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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