Provosts and prohibitions in WYW’s “Measure for Measure”

the body public be
A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur
— Claudio, Measure for Measure I.ii

Angela Nostwick’s staging of Measure for Measure takes place during the Prohibition era of 1920s America. This maps nicely will the opening conflict of the play, wherein brothels, having expanded beyond the Viennese Duke’s (Monty Joyce) willingness to entertain them, will “all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down.” Rather than downplaying the initial political problem of the play, as is the norm for stagings of Measure, the What You Will Shakespeare Company (WYW) puts it front and center. By choosing to transgender Pompey (Samantha Fuchs), this adaptation gives us two models of femininity, to poles of female sexuality between which the play vacillates. The first are the two bawds, Mistress Overdone (Katherine Quinn) and Pompey (sometimes Thomas the Tapster), and then the two virgins, Isabella (Emaline Johnson) and Mariana (Maggie Wolfe)—and both rendered to equal extremes.

I feel that Prohibition is a productive framing period when you want to underscore the institutionalized mechanisms for policing social norms. To make this point, WYW has added an extra dance scene—well, strip tease really—by Mistress Overdone and Pompey, who get down to their skivvies (and nearly lose it all) before being arrested by Elbow (Celia Mueller). While it certainly does the work of making explicit the interest in policing of both female sexuality and homosexuality, this scene and the costuming felt to me walking that line between useful and exhibitionistic for exhibition sake. Had the costumes been of the period, something gesturing at the flapper dress that asked us to recalibrate our sense of scanty and decorous in the way that the play suggests, their sexuality and playfulness would have had more resonance. Certainly it wouldn’t have been dependent on 2015 standards of indecency, but grounded in the period it would have highlighted the fact that these norms slide and evolve over time, with time. That throughout the play Pompey and Mistress Overdone strain against various captors in order to return to one another gives the couple a sense of tenderness, but (at least for me) it was not enough to balance the skin factor.

Volts’ “Ladies on a terrasse.” Paris, 1920s.

What does help is the fact that women are constantly under assault by the male gaze and male advances throughout the play to differing degrees—the theme is constant. Lucio (Ashish Valentine) is made a more aggressive prowler than many productions I have seen are willing to commit to, perhaps confused by his description as “a fantastic.” Comparatively, Angelo (Ninos Baba) is actually the least aggressive male in the play. He is also doing the most acting, using the phrases and emphases embedded in the figures of speech to frame his delivery. In it we can hear the gradual evolution of his logic with a pace and realistic gestures to match. I commend anyone who takes on Angelo: like Antony, he is a character that if not dealt with subtlety, if not given gradual degrees to progress to an extremity of emotion or evil, he can feel either (a) very flat, reaching a fever pitch too soon in the action, or (b) go from considered counsellor to a rapacious politician with no sense given to that evolution. In either case, he can come off as illogical when in fact Angelo is a very considered and rationale figure. For example:

Condemn the fault and not the actor of it?
Why, every fault’s condemn’d ere it be done:
Mine were the very cipher of a function,
To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor. (II.ii)

It’s what makes him so dangerous, what makes our skin crawl when he doesn’t have to act with any force to push Isabella up against a railing or desk; what is terrifying is not the intensity, but the casualness, the sense that it takes no effort to remove agency from her. This Isabella makes a good rebuff to both his physical advances and his logic. The instinct is to react with violence and extremity, to roll around on the prop desk, to smash and clash in a fevered pitch of wit we want from a Beatrice and Benedict. To resist this mirroring and the romantic dovetailing the stichomythia of their shared scenes, is to push back against audiences’ natural inclinations for a comedy, for the union of the couple, for this play to end in marriage. The play does end in at least one marriage, but certainly not one that gives us any of the satisfaction of say Twelfth Night.

Speaking of endings, it must be said that while the troupe had one more dress rehearsal between when I say the production and their opening this Friday, there were several rough patches. For one, the pace is very slow in part I think because of a Duke, in playing two roles, is uncertain of what motivation lies at the center of his part. (And that is certainly a fair question one could ask of the play in general.) While some planned and excessively hard ass-slapping made me cringe, the final fight scene choreography seemed grossly unplanned and haphazard. These technical elements are things easily smoothed by opening night. The challenge seems to be to focus on the issue at hand, the critique of governments and institutions policing sexualities of varrying kinds, rather than the mere exhibition of those sexualities.

In this light it is crucial that the play ends on the threshold of Vienna, at the city gates, on the fringes between socially acceptable and unacceptable behavior. Certainly these staging choices reflect the new awareness of the micro-agressions of cat-calling, and looks directly to our Indiana neighbors and their new discriminatory legislation against the LGBTQ community. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t the two pairs of female sexual identity that brought this to mind for me as a playgoer, but in the subtle coupling of the Provost (Delilah Hansen) and Escalus (Kat Fuenty), men in power but in the closet. They hold hands twice in the course of the play, when everyone else has exited, a silent insertion gesturing to the variety of sexualities in Vienna right under the nose of the Duke and Angelo. Throughout the play they exchange worried, knowing glances as the violence and policing escalate. You realize their lines are the only ones that care about the outcomes of Isabella, Claudio (Jeri Murphy), and even Barnardine (Matthew Freeman) as real people (in the play world at least) rather than their occupations or subject positions. The Provost and Escalus for me represented those good people on the edges and caught in the middle of a debate they don’t want to fight, but have to, because their legislators won’t do it on their behalf. And certainly that is reason enough to spend some of this weekend with Shakespeare and WYW.


She that is not of woman born; or, WYW’s “Macbeth”

In sixteenth-century England, to go to the theatre was in essence to attend a dress rehearsal for the monarch, Queen Elizabeth I. To see a play by Shakespeare was ostensibly getting to see a play that might in fact go before her—getting to share in the same political or identity question that the leaders of the land might also find engaging. All the most interesting then that William Shakespeare’s Macbeth was one of the first plays likely performed for the new monarch, King James I of England and VI of Scotland, in a new century. Likely composed in the last year of Elizabeth’s life, the play overtly grapples with questions of governance, gender, and the performance of these identities within the eager public sphere. It is just this confluence of performed and projected identities that the What You Will Shakespeare Company’s (WYW) production of Macbeth interrogates this weekend only at the University Place Christian Church.

The basement of this building is huge, with a small proscenium stage on one end and a “discovery space” entranceway with three steps and railings on the other. Typically WYW productions here block their performances around this discovery space, using it as the primary entranceway and vanishing point for spectators. This is the first time I’ve seen them design the set with these two architectural elements set stage-left and -right of the main playing space, which was demarcated by two rows of chairs facing opposite one another and the action taking place in-between. It is a smart choice for a number of reasons: as a playgoer you watch the reactions of your fellow attendees directly across from you as much as the play action, you are made aware of one’s own performance as an audience member, and you are implicated in the projecting onto Macbeth the murderous action you want or at least expect him to take. ‘Cause who doesn’t know the Scottish play? But in this arrangement, we as playgoers as much as the characters within the fiction of the play are responsible for Macbeth’s descent. The arrangement thus elegantly posits the question: to what extent is Macbeth’s community implicated in the massacre of Scotland’s elite order?

And certainly there is something greatly amiss in Scotland beyond the Macbeths’ vaulting ambition. The opening scene of the play is of Macbeth (Tom Fornander) returning from a battle, having killed a supposed traitor we know not why. Several insertions of (what I believe are) Wiccan prayers to the Mother Goddess were included throughout, including just before this traditional opening scene. Here the witches (John Clishem, Kim Gasiciel, Celia Mueller) are every(wo)men, appealing to a mother goddess to “heal” them and their nation. This added rhetoric of healing positions the witches as representations of a kind of universal corrective power, a systemic resolving force emanating from nature’s constant move toward equilibrium. In this light the witches become sympathetic, desiring only an end to death, violence, and destruction that the elite Scottish regime seems to leave in its wake. Hecate is remade metaphorically into Mother Nature. The witches also double as the murderers, solving some of the play’s gaps. One of the witches (Celia Mueller) in her mannerisms routinely resists the dirty work they have to do, and the opening story about the drowned sailor is one of woe to which her companions try to cheer her. The mysterious third murderer of Banquo (Matthew Marquez) seems to appear out of nowhere in the text; I’ve seen some versions putting Macbeth or his wife in this role. Here, it is simply the resistant witch, finally peer-pressured into the killing, but at the murder of Macduff’s children, is horrified and filled the basement with shrieks. In being willing to see the witches as forces of order rather than chaos, the production solves seeming staging incongruities neatly.

The most significant intervention of the production, however, is the approach to gender in the casting choices. For a student troupe perhaps more than any other kind do you have to work with the bodies you’ve got. Thankfully, since all of Shakespeare’s players were men and expected to regularly play cross-gendered parts, girls playing boys never seems odd in these productions. What may have been bourne out of necessity the production decided to take seriously, seemingly because the play is overtly invested in whether or not “are you a man.” Certainly the witches and their added mother goddess rhetoric foregrounds this, but a number of other textual substitutions we made. I noted at least two in which Lady Macbeth refers to a dead or lost daughter, in one case an overt substitution for “father.”

Macduff (Tori Stukins) is also intentionally transgendered, enriching her character development at the end of act four. When she discovers her husband and children (children she has actually carried herself) have been murdered, Malcolm (Clayton Gentilcore) implores that Macduff hold her tears and “dispute it like a man.” MacDuff responded:

I shall do so;
But I must also feel it as a man…
Oh, I could play the woman with mine eyes
And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens,
Cut short all intermission; front to front
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my sword’s length set him; if he ‘scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

To which all the sleepy, sociopathic, Alan Rickman-esque Malcolm can say to her is, “This tune goes manly.” It is a brilliant turn to make Macbeth’s murderer not of woman born but also a woman, no matter how uncomfortable it seems for her to carry his head and crown back to Malcolm in order to re-establish a male (rather than female) succession.

The production is incredibly consistent in these small details when it approaches how both gender identities are constructed and the ways in which Macbeth himself seems a green-screen, adopting whichever identity he is given that seems to stick best. The only snag in the show is the powerhouse herself, Lady Macbeth, played by Megan Scharlau. I hesitate to say it, but Scharlau may simply be too talented for her own good. As I have mentioned previously, she has a strong sense of timing in terms of entrances and dialogue that interiorizes her character. In her first major “unsex me” speech at the end of act one, she paces calmly yet with intention as she puts on makeup, reinforcing her performed gender identity rather than unravelling in. That “come thick night” is timed to her application of a brown pencil to her eyebrows is rather brilliant; whether Scharlau or director Orion Lovell’s idea, the simple choice to reinforce rather than undermine her gendered identity was powerful. What’s more, she isn’t overbearing: Scharlau knows how to hold still and listen as a character, and twice the fact that Macbeth gives her a blade rather than her taking it from him carves out space for her character to be sympathetic. Best was her continued presence in the playing space between her sleep-walking scene and her death. She is everpresent over the intervening action, crumbling psychologically as Macbeth’s political aspirations do the same. Her understated distress accrued empathy with her extended time on the stage rather than through the shock-and-awe of spectacular madness.

This is not to say that there weren’t a few hiccups, but these were mostly on account of the lights being unreliable. Truth be told, the cast didn’t miss a beat the numerous times the lights dropped unintentionally—the intentional blackouts were well-chosen when they worked. But then again, it is the Scottish play, the cursed play whose action after the first scene takes place almost entirely at night anyway. That, and the tornadoes touching down across southern Illinois just at the time the dress rehearsal started made it a rather perfect night be on Macbeth’s long, darkened heath. Part of me hopes that when you go either tonight or tomorrow night—because dear reader, you should most definitely see this Macbeth—that it storms for you, too.