Note, Oct. 8, 2023: I've just corrected a typo in this review --thanks for catching that one, Bionic Jean!
Written in 1960, and first performed in 196Note, Oct. 8, 2023: I've just corrected a typo in this review --thanks for catching that one, Bionic Jean!
Written in 1960, and first performed in 1961, the historical play A Man for All Seasons focuses on the crisis of conscience posed for Sir Thomas More in the years ca. 1526 until his execution in 1535, as an English public official and internationally known public intellectual and lay theologian, by King Henry VIII's determination to annul his first marriage and subsequent break with the Roman Catholic Church. But although they form the historical backdrop to the action, the specific issues of Papal authority, Christian unity, indissolubility of marriage, and even the claims of Christian faith vs. amoral expediency are not, for the playwright, the central concern here. For Bolt, who was himself an agnostic, the even more basic and central question, which he explores explicitly in his roughly 11-page Preface, is: do we have any essential core part of ourselves that we stand on uncompromisingly, that isn't up for negotiation if surrendering it gets us out of trouble and buys us an easy life? (In other words, we can say the play is about moral integrity itself.) He thinks we should, if we want to be truly human; but he's painfully aware that the great majority of people don't. More, in the final analysis, was patently someone who did, who, even though he didn't court martyrdom and indeed was willing to go to some lengths to sidestep the issue, did ultimately have a line in the sand that he wasn't willing to cross. That's what attracted Bolt to his story, and why he presents it as a thought-provoking exemplar for his fellow humans to ponder.
This play has been at least twice presented/adapted as a movie, once in 1966 with Paul Scofield as More and again in 1988 starring Charlton Heston. I've seen the Heston version; while I haven't seen the earlier one, I've read things about it that indicate that it brings in a lot more characters and material than the 1988 production. Part of my reason for wanting to read the original play was to get an idea of which movie more faithfully followed it. My suspicions are now confirmed that the Heston version is the more faithful one. It differs in some minor particulars (and in one place the positioning of some lines detailing what happened to certain characters at the very end rather than earlier in Act Two, as Bolt's version has them, strikes me as better.) Also, film technology benefits from easier transitions of scenes than is possible in a stage play, especially one with just two acts (Bolt's text has to devote a fair amount of attention to directing the lighting arrangements, movements of props, etc., to set different scenes). Like all plays, this one comes across more powerfully in performance. But even if you've seen a production, it repays a reading.
My reading, for instance, confirmed for me that the character who slips into various minor roles, (as a boatman, for example, or More's steward) and at various points addresses the audience to comment on the action, originates in Bolt's text, not as an invention by the 1988 scriptwriters. His role has affinities to that of the stage manager in Thornton Wilder's play Our Town; but Bolt's Preface indicates that the primary earlier playwright who influenced this play was Bertold Brecht. Not being at all familiar with Brecht's work or dramatic theories, that discussion went over my head; but the Preface is still valuable reading that you don't get from the film. Among other things, it's valuable for explaining the role of this latter character, who's identified in the text as "the Common Man." As Bolt explains, this doesn't mean average "man on the street," but rather a representative of what's "common" to all of us of the species "Man(kind)" --namely, our baser tendency or temptation to deny our inner core of moral integrity in exchange for the purely animal wants of safety and comfort. (Though as a secularist he doesn't like the idea, Bolt ponders briefly whether "It may be that a clear sense of the self can only crystallize round something transcendental....")
If I have a criticism of the play at all, it's of one glaring historical inaccuracy (which the written original shares with the 1988 film). Although Bolt's handling of historical details appears to be mostly sound, and he clearly did some research for this project, he consistently refers to Henry as seeking a "divorce" from Queen Catherine. (Had you said that to Henry, he probably would have had you beheaded.) Like his Catholic opponents, he theoretically deplored divorce; what he wanted instead was an annullment, an authoritative declaration that no valid marriage had taken place with Catherine in the first place, which is legally quite different. But aside from that quibble, either in written or enacted form, this is a powerful, intensely dramatic story skillfully presented, an undeniable crown jewel of the 20th-century British theater. It continues to speak to us in the 21st century --perhaps with heightened intensity, as many of us contemplate the slide of the contemporary Western world towards political totalitarianism and religious persecution with a foreboding that most people in the mid-20th-century cocoon of "American exceptionalism" and certainty that "it can't happen here" wouldn't have been able to imagine....more
Back in the 90s, when my wife and I were homeschooling our daughters, I watched the 1989 American Playhouse production of this play on VHS, in preparaBack in the 90s, when my wife and I were homeschooling our daughters, I watched the 1989 American Playhouse production of this play on VHS, in preparation for teaching high-school level American Literature, and was deeply impressed with it. I made it required viewing for that class; but I'd never read the play itself until this week. Very often, plays are better experienced by watching them performed than by reading them. In this case, though, while the 1989 production brings the script to life visually, which adds a dimension, the play itself still repays reading even if you've watched the latter. That's partly because the 1994 Vintage Books edition, which is the one I read, has the whole text of the play as the author wrote it, whereas even the 1989 production cut some of it (though not as much as the producers of the 1959 Broadway performance did). It's also because, like James Barrie in The Admirable Crichton, Hansberry used the stage directions not just to guide the actors' movements, but to give significant information about the characters' thoughts and feelings and to comment on the action, and her scene introductions provide a lot more than bare physical description. That material adds greatly to the experience of her vision, and doesn't come through as such at all in a production.
The title comes from a poem by Langston Hughes, “Dream Deferred” (which I have not read), some of which is quoted as an epigraph for the written play, and reads in part, “What happens to a dream deferred?/ Does it dry up/ Like a raisin in the sun?” The dream of the African-American community in general has been for fair and equal treatment in the nation in which they were born and of which they're a part. Here, though, we're not presented with “the African-American community” as an abstraction, but with a very concrete black family, the Youngers, living in an overcrowded south Chicago apartment in the late 1940s or 50s (roughly the author's present). Likewise, their particular long-deferred dreams are more specific than a vague “fair and equal treatment.” Family matriarch Lena and her now-dead husband dreamed of someday owning a home that's big enough to adequately house their family, and not infested with roaches and rats. Her son Walter dreams of owning his own business and making enough money to feel successful and important, give his wife an easy life, and open vistas of dreams for his own son, instead of working for someone else in a dead-end, low-paying job. And his college-student sister Beneatha has dreamed since childhood of becoming a medical doctor. Now, the impending payment of the late Mr. Younger's life insurance money may provide a down payment on some of those dreams. But choices will have to be made; and poverty and racism are formidable challenges in the path of any of their dreams.
It's difficult to do justice to this play in a review, because it has so much breadth and depth. There's a lot here, and its messages are presented naturally through the lives and situations of the characters, who are well-drawn, three-dimensional distinct individuals who come across with enormous realism. (They discuss ideas at times, but those conversations don't come across as sermons.) And in some instances Hansberry raises questions she doesn't try to answer; she just encourages her readers/viewers to think about answers for themselves. All of the important characters have their foibles; they don't all think alike or agree with each other all of the time, they don't always make smart choices, and they sometimes don't handle conflict situations in the most constructive way. But we can understand what's in their heads, and that none of them are bad people as such –they're just human. And while they're people of a particular race, facing a particular socio-economic situation in a specific culture, Hansberry has achieved what not many playwrights necessarily do, a work of art that uses the particular to tap into universal themes that can speak to all people, of any race, in any time and place. And as the truly great works of literature always do, it climaxes with a moment of significant moral decision. Over 60 years after it was written, this play has stood the test of time as one of the crown jewels of American drama. It continues to be both highly relevant and emotionally powerful.
This particular edition is enhanced by an Introduction, a bit over nine pages long, by Robert Nemiroff, who was Hansberry's husband when the play was written and produced (though they divorced amicably before she died), and her designated literary executor. (Besides discussing the message and themes of the play and making a case for its significance, he explains the many omissions in the original production, which were mainly just due to logistical factors.) Sadly, as the short “About the Author” notes, Hansberry herself died in 1965 of pancreatic cancer, at the age of only 34....more
Although plays for live theater have been written in America since 1765, for various reasons that particular literary form didn't really begin to flowAlthough plays for live theater have been written in America since 1765, for various reasons that particular literary form didn't really begin to flower in our soil until after World War I --at a time when the viability of live theater was already beginning to be challenged by the rise of film. By about 1965, the glory days of live theater in the U.S. were over, the mass audience required for its flourishing having been lost to movies and TV. Henceforth, commercial theater (as opposed to college or high school and community theater) would survive for the most part only in dependence on the patronage of the very wealthy cultural elite. But in the intervening roughly 50 years, the American theater produced a significant number of serious, quality plays equal to the achievement of any other national literature in that form, and which successfully spoke to the concerns and emotions of audiences from all walks of society. Of the dramatists who created these works, Arthur Miller was one of the foremost; and I think most critics would rank either this play or Death of a Salesman (or both!) as his greatest achievement.
I had the privilege of seeing the outstanding 1967 TV movie production of this play, with a stellar cast headed up by George C. Scott (https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0061534/ ), when it was first telecast, and was very impressed by it. Not being a big reader of plays, though, I probably wouldn't ever have sought out the written text to read. But in my first year of college, I helped out --though only backstage, not as an actor!-- with a college production of this very play. We all had copies of the play (in my case, partly for prompting and giving people cues) so naturally I read it. Like all plays, it gains something in performance; but even just in text form, it's a rewarding and compelling read. For this review, I checked out (and linked to) the edition the Bluefield College library has, the Bantam Books printing (c. 1959 --the play itself was first performed in January of 1953). This has a worthwhile six-page introduction by a Richard Watts, Jr. (otherwise unidentified), and a brief "Note on the Historical Accuracy of This Play" by Miller himself. Miller also wrote some interspersed and concluding commentary which isn't part of the original play text.
This is a historical drama dealing with the events, and human tragedy, of the Salem witch trials of 1692-93 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salem_w... ). "Historical," of course, is used in a loose sense. In his "Note," Miller admits to a fair amount of dramatic license (and there are more instances of it than he cites). John Proctor was about 60 years old at this time, and Abigail only about 11 or 12; the whole backstory of a sexual affair between them is Miller's own invention. Thomas Danforth was not the Deputy Governor of the colony at this time, and was not a member of the court; Judge (William) Stoughton, who's mentioned only in passing in the play, was actually the principal judge. The law at that time did not require a convicted person's property to be forfeited to the colony, as Miller represents; Rev. Parris' slave Tituba is said to be a Negro in the play, but recent research suggests she may have been a Carib Indian. Other examples could be cited. But a great deal of the content is accurately historical; many of the characters were real people who acted as they're represented as doing, and the general picture of community hysteria and prejudiced jurisprudence is spot-on.
Like John Drinkwater in writing Abraham Lincoln, the play I reviewed last week, though, Miler's purpose wasn't to reproduce historical events with pedantic accuracy. Rather, he was trying to convey to the audience a general sense of the real historical situation at that time, as a specific example of a society caught up in deep division and unreasoning fear, with many people --including those in authority-- ready to lash out against perceived enemies; to explore the moral implications of this, and depict the kinds of responses to this (good and bad) that people may make when they're caught up in it. His interest in this particular history was piqued by the situation at the time he wrote the play, when much of the U.S. was gripped by fear of Soviet Communist subversion, with many innocents accused and faced, like the defendants in Salem, with demands that they save themselves by confessing and accusing others. (Miller himself would be convicted of contempt of Congress in 1956 for refusing to name other people who attended allegedly subversive meetings; see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cru... .) But the basic cautionary message of the play isn't about either of these specific cases in history; it uses a historical example to warn about dangers that are timeless, rooted in the fraility of human nature and of human community, and to extol the value of commitment to honesty, truth-telling, personal integrity and justice even in circumstances that may make that commitment very costly. Although the witch hunters in the play, and in the real-life history, were operating in a theocratic society and claimed religious sanction for their behavior (and though Miller himself had no religious beliefs that I'm aware of), the message of the play isn't at all anti-religious or anti-Christian as such. Overall, this is a very powerful and emotionally involving dramatic work, one of the best that I've ever seen or read....more
In 1908, a British boy of about 14, George Archer Shee [a double last name, and pronounced "Shay"], from a respectable but not rich family, was expellIn 1908, a British boy of about 14, George Archer Shee [a double last name, and pronounced "Shay"], from a respectable but not rich family, was expelled from the Osborne Naval College after being falsely accused of stealing a five-shilling postal money order from a fellow cadet. (The administrators assumed his guilt and made no real attempt to investigate.) He and his family maintained his innocence, convinced one of England's leading lawyers to take the case, and brought suit against the Admiralty for redress (an uphill battle from the start, since agencies of the British government could not be sued in British courts without their own consent!). Four days into what became a high-profile trial, the Crown counsel conceded George's innocence. (Sadly, young George lived to be only 19, dying in World War I at the first battle of Ypres.)
Acclaimed 20th-century British playwright Terence Rattigan took this real-life incident as the basis for this play, changing the names of the people involved (George Archer Shee becomes Ronnie Winslow, for instance), and changing some details, some character's ages, etc., and fictionalizing some plot lines, but keeping the essential premise intact. The result is a very powerful and engrossing drama, set against the background of the Edwardian era with its strict social conventions and its almost-vanished codes of personal integrity and honor. It's a David vs. Goliath tale, with messages about the value of truth and defending one's good name, about justice and fairness in the way people are treated by those in power, about family loyalty, moral courage, and willingness to sacrifice in a good cause. Rattigan doesn't give us the courtroom scenes here, focusing instead on the family relationships and interpersonal dynamics of the characters. Two of the latter who stand out the most are Ronnie's older sister Catherine, a suffragette and social rule-breaker with a heart for justice, and staid conservative legal titan (and opponent of women's suffrage, from his seat in Parliament) Sir Robert Morton. (view spoiler)[Except for a mutual dedication to justice, they're opposites from the get-go (and you know the old saying about opposites.... :-) ). (hide spoiler)]
This was required reading in my English class in the spring semester of my sophomore year in high school, and it's stayed with me ever since (though I'd forgotten the author's name and title until recently). It's been filmed several times; I've never been fortunate enough to see any of those productions (nor any live one), but I'd really like to see the 1990 TV movie version with Emma Thompson as Catherine!
Since I haven't read or watched any of Rattigan's other plays, I can't say how typical this one is of his output. On the strength of this work alone, though, I'd say he deserves a place in the history of the English theater of the 20th century. This is a work that stands out, especially in its beacon-like moral clarity, in contrast to the bleak nihilism of so much English-language drama in the later 20th century. To my chagrin, I've discovered that Rattigan is largely (or maybe completely!) unrepresented in Bluefield College's library collection. That's a gap I'm definitely going to remedy!)...more
A recent discussion in one of my groups rekindled my interest in the several plays I studied in high school, all of which made enough of an impressionA recent discussion in one of my groups rekindled my interest in the several plays I studied in high school, all of which made enough of an impression on me that I haven't forgotten them to this day. This was one of those, written by the author of Peter Pan (which I've never read; but like virtually everyone else, I'm familiar enough with the pop culture figure!) --but this is a very different, and more adult, sort of play than the more famous one.
Here, our setting is the real world: the staid and stately "civilized" world of Edwardian upper-crust London, and the rough, challenging natural world of an uncharted Pacific island. We might describe it as Downton Abbey meets Gilligan's Island; but though this is a comedy (and much of it actually is downright hilarious), it's much more realistic and serious in its ultimate intent than the latter, and its humor is a lot more mordant and caustic than anything offered on either of those shows. The above description is basically spoilerish; but it's hard to discuss or review this play without some spoilers.
The England of 1902 was a profoundly class-conscious society, with a hereditary aristocracy and gentry who saw their traditional position of power and privilege as a natural order that rewarded their superior merit, supported and waited on by a lower class born into servitude and socialized to accept it. For over 100 years, this social order had been increasingly challenged, within and without, by a philosophy of egalitarianism, of social leveling and equality. Barrie sets the two mindsets in conscious opposition to each other --and finds both of them wanting. His message is, in part, that humans aren't equal in their abilities or moral qualities; that some people really ARE superior to their fellows, and naturally better fitted for leadership. BUT, this has nothing essentially to do with hereditary social position; natural aristocrats are such because of who they are as people, not because of what rank their parents happened to have. So, a butler may be an intelligent born leader with genuine character; a peer or a "gentleman" may be a worthless, self-serving lout. It's not necessarily insignificant that Barrie was Sir James Barrie, baronet (baronetcy being the only hereditary form of knighthood in England) --but the first baronet of his line, being the son of a humble weaver.
Barrie delivers this message through an original, well-crafted plot with wonderfully drawn, compelling characters, realized with a very fine discernment of all types of human personalities and a bitingly satirical sense of humor. And like all writers of really great literature, he calls on his title character to make a serious and costly moral decision.
Not long after reading this play, I was privileged to watch a well done performance of it on PBS. It's well worth seeing performed; and like most plays, it gains something from being experienced that way. But unlike most, it also loses something significant; where stage directions and setting notes are usually brief and strictly functional, there to guide the director and cast without being read by the audience, Barrie's are often long, extremely witty, and contain a good deal of worthwhile information that's not imparted in the actual performance. This can be said to be a play that's actually better appreciated by being read than being seen, if you have to choose!...more
Although I'd seen a student production of this play back in my college days, I'd never read it until now. This month, it was a common read in one of mAlthough I'd seen a student production of this play back in my college days, I'd never read it until now. This month, it was a common read in one of my Goodreads groups; so I decided to join in, and watched it again (this time on film) as well. (I didn't read it in the above edition, but in the 1918 Yale Shakespeare set edition.)
Quite a few of my Goodreads friends have rated this play, mostly at four or five stars. My three-star rating (which is rounded up from two 1/2!) marks me as a bit of a heretic, or at least nonconformist. I'll readily admit that it has its pluses. As several reviews point out, it's funny (in places), especially if you like screwball situational humor --but the verbal humor of the play-within-a-play is a hoot as well. The blank verse diction of the play is grandiloquent and impressive (and has a few often quoted lines) as poetry. And I'll admit I'm always a sucker for a happy ending (okay, that's not a spoiler; given that it's one of the author's comedies, would you expect it to be tragic?) But it has, IMO, it's artistic weaknesses as well; and some of its attitudes haven't worn well with time. I wouldn't rank it as highly as some Shakespeare plays I've read/watched.
Naturally, I sympathize with Hermia and Lysander, who seem to genuinely love each other, and I rooted for them to be together. To his credit, Shakespeare clearly doesn't side with Egeus' and Theseus' ultra-patriarchial defense of arranged marriage and absolute paternal authority. Egeus, who wants to hand his own daughter to a suitor of his choosing in complete disregard for her feelings, and is seriously willing to actually have her killed for defying him, comes across to me as out-and-out evil pond scum. For me, though, that's a dysfunctional family situation that's hard to see as the stuff of comedy. Demetrius doesn't show up as much better; he's physically and selfishly infatuated with Hermia, to the point where he wants to essentially rape her for his own gratification regardless of what she wants, an attitude as far from love as it's possible to get. And he's thrown over an engagement (which the Elizabethans regarded as just as binding as marriage) to Helena, whom he obviously doesn't love either, to pursue this infatuation; and he treats her like dirt. It's hard (no, make that impossible) to imagine what Helena can see in him, and why she'd actually want him. Her absolute groveling before him, with lines like, "I am your spaniel... The more you beat me, I will fawn on you," etc., etc., for any male viewer who admires and respects women, can't help but come across as wince-worthy (or vomit-worthy). The fairy king and queen, Oberon and Titiana, have their own battle of the sexes going on, over a changeling human boy that Oberon selfishly wants to take for his own, despite Titiana's rather touching desire to raise him out of love and respect for his dead mother. Shakespeare's handling of some of these plot elements doesn't exactly suggest a real proto-feminist statement.
The motivation for some of the characters' key decisions at turning points of the plot are incomprehensible and implausible. (view spoiler)[Helena has nothing to gain by betraying her close friend's confidence to Demetrius, and much to lose (besides unaccountably throwing away a cherished friendship, she's acting to keep Hermia in the sights of a man she herself wants; is she wearing a sign saying "STUPID"?). And it's never explained why Titiana's infatuation with Bottom in his donkey-eared guise is supposed to make her suddenly willing to give in to Oberon's wish about the changeling, when nothing in her feelings about that situation have had any reason to alter, and falling for someone else would seemingly make her LESS considerate of Oberon, rather than the reverse. We might add that most husbands who want revenge on their wives probably wouldn't think of getting it by trying to make her fall in love with somebody/something else, at least if they valued her fidelity at all (though some aspects of fairy folklore suggest that fairies weren't thought of as being naturally monogamous, the way that humans are in their created nature). (hide spoiler)]
A central premise of the play, the idea that love can be magically alienated from its object and attached to someone else, sends a rather reductionist message about what love is, and the role of the mind and free will of humans in those kinds of feelings and choices. To be sure, we don't take this message seriously, because we don't believe fairies and magic exist; to us, they're just literary conceits. But to Shakespeare and his audience, these things actually DID exist (and love philtres were taken as seriously as a heart attack in the folk magic of that day --though most of them were actually just herbal aphrodisiacs), and we have techniques of brainwashing and mind control today that their believers credit with as much reductionist power. At a deeper level than the superficially amusing, one might find it problematical to see things like love and friendship made playthings for fairy amusement, and "esteem" it less of a "sport" than Puck does. That raises fair questions about the ending, too. (view spoiler)[How valid is Helena's HEA if Demetrius' newly-regained "love" for her is the product of ensorcellment, even if neither of them knows that? (And how "happy" is any lady going to be who's sentenced to life with Demetrius?) While we're on the subject of the ending, if Theseus couldn't override the laws of Athens on paternal authority at the beginning of the play, how come he can near its end? (hide spoiler)]
While Bottom and his fellow artisan actors (who obviously aren't well-educated, as few manual laborers were in the 16th century) are highly comical at times, one can detect a certain stereotyping and disparaging of those who aren't of the upper class in some lines. There seems to be an intent to portray them as being as moronic and naturally inferior to their social "betters" as possible; and that's another aspect of the play that comes across as irritating if you dig below the surface level.
Some readers/viewers might find the Elizabethan English here (and in other plays of the period) to be a deal-breaking stumblingblock. For me it wasn't. In viewing the play, I think most intelligent people could basically follow the action and get the gist of the dialogue without a problem. Making sense of the written text actually isn't too hard in most places (especially if you've previously seen the play performed). The Yale Shakespeare has very short explanatory footnotes, and longer endnotes, explaining the meanings of archaic words and phrases, with an index of words glossed; but I usually didn't have to refer to this. (When I did, it was generally helpful.) This edition also has short appendices on the sources of Shakespeare's ideas for the play, on the theatrical history of the play (to 1918), and on the text of it, and a few suggestions, now a bit dated, for collateral reading. I didn't read over any of these in much detail, but I'll probably refer to some of the material for discussion in the group during the rest of the month....more
On the whole, I don't read plays very much; I'm generally of the opinion that they can be experienced better by seeing them performed. But my opportunOn the whole, I don't read plays very much; I'm generally of the opinion that they can be experienced better by seeing them performed. But my opportunities for seeing performances of plays have often been rather limited, for various reasons; and there have been times, especially in my younger days, when I've read one. (Since they tell a story, they can, in a way, be read like a novel --and, indeed, were often read that way by ordinary readers in the days when fiction wasn't as widely available as it is now!) In many cases, these were required reads for high school or college classes, but some weren't; this was one read for pleasure/interest, back while I was still in high school, as a public library check-out.
John Drinkwater (1882-1937) was an early 20th-century British man of letters, a writer of poetry and serious literary criticism, including the multi-volume Outline of Literature, as well as of historical plays. This work (which is the only one of his that I've read myself) was his first major achievement in writing for the stage, produced to great local acclaim in Birmingham in 1918. Aware of this, noted novelist Arnold Bennett read the play, liked it, and in 1919 arranged with the author to bring it to the Hammersmith Playhouse in the London suburbs, which Bennett had recently joined with Nigel Playfair to start up as a venue for quality drama. (Bennett contributes a four-page Introductory Note to the 1927 Houghton Mifflin American printing, which is both the edition I read and the one I have before me to refer to now; and Drinkwater himself supplied an author's Note.) It proved to be a long-running hit, and its success made the author's reputation.
In the years when I was growing up, every year on Abraham Lincoln's birthday, one of the then only three TV networks presented a production of American dramatist Robert Sherwood's play Abe Lincoln in Illinois, starring Jason Robards. I've never read the latter play; but I never missed watching it. My interest in Drinkwater's play --which basically covers Lincoln's time as President, beginning approximately where Sherwood's play ends-- was probably to read a continuation of the saga in dramatic format, besides my intrinsic interest in history and my desire at that time of life to become "educated," partly by experiencing quality literature.
One Goodreads reviewer faulted this play because it has significant historical inaccuracies. While some of the characters are real, others are invented; actions and attitudes attributed to the real characters are not always grounded in reality; while some dialogue is actually quoted from Lincoln or other historical figures in his orbit, much of it was not said in the contexts where it's presented; and (more seriously) some of the decisions made are presented in a distorted or oversimplified fashion, and events did not always unfold in the way they're presented here. (Lincoln, for instance, was nowhere near Appomattox when Lee surrendered.) It's important to recognize that the author's purpose was less to present actual history than to exhibit Lincoln's personal character, for which he had a great admiration (his understanding of the American President's character and life comes from the biography by Lord Charnwood, to whom the play is dedicated), and he admits to a lot of dramatic license in pursuing that aim. Some modern readers/viewers will not like the use of the device, carried over from classical Greek drama, of Chroniclers discussing the significance of the action in poetry, at the beginning of the play and key points during it (though this didn't bother me). In his conversation with (invented) black character William Custis, Lincoln comes across here in something of a White Savior mode. But overall, I did like the play (albeit not as much as Sherwood's!).
Note: I don't usually add to a review after posting it; but this one was posted in a bit of a hurry because time was getting late. Readers may want to be warned that there a couple of instances of racist language here, including one use of the n-word. That reflects the speech of many people in the 1860s, but the message of the play itself is not racist....more
After listing this on my "read" shelf for years, I discovered last month that the "translation" I read as a teen was actually a very free adaptation, After listing this on my "read" shelf for years, I discovered last month that the "translation" I read as a teen was actually a very free adaptation, which only loosely resembles what Aristophanes actually wrote. Naturally, I wanted to correct that mistake; and since I was looking for a short read right now, and had promised a Goodreads friend that I'd soon review the actual play, I worked it in over the past couple of days. Note: the above Dover edition is not actually the one I read; I read the translation by Charles T. Murphy, in the collection An Anthology of Greek Drama.
As the short description above suggests, this play was written and presented against the background of the Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta (and their respective allies, which included pretty much the whole Greek world), which at the time had dragged on for 20 years. (It would drag on for seven more.) Though he was a patriotic Athenian, Aristophanes had no liking for the war or any of the suffering and evils that it brought in its train; he'd written other plays with the message "End it now!" This is the best known of his anti-war productions, in which he imagines the women of Greece "fighting" for peace with a very elemental, and quintessentially feminine, weapon: sexual blackmail.
In assessing the play itself, it should be noted immediately that it's not as salacious as the Goodreads descriptions of some editions imply. There's no explicit sex or outright obscenity; and though the women's vow includes non-marital as well as marital sex, the former is hardly mentioned; it's taken for granted that the usual setting for sex is in marriage. It's also taken for granted that, in that context, it's a natural and normal function that both genders like, a lot. (At the time this was written, while Pythagoras' physical world-disparaging, anti-sex philosophy was on the landscape, it hadn't made nearly the intellectual impact on the literate classes that it would from the time of Plato on; voluntary celibacy wasn't a common phenomenon, and virtually all adults married early by our standards.) That's not, in itself, an unwholesome fact to recognize. That said, the treatment here does include a certain amount of earthy humor, and some that descends from earthy to crude. (My impression was that some of this was pandering to the tastes of the coarser and less mature elements of the audience; the erection references, for instance, struck me as being on the intellectual level of the flatulence references that my grandsons imagine to be funny --but one's in kindergarten and one's in preschool. :-( Some of the dialog in this vein also came across as forced and unrealistic. (Of course, not all the double entendres are readily apparent to modern readers.) Aristophanes also exaggerates, to make his point, the effect that sexual deprivation would have on both genders; even for healthy adults who are used to regular marital relations (and these were actually greatly interrupted anyway by the mens' military service, a contradiction the author mentions but glosses over!), I don't think five days would suffice to reduce the males to the straits it does here. (Five months, or five weeks, maybe. :-) ) For me as a modern reader, another difficulty was that I couldn't follow all of the topical, cultural, and mythological references that the original audience would have understood immediately. (This edition doesn't have notes.) That's not a fair criticism of Aristophanes' work, but it did effect my own personal enjoyment, and hence my rating. (I also couldn't follow the thought of a couple of the choral speeches, which I found confusing.)
But though all the factors above cost the play a couple of stars, I liked it (my rating would actually have been 3 1/2 stars if I could give half stars, though I didn't round up). The anti-war message, and the reminders to both sides that they have reason to feel gratitude, not enmity, to the other, comes through loud and clear, and I give Aristophanes a lot of kudos for that. (He's a testament to the long and honorable heritage of anti-war conservatism!) Moreover, the treatment of women is outstanding, especially in the context of a very sexist culture that disparaged them! Lysistrata is depicted as a strong, wise born leader; male canards about women are punctured and lampooned, and the men get the worst of the physical confrontations (which, in performance, would have had a gloriously slapstick flavor). In Greek theater parlance, a "comedy" is any play that's not tragic; but this does have plenty of actual humor, both verbal and situational.
IMO, the modern adaptation I read as a teen improved the work in some respects. Alas, I can't recall the exact bibliographic information! ...more
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