelty and disdain that the Jonsonian mouthpiece Asper displays throughout goes somewhat overboard. Also, though I am usually one for meta-textual references Jonson’s inner monologue turned outer commentary irks me somewhat. Still, I’ll admit his sense of an urban dramatic space trumps that of Shakespeare and characters such as Volpone are a delight to follow throughout a performance.[3]  

Christopher Marlowe:
I love Marlowe’s bombastic, blockbuster style of theater: Characters committing suicide by braining themselves on the bars of cages, poisoning wells, or making deals with the devil[4] … it’s got everything! Yet, what I truly admire is the underrated emotional complexity that infuses his works, particularly Doctor Faustus. There is a truly masterful slow-building tension in here that sucks you in every time, and release you just in time to witness the inevitable yet harrowing conclusion. Though it certainly disturbs in our current times, the unapologetically-evil characterization of Barabbas in The Jew of Malta, though it does not reach the dazzling humanity of Shylock, is an incredible dramatic feat which leaves you (or is just me), half-rooting for him to succeed in then end.     

John Fletcher
I really enjoy Fletcher’s work, particularly his adaptation of Spanish romances (thanks, Joyce!), and what I call his retro-humoral comedies such as The Woman Hater and The Humorous Lieutenant.[5] Fletcher’s plots are every energetic, his comic timing his impeccable, and his plays make great use of stage space for both comedic instances and more dramatic situations. He also writes more dynamic and fully fleshed out female characters than most of his contemporaries do. Check out The Woman Hater (kind of a reverse Taming of the Shrew, with a hilarious subplot involving whore houses and an exotic fish head dish[6]) if you have a chance.  

John Lyly:
Lyly’s courtly romance style is an acquired taste (in my opinion) that sometimes feels like it drags on the page, but Gallathea, a comedy about two cross-dressing shepherdess falling in love with each other, is a spectacular display of dramatic ingenuity (sea monsters and cross-dressing? What will they think of next?). The ending (no spoilers) is also quite interesting in its straddling of innovation and conventional theatrical wisdom. For the uninitiated, I also find that Lyly’s writing is easily to follow, and his limited cast of characters help to avoid confusion.    

George Peele:
Peele is perhaps not as recognized as some of the others names here (Harold Bloom calls him a “lesser dramatist,” which I guess is a compliment since it’s coming from Bloom?) Still, there is a child-like revel in The Old Wives Tales that makes it one of my favorite works of the period to read. As the title suggests, it feels like a bedtime fable; Old Madge’s Tale engrosses you from the start and really does drive away the time. I would love to see it staged someday (or even better, see a movie version by Julie Taymor).

Then there are dramatists I would not necessarily include in my favourites, but whose works contains little tidbits that I particularly enjoyed, remembered, or thought of after the facts. The Inn scenes in George Chapman’s A Humorous Days’ Mirth are extremely funny, the final act of John Webster’s The Duchess of Malfi is tragically mesmerizing. I am much more a fan of Robert Greene’s non-dramatic work than I am of his state plays, but I will admit that he gave the world one of the best titles for a work of literature ever in Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay).[7]

How do these works stack up against Shakespeare’s? I am obviously one of the bard’s convert, but the breadth of drama in the period is fascinating and I have found that, despite initial reticence, some of these plays actually pass the float test in a classroom. Most of these were, after all, popular works (as in for the larger public) and they usually manage to push some buttons for modern audiences. Furthermore, considering how organic (if not symbiotic) early modern theater was (dramaturges responding, to one another’s works, collaborating with each other, or attacking one another on stage) reading a wide range of plays help put in perspective the magnitude and dynamism of the theater industry in early modern England; playwriting was a business, and business was booming.  

Excitement:
The Washington Nationals clinched the Eastern division in the National League and did so without a sure-fire closer or a ,300 hitter. Well done. They are a fun team to watch and I hope they go deep into the playoffs. Looks like Strasburg and Harper are finally hitting their strides, and it should make for exciting October baseball.

Smooshy:
The Nationals clinched their division … I miss the Expos. L
                                                                                                                                

Shout out:
Emily attended Comiccon last week and brought back a wonderful video of Patrick Stewart reciting Puck’s closing soliloquy from A Midsummer Night’s Dream to end his panel. You don’t need me to tell you how awesome Patrick Stewart is, but it reminded me of the great series “Playing Shakespeare” with John Barton and the RSC, in which actors (Stewart, Ian McKellen and Judi Dench to name a few) discuss and demonstrate how they act Shakespeare. Most of it is available on YouTube and yes, it is filmed in glorious 80's vision, but it is simply awesome to watch. The episodes on speech and rehearsing the text are particularly worth watching. Give it a shot.    

Till next time….



My salad days,
When I was green in judgement, filled with vegetables
Drenched in ranch dressing and sprinkled with bacon bits
I miss college…  




[1] The exception to this last one being a grocery bag, should I ever misplace said pants.
[2] No, I kid, I kid… Tommie, love you baby. My mother was a shoemaker… Try the veal! I’m here all week!
[3][3] I enjoy Jonson’s poetry quite a bit, but this is a blog about early modern theater and damn it, rules are there to be followed, so forget about poetry!
[4] Though I cannot prove it, I am fairly certain there is currently a reality show in development somewhere with the previous sentence as its exact premise. And Gordon Ramsay is attached to hosts too!
[5] Fletcher’s life is also fascinating, particularly the thought that he shared a house (and a woman) with writing partner Francis Beaumont. In one word” Sitcom. Make it happen.  
[6] Let’s add this to the ever growing list of “sentence which could lead me in legal trouble if taken out of context.”  
[7] My other favorite includes Jonson’s The Devil’s an Ass, Nicholas Udall’s Ralph Roister Doister (say that five times fast) and Thomas Dekker’s Satiromastix (a play and a device that helps you make perfect scramble eggs every time!).     

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