Wednesday, November 18, 2009

The Opening Ceremony

Well, "what’s past is prologue," as someone once said, and we are drifting pretty close now to the official kickoff of the Rennaissance Man project. The symbolic starting point is 7:30 PST this Friday, November 20: the "Brush Up Your Shakespeare" concert of the Portland Columbia Symphony Orchestra.

If you happen to live here in the City of Roses, you may want to join me. I can't say enough about the terrific sound of the semi-pro PCSO, which puts on a reliably great classical music performance for an embarassingly low price. Here's the program for this Friday:

Weber -- Overture to Oberon

Vaughan-Williams -- Serenade to Music

Verdi -- Scene & Aria from Act IV of Otello
Coral Walterman, soprano

Elgar -- Falstaff, study in C minor, Op. 68

So come on out and get your late-romantic on in Goose Hollow. Or there's a Sunday matinee out Gresham way if you're of the Mid-County persuasion.


So Then What Happens?

Then, I start reading Shakespeare. I wouldn't expect too much from Week I, however, as it turns out to coincide with an intensive week-long home-repair "staycation," Thanksgiving, and my first week as chair of the Membership Committee of blah blah blah, and so on.... Sometime soon, though, I'll be reading my first play -- it's going to be everybody's favorite, Timon of Athens -- and reporting back with my refreshingly uninformed summary, analysis, and points to ponder. It's gonna be great!

Saturday, November 7, 2009

" 'Tis Pity She's a Whore" -- Thoughts & Questions


Includes Spoilers

'Tis Pity She's a Whore was the second Renaissance play I read in my warmup for this Shakespeare project, and only the second Renaissance play I've ever read by someone other than Shakespeare. So, as per custom, here is my list of probably naive thoughts and questions about the play.


What is the tone of this thing? Taking my cue from the goofy title, I went into this play expecting a comic farce. From remarks on GoodReads, I know I am not alone in this. This makes me unsure if the play has an evenness-of-mood problem, or if I just read it wrong.

Let's see if I can articulate that better. Through the first acts, I found myself arranging the action according to the model of a comedy. I noticed servants who were smarter and funnier than their masters, a Love That Could Not Be, and a complicated list of grievances based on who was sleeping with whom, and came to the obvious expectations: Our incestuous siblings would somehow turn out to be unrelated, Hippolita and Dr. Rick would reconcile, Putana would end up with Vasques, Soranzo would end up embarassed but a little wiser. Bergetto would be, I don't know, sold to the circus or something.

This opens up quite a few questions.

1. If the play had been titled Ye Tragicalle Downfall of Two Wretched Siblings, or whatever, would I have "misread" it this way?

1a. For instance, would I have initially responded to Putana as a corrupt influence on Annabella, rather than as just jolly and amusingly blunt-spoken? Instead of a stock comic character, the strutting, stupid, cowardly braggart, would Bergetto come across as something darker and disturbing? A mildly retarded and mildly sadistic lout?

1b. And, if I had gone in expecting tragedy, would my gut reaction to the play as a whole have been more favorable?

2. Or, does it go beyond the title. Did Mr. Ford actually set this up (intentionally or unintentionally) with a comic foundation, and then push the action toward grim tragedy?

2a. If so, is that "bad" -- he doesn't get the formula right?

2b. Is it "good" -- he subverts expectations, defeats cliche, and keeps us engaged in a story the endpoint of which is not obvious?

3. Wouldn't these tone issues be worked out in performance, anyway?

3a. But on the other hand, doesn't everything pretty much get worked out in performance?

3b. But on the other other hand, if you go too far down that road you end up deciding that the script isn't important at all, which is clearly nonsense....


Is there an excuse for the ending?

1. Of the three components that make up the ending, the Cardinal's dispensing of justice seems the most logical and organic to the play. Interestingly, it also seems pretty half-assed. Grimaldi's murder is ignored, the banditti get off scot-free, the incestuous sister's corpse is to be burnt in ignomy but not the brother's, and nothing is to be done one way or the other about the blinding of Putana. Does this intentionally represent a corrupt or incompetant system of justice, or is it just sloppy writing?

2. We've just watched the central characters of the play kill each other with sharp metal sticks. Why is it a good time to hear Vasques tell his life story?

3. Was there ever a character as ineffectual as Dr. Rick? He's bent on revenge, but his sole contribution to the action is providing the poison that ends up killing his niece's boyfriend. Otherwise, he just kind of slouches around and watches. The play ends with him revealing his disguise, and getting hardly any reaction at all. Why did he even bother to show up for this play?


Do we have a central character here? Vasques is an interesting figure. In my imagination, he's akin to a Shakespearian happy villain, but it's more complicated than that because his bad doings are all in support of ostensible public good. He supports his master, prevents a murder, exposes a incestuous relationship, slays a dangerous madman. His methods, however, leave something to be desired.

The star-crossed lovers at the play's center are much less interesting. Their behavior is so extreme, and their concerns are so one-dimensional, that they seem more like plot devices than people. Annabella gets a few good lines in III.2, but nothing to write home about.


Are all these people necessary? For a fairly small list of characters, it has more than its share who don't pull much weight. Philotis might as well be her uncle's sock puppet. Dr. Rick himself really doesn't do much, except to brood -- when you've got a cuckolded husband and his wife both seeking revenge on her lover, you kind of expect that to go somewhere, but it kind of fizzles here. Grimaldi just thrusts his sword at the wrong guys a couple of times, and then vanishes after Act III. If all three of them were editted out, we might not notice.


Is this a public service announcement? Almost everybody in this play, one way or the other, displays interest in some form of socially unsanctioned sexuality. And they pretty much all get stabbed for it in the end. Is this a crude morality tale?

Or is this good old fashioned tittilation disguised as a morality tale?


So why DOES Giovanni kill Annabella, anyway? The reasoning behind his whole grim march into the birthday party trap kind of eludes me. Why not, say, sneak out the back entrance while everybody at the party is distracted by desert, catch a ship to Venice, and live as husband and wife? Ford must have hoped we'd see Giovanni's behavior as plausible and logical, but it seems pretty arbitrary and plot-driven, to me.


Is all the action-by-proxy significant? Vasques fights a duel for Soranzo. Donaldo pitches woo for Benetto. Hippolita tries to get Vasques to kill Soranzo. The Friar delivers Annabella's note to Giovanni. The Cardinal is seldom a Cardinal; he's the Papal Nuncio. Vasques does Soranzo's detective work for him. Thugs are called in to do the wet work. Philotis, to stretch the point, retires from the world to assuage Dr. Rick's world-weariness. Significant?


Is there anything behind that elephant? The more articulate of the comments on GoodReads articles tend to advance an argument that "People get so hung up on the incest and the violence that they don't see that the play is really [x, y, and z]." My response to this is: give me a goddam break. We've got a brother and sister lolling about in post-coital bliss, talking about how awesome it was!! If audiences and readers of whatever period have a hard time "seeing past this," this is hardly their fault. They've been presented with one of the most taboo images imaginable, and that's going to grab their attention. Whatever else Ford might have been hoping to accomplish with this play, he for better or worse wrote scene II:1 and thereby made this a play about the brother and sister who screw. The rest might as well be silence.

Friday, November 6, 2009

" 'Tis Pity She's a Whore" -- Initial Reaction


This is my immediate after-reading response, which I posted on Goodreads.com as a 2-star review.

"'Tis Pity She's a Whore" is kind of wonderful, and kind of appalling, for its window into the strange world of 380 years ago, a world every bit as strange as our own.

I've read this with an organized reading group, and I'm sure I'll have a better understanding of it once the conversation kicks off. But it will be a tough sell to get me to think of this as a "good" play. It is, first of all, ridiculously lurid; it's all about enthusiastic incest, it has (counts on fingers) no less than five mostly gruesome on-stage deaths; and at one point has a character running around brandishing another character's recently-removed heart. What this is all ABOUT, other than to just to shock, is beyond me.

Well, every age has its messy thrillers, but this is no Pulp Fiction, nor even a Titus Andronicus. Only one character (Vasques) ever becomes very interesting; the others are all in lesser (Philotis) or greater (Giovanni) measure just tools of the plot, which needs to force its way through a rather dodgy logic so that there can be a spectacular swordfight at the end. Not that there's anything worng with spectacular swordfights at the end. This one, though, is undercut by a few more pages of lame dialog, minor characters having tangential conversations that shed no light on and lend no natural conclusion to everything that's just happened. Right down to the last, inaccurate word, it's a big ol' clunker of an ending.

So say I now. We'll see if I come running back after the group discusses the book to erase the above and rave about how very wonderful this play really is, once you get it.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

" 'Tis Pity She's a Whore" -- Plot Summary


'Tis Pity She's a Whore
John Ford, 1633

Edition: in Ford (Five Plays), Edited by Havelock Ellis, 1957. "A Mermaid Dramabook $1.65"

Read in conjunction with The Early Modern Underground.

Note: This is simply a plot summary for my own reference. No effort is made to avoid spoilers.

ACT I

Scene 1: We meet Giovanni, a college boy, who is confessing to his tutor (Friar Bonaventura) that he has the hots for his sister. Having recently read "A King and No King," we wonder what was in the English Rennaisance water.

Scene 2: Two men (Grimaldi and Vasques) duel in front of Florio's house. We learn that Florio has a lovely daughter and that one Soranzo is the leading contender for her hand. He has sent Vasques, his servant, to avenge an insult by Grimaldi, who is also interested in the daughter.

Annabella, the daughter, is treated to a long, funny, mildly bawdy lesson from her tutor, Putana (!), on how she should choose between her various suitors.

Then, we meet a third suitor, the amusingly d-u-m-b Bergetto and his clever, cynical servant Poggio.

Scene 3: Giovanni arises home, and we realize that his sister is Annabella. He confesses his love, and she confesses that she's all into him too. They smooch, we squirm.

Scene 4: Donado, uncle of the oaf Bergetto, tries to make a case for his nephew to Florio. After Florio leaves, Bergetto stumbles by on the way to a freakshow. When Donado asks him if he has been doing any wooing, he reports back on a completely incompetant conversation he had with Annabella.

ACT II

Scene 1: Giovanni and Annabella have just done the nasty, and exchange fairly explicit after-sex endearments. Giovanni than suggests that Annabella is going to need to get married to somebody, which darkens the mood. He leaves, and Putana wanders in. Annabella admits she just did her brother, but Putana is a woman of the world and is cool with that.

Then, dad comes in with two new characters, Richardetto and Philotis. Rick is a doctor whom Florio asks to look into Annabella's recent moodiness, and Philotis is his kinswoman.

Scene 2: Soranzo is foppishly reading and writing love poetry when he is interupted by Hippolita. Hippolita is pissed off because Soranzo seduced her and implied that he would marry her if she wasn't so darn married already. Hippolita then talked her husband into going on a long journey to find his orphaned niece, but there was a shipwreck and he died. Now that she's available, Soranzo wants nothing to do with her.

Vasques, who had to fight on his master's behalf back in I:2 and has just watched him be a thoroughgoing jerk, talks with Hippolita for a while and either (a) agrees to conspire with her against Soranzo, or (b) pretends to conspire with her in order to keep her from killing Soranzo. Couldn't tell which.

Scene 3: Richardetto and Philotis reveal themselves to be Hippolita's cuckolded husband and his niece; apparently they didn't die in a shipwreck after all. Richardetto is none too pleased with Soranzo. Finding Grimaldi, whom we last saw fighting Soranzo's proxy in I:2, he offers to provide him with the ol' rapier poison to use on their mutual enemy.

Scene 4: Donado has written a love letter on behalf of his nephew. Bergetto protests that he has written one of his own; it is of course incredibly awful. Donado tells him to go home and stay home.

Scene 5: Giovanni tries to sell his tutor on the idea that it's really a good thing that he's dating his sister, but Friar Bonaventura's not buying it.

Scene 6: Donado presses his nephew's suit by proxy (lots of proxy in this play) to Annabella and her dad. She squirms out of a marriage agreement, barely. Then Bergetto himself shows up, happily bragging about how he got beat up after provoking a stranger. He got patched up by a doctor on the scene -- Richardetto, of course -- and has developed a huge crush on Philotis, whom he tactfully describes to Annabella as twenty times as beautiful as her. After an appalled Donado manages to trundle him off, Giovanni stumbles back in to exchange a little creepy love-banter with his little sister.

ACT III

Scene 1: Bergetto is all upset about having been trundled off in II:6, and determines to marry Philotis before his uncle can interfere with his plans.

Scene 2: Soranzo comes to court Annabella. She is not receptive. She does the My love is nothing like the sun bit for a while, pretending to take his love-talk literally, but then gets serious and gives him an odd little consolation speech: she doesn't love him and won't marry him, but if she absolutely had to marry someone, he'd be the lesser of all available evils.

Suddenly, Annabella begins to sicken. "O, I begin to sicken!" she cries.

Scene 3: Putana is terribly upset, and Giovanni is pretty upset too once she convinces him that Annabella is pregnant.

Scene 4: "Doctor Richardetto" has examined Annabella and thinks she'll be fine. He tells her dad that "I rather think her sickness is a fulness of the blood -- you understand me?" Well, ~I~ don't understand him, but Florio seems to, and thinks that the best thing for it is a quick marriage to Soranzo. Has Dr. Rick discovered and communicated that she's preggers?

Scene 5: Grimaldi stops by Richardetto's to pick up the rapier poison. After he leaves, Philotis comes in and talks about Bergetto in rhyming couplets. I haven't figured her out yet -- is she a knowing participant in Dr. Rick's revenge plans, or a simpleton who is actually smitten with Bergetto? Speaking of Bergetto, he and his shadow drop by right about now and treat her to some oafish love talk, such as Bergetto announcing that he has a boner. Class all the way with this guy.

Scene 6: The Friar gives a rip-roaring speech about ~hell!~ to Annabella, and at the end she says she's ready to repent and hitch up with Soranzo.

Scene 7: Grimaldi is lurking about in a place where he thinks Soranzo might happen by. He hears a man call a woman "sweetheart," figures that's just the kind of thing Soranzo would say, and plunges his poisoned rapier into.... Bergetto. He runs off, pursued by the guard, and Bergetto dies as oafishly as he lived. Poggio is all cut up about it, which is actually kind of poignant.

Scene 8: Hippolita and Vasques discuss Soranzo's upcoming nuptuals. Vasques' stance becomes a little clearer; he is indeed intending to betray Soranzo, not just for betraying's sake but because he hopes to nail Hippolita.

Scene 9: Grimaldi has been pursued to the Cardinal's compound. The Cardinal is a pompous bozo. Grimaldi explains that it's all just a crazy mixed-up mistake, he actually intended to murder someone else entirely. The Cardinal puts him under the protection of the church. No one is too happy about this, except maybe Grimaldi.

ACT IV

Scene 1: It's Soranzo's and Annabella's wedding reception. Some masked maidens come in to dance, and when they're finished Hippolita whips off a mask and makes a little speech saying that the rumors aren't true, that she won't come between the two of them. It turns out I was wrong about Vasques, though. Hippolita was fooled, too, and ends up dying horribly when Vasques slips her the poison, instead of Soranzo. Everyone agrees that the reception has been kind of a washout.

Scene 2: Richardo makes a long speech to his niece about how Soranzo isn't dead yet, but he'll get his in the end, and the world is a cruel and awful place, and maybe she should go to Cremona and join a convent and spend the rest of her life praying, "your best friends your beads." She agrees in two sentences, and wanders off as if he asked her to go fetch some coffee. Kind of dim, Philotis.

The very long Scene 3: An abrupt break from Dr. Rick's musings, as we enter suddenly into a spat between Soranzo and Annabella. The kind of spat where he is threatening to kill her, having discovered she's pregnant. He wants to know who the father is, but she won't tell him.

After much intense conversation, Vasques walks in and comprehends the situation. He calms Soranzo down, thinking it will go better for everybody if he doesn't kill his wife on the spot. He promises to figure out who the father is, so that Soranzo can get his revenge in an organized fashion.

Immediately Putana walks in, and Vasques very smoothly cajoles the truth out of her in nothing flat. As soon as she spills the beans, he calls in some thugs and has them gag her, take her to the coalshed, and put out her eyes.

Giovanni wanders by, giving Vasques an opportunity to make a tacky pun. Then Soranzo returns, and Vasques prepares to give him the big news.

ACT V

...in which, much to our surprise, Giovanni and Annabella DON'T turn out to be adopted children, not really siblings after all, and DON'T live happily ever after. I'll be damned.

Scene 1: A long speech by Annabella from her balcony. She gives a letter for Giovanni to the Friar.

Scene 2: Vasques has just finished explaining things to Soranzo. He encourages his master to think of vengeance.

Scene 3: Giovanni talks about how he's still just nuts about Sis. The Friar brings him the letter, where he reads that their secret is out. At this very moment, Vasques comes by to invite Giovanni to Soranzo's birthday party. No, really. It's a trap, obviously, but Giovanni is determined to walk into it. The friar, no dummy, resolves to get back to the university.

Scene 4: He join Soranzo and Vasques as they finish up a final talk-through with the thugs; "we'll make a murder," agree the thugs, and go into hiding. Giovanni arrives, and Soranzo asks to go bring his sister in from her chamber. The Cardinal and other dignitaries arrive.

Scene 5: Annabella and Giovanni have a sad little conversation, realizing they are in an untenable situation. They wonder if they'll get to be together in the afterlife. Giovanni urges Annabella to pray, so she'll go to heaven when the end comes. Then he stabs her. As she's dying, he says he'll explain why he killed her once she's dead -- but when she dies, he just says something about how he has foiled Soranzo's "reaching plots." Is he nuts? Or rational within a system of values that I don't know about? Hard to say.

Scene 6: The birthday party is progressing from feast to dessert when "Enter Giovanni with a heart upon his dagger." He rants, explaining that it's Annabella's heart, that he is her "glorious executioner," and that they had been getting it on for the last nine months. No one is quite sure he's telling the truth until Vasques checks Annabella's room and confirms it, at which point Florio -- Giovanni and Annabella's dad, remember -- drops dead of a heart attack. All hell breaks lose. Giovanni stabs Soranzo. Vasques calls in the thugs, who stab Giovanni. Soranzo dies. Giovanni dies.

At this point, Vasques tells a little story about how he was only Soranzo's servant because he was adopted as a child by Soranzo's father, and when that man died he asked Vasques to look after his boy. Vasques, perhaps unconvincingly under the circumstances, announces that it's been a job well done.

Next, the Cardinal renders judgment: Annabella's carcass is to be burned. Donado is not to be punished, but he has to leave town. Poor blind Putana, out in the coal shed, is mentioned, but no action is taken.

Finally, Richardetto, who has been sitting there the whole act without a line, removes his disguise. The Cardinal and Donado say "wow, it's you!" Then, the Cardinal ends the play with a pair of couplets to the effect that 'twas a pity that Annabella was a whore.

(Except, she wasn't.)

Sunday, October 18, 2009

The Rennaisance Man Command Center

As the countdown continues for the official late-November kickoff to this Shakespeare-reading project, I've created a command center -- a "staging area," if you will [force a chuckle here] -- for all ongoing Renaissance Man operations. This consisted of adding a new shelf to the crappy built-in shelves in our bedroom. Here's what it looks like:



Home improvement enthusiasts will note that I left the new shelf unpainted. That's because we hope it won't be too many years before we replace the crappy built-in shelves with merely mediocre built-in shelves. But I digress.

The top shelf is a collection of books on classical music, and the third and fourth selves are more or less a to-read list. It's the second shelf we're concerned with here -- that's the RMCC (Rennaisance Man Command Center). The RMCC contains my own collection of Shakespeare editions on the left, and various books of Elizabethan drama and what not I have out on loan from the library on the right. Lying on their sides in the middle are materials I bought last week at the Friends of the Multnomah County Library annual book sale. Awesome.

Other pre-reading activities include:

Downloading music on Shakespearian themes: Every composer and his dog took a shot at overtures, ballets, operas, and incidental music based on the Shakespeare plays. Even a play as marginal as Timon of Athens attracted the attention of, among others, Henry Purcell and Duke Ellington. So I've been collecting music to read Shakespeare by.

Reading another Shakespeare-contemporary play: It looks like I'm going to be reading some John Ford with these folks. I bet you could join in, if you wanted to. Tell 'em Michael5000 sent you!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

On Academic Overstatement

Let's go back again one more time to A King and No King, the Beaumont and Fletcher play I read a few months ago. I gathered in my review of the literature -- and by "review of the literature" I mean a half hour of quality time with the Google search engine -- that much of the contemporary scholarship on A King and No King considers its political undertones. It's a play about a king, after all, so what can its content and production history tell us about popular attitudes toward monarchy? Or conversely, to what extent did the political practicalities of the day shape the play that Beaumont and Fletcher wrote?

Well, these are interesting questions, and I can see why people would be chasing them. What always makes me chuckle, though, is when someone studying a work of fiction through this kind of highly specific lens makes a summary statement implying not only that his or her angle of approach is not only the very most interesting thing about the piece, but it is what the piece is for. It's very common, and I remember doing the same thing back in my own abortive academic career.


For a fairly extreme example of what I'm talking about, and one that spares me having to name names, I quote the final line of the Wikipedia article on A King and No King as it stands while I write this:

The play constitutes a study of the consequences of royal intemperance in an
absolute monarchy.

This is the kind of thing that can only be written by a scholar so besotted with a research project that all common sense has gone out the window. Having immersed himself or herself in Jacobian political history and its intricate relationship with its contemporary drama, the person who wrote that line has come to believe, at least in the heat of the moment, that the period politics are what the play was for.

It's fun to think of Beaumont and Fletcher, living in fine Renaissance squalor with their famous single bed and single wench between them, brainstorming their next project. "Ye probleme with monarchie," quoth Beaumont, "is that it is dependent upon the good character and moderation of whoever happens to wear the crown."

Fletcher: "That's a great point! If only there was some systematic way we could work out the ramifications of that insight."

Beaumont: "I know! We could write a drama to be played out by actors! It could be a study of the consequences of royal intemperance in the context of our modern absolutist system!"

Fletcher: "Awesome! And we could have a dumb guy who brags a lot, for laughs, and make it so that the king wants to nail his own sister! Doesn't get any more intemperant than that."

All this is not to say that playwrights' political ideas don't inform or even partially motivate what they write. Obviously they do. But even more obviously, a playwright is driven by the desire to write, the desire to please a public, and the desire to make a living thereby. To say that A King and No King "constitutes a study of the consequences of royal intemperance in an absolute monarchy" is like saying that the James Bond franchise "explores the evolving nature of espionage in an increasingly multilateral world order." Is sounds good, and there's a tiny, fractional grain of truth in there, but at the end of the day this kind of thinking attributes a ludicrous degree of earnest intent to the venerable practice of show biz.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Shakespeare Plays, Famous and Obscure: The Definitive Rankings

Having created seven indexes of Shakespearian Promenance/Obscurity in the last two postings, we are now in a position to create a defensible index of relative play fameitude. We shall do this in a varient the time-honored scientific system pioneered by the Associated Press football polls. To wit, for each first-place ranking in an index, a play shall be awarded 10 points, for each second-place ranking 9 points, and so on to 10th place, which will be worth 1 point. Got it? Good.

The Obscurest!

So, keeping in mind that the Henry IVs and Henry VIs are probably totally underrated in this category -- what can you do? -- the most obscure plays in the Shakespeare canon are:

Tied for 10th: 2 Henry VI and Love's Labours Lost (20 points)

8th: Troilus and Cressida (21 points)

Tied for 6th: Cymbaline and The Two Gentlemen of Verona (26 points)

5th: Henry VIII (31 points)

4th: Titus Andronicus (33 points)

3rd: Timon of Athens (34 points)

2nd: Pericles (40 points)

And the runaway winner of Most Obscure Play in the Shakespeare Canon, coming in first place on each and every index:

1: The Two Noble Kinsmen (70 points)


The Famousest!

Tied for 12th, and just one point out of tenth, we've got The Taming of the Shrew and As You Like It (16 points)

Tied for 10th: The Tempest and Twelfth Night, or (although never, really) What You Will (17 points)

8th: The Merchant of Venice (20 points)

7th: Julius Caesar (21 points)

6th: King Lear (23 points)

5th: Othello (24 points)

After which, the top four plays really start to break away from the pack...

4th: A Midsummer Night's Dream (38 points)

3rd: Romeo and Juliet (46 points)

2nd: Macbeth (52 points)

And the decisive if unsurprising winner of Most Famous Play in the Shakespeare Canon, coming in first place on five indices, second on a sixth, and third on the seventh:

1st: Hamlet (67 points)


So there you have it! This should settle once and for all the question of which is the most important and promenant Shakespeare play. And least! No arguing now; it was all very scientific.