Murray Ross

Seeing Double

It was standard practice in Shakespeare's company for one actor to play many parts.  The plays are generally large and expansive, and the company was downsized for maximum profit. The King's men probably had an ensemble of about 15, who had to cover cast lists that often number over 30.  So it is with Cymbeline,which lists 37 named characters, in addition to exta lords, ladies, British and Roman soldiers, and musicians. No actor in this show at Shakespeare's Globe would have been off stage very long, and the tiring house (the changing room) would have felt like rush hour for the more than two hours traffic of the stage.  Our own production is even more streamlined than Shakespeare's original, since only 11 actors are involved (this is almost double the record set by Fiasco theatre, which last year did the play triumphantly with a cast of 6).

Doubling roles in Shakespeare is not only cost effective, it can yield additional theatrical pleasures. One particular instance of this is the doubling of the play's ostensible leading man, Posthumus, with this opposite, the clownish villain, Cloten (a double that Fiasco somehow missed) .  We are told right from the beginning the two men could not be more different. The vile Cloten is a "thing too bad for bad report."

while Posthumus, beloved by Imogen,  is "a creature, such/ As to seek through the regions of the earth/For one his like, there would be something failing/ in him that should compare." 

The Posthumus/Cloten opposition is enough all by itself to invite double casting.  But there is more.  The two characters are never on stage together.  And we know they look exactly alike--at least from neck down, wearing the same clothes, which they often do.  Cloten is determined to revenge himself on Imogen for her insulting him, saying that the meanest garment of Posthumus was worth more to her than all the hairs on his head.  So he contrives to get into Posthumus' clothes, go find her in the country, kill her boyfriend, rape her, cut the garments she loved so much to pieces, and then send her home.  That will teach her.  Unfortunately, Cloten is beheaded before he gets the chance to execute his cunning plan, though not before he tells us how well Posthumus' garments fit him--an amazing thing! And when Imogen finds the headless man, she is convinced it must be her husband: I know the shape of's leg; this is his hand/ His foot mercurial, his Martial thigh,The brawns of Hercules . .. "

Imogen has no doubt this is her husband, and who should know his body better?  And though she turns out to be mistaken, her recognition is entirely correct too: the body of the villain is quite obviously also the body of her lover, since they are both being played by the same actor.

There is additional resonance to this pairing too, since it invites us to see comparisions where we have been told there were only contrasts.  Just after leaving the stagen in the first scene, the actor reappears as Cloten complaining,"And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!"  A lovely moment.  But the more you experience the play, the more you see how lines are often blurred between the ostensible hero and the thuggish villain.  When Posthumus is tricked into believing his wife has been unfaithful to him, he goes mad--and becomes dangerous; in a jealous fury of betrayal, he rushes to murderous revenge on Imogen, just as Cloten does for her insulting him. Posthumus decides to have her killed.  His diatribe against her and against all women is scary, and as a character he now seems "harsh" and "simple"--exactly the words Imogen uses to describe Cloten.  Posthumus for most of the rest of the play is subject to violent fits, and as a character he seems a patchwork of snatched emotions jerked from him, tossing him this way and that.  And this jerkiness is exactly the rhtythm and tempo of the clownish Cloten.  The lines of distinction are blurring from the other direction, too.  Cloten, surprisingly, turns out to be a fine singer: not a quality you associate with a thug.  And he also has some of the best pride in country lines in the play, lines everyone in the English audience would applaud when the Romans come demanding payment of tribute : Why should we pay tribute?  If Casear can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now." These are lines you would think the hero might say, not the villain  (in fact the hero does say something similar, earlier, though far less memorably).

The wonderful climax of this blurred meshing occurs in the first scene of the 4th act, when Cloten swims triumphantly on stage wearing the garments of Posthumus.  For nearly two hours the audience has been watching the same actor change characters and clothes--at least a half dozen times before now.  We have become very comfortable and confident in sorting out the two men, thanks both to the difference in their costumes and the actor's ability to create two distinct personalities.  But at this one fabulous moment our minds are happily blown: who is this?  Cloten? for sure! Posthumus?  He sure looks exactly like him!  Both?  Well, yes . .. in a way!

And finally, in a kind of happy postcript, at the end of the play Guiderius describes how he cut off the head of the unbcouth Cloten, and says he is "right glad he is not standing here/ to tell this tale of mine."  Absolutely true--and not true--since the actor playing Cloten (now only Posthumus) is standing right there on stage with him.

There's nothing like Shakespeare, who doubles our pleasure and intelligence like no other playwright.  And what a wonderful play this is, as I am seeing over and over again.

Authentic Shakespeare

We received this query the other day:

Hi-I'm trying to figure out this production. Is it authentic Shakespeare or some more recent adaptation? Supposed to be set in Roman Britain primarily. But all the publicity photos I've seen show a bunch of guys carrying 1880's vintage American lever action rifles!!! What gives??

Good question, and perfectly legitimate too.  Indeed our publicity photos do show three guys with rifles who look more like they came out of True Grit than ancient Britain. It turns out since we took those photos in the Garden of the Gods, we've ditched the rifles.  But not because they are not period appropriate. 

What is the appropriate period for Shakespeare plays?  If you are strict constitionalist, you might go back to the original--but the original might surprise you.  Here is the only contemporary drawing of a Shakespeare play in performance. sketched by a spectator at the Globe.

This is a scene from Titus Andronicus, a play set in the Roman period, like Cymbeline. But what's most conspicuous about the costumes is that they are quite a mixed bag.  The dark figure on the right is clearly Roman, as perhaps are the kneeling figures.  But the people on the left are distinctly Elizabethan, dressed in the clothes of Shakespeare's contemporaries. So when you go to the source what you find is kind of a mash-up, costuming that reflects both period and modern dress. 

Cymbeline is one of Shakespeare's most period diverse plays: it seems to be taking place in Roman Britain, Renaissance Italy and wild Wales, which is a place and time all its own.  It is also a play about costumes and clothes: the words "garment" and "fit" occur more times than in any other play by Shakespeare, and the word "fit" seems to mean spasm as well as suit.  In the original production a cast of a dozen or so actors played more than 30 roles--they must have been changing garments and outfits all the time. One character specifically is built so like another he fits perfectly fit into the other's clothes--indeed you wonder whether these were meant for the same actor.

We have adopted Shakespeare's own practices in designing our production, which combines both period and contemporary elements.  The play is a singular mash-up, a fractured fairy tale which proceeds in fits and starts, and ends with happy and comprhehensive wonder.  So, for instance, the character of Belarius, the old warrior who is raising stolen princes in a cave way out in Wales, looks like this in the sketch by Rose Fox, our designer:

Hardly a figure out of Roman Britain, right? But we think he is Shakespeare's Belarius even so--with his tartan and fur and hat, a compound of Scottish romance and Amrican western---you could even make a case that Rooster Cogburn is one of his descendants.  Both are rough, ready and good hearted.

And yes, we thought about the eye patch too--but decided against it, along with the rifles. A rifle makes nonsense out of a swordfight, unless it's unloaded--something that would never happen in Wales or Colorado). So in the flesh and on stage here is our Belarius (Tom Paradise), along with his princess (Susan Maris):

Which simply goes to show you that now, as then, Shakespeare is not of an age but for all time.

Way out west

We're just about midway into rehearsals for CYMBELINE, and really the play is giving me a second youth (others might say I never left my first childhood).  As usual, exploring a Shakespeare play, especially one you have never done and don't know, is like going into a cave that keeps opening into other rooms (and a cave figures prominently in this play).  You think you have arrived and then another room beckons.  As usual, Shakespeare is playing tricks with us.  He introduces us early on to his hero.  He is modest, poor, manly, gentle and much beloved, as we are told again and again.  He is the perfect fairy tale hero, despite that odd name of Posthumus.  Not a romantic name.  Posthumus and Juliet?  Maybe not. But he is much beloved of his lovely bride, Imogen, who only has eyes, heart and soul for him. So far so good.  But then watch Posthumus carry on:  he makes a rash bet about his girl, which he is tricked into thinking he's lost--as a result he puts out a contract on his unfaithful wife, and has her murdered.  Or so he believes.  Then later he feels really badly about this, so badly that he wants to die--which he plans to do fighting, first against the Britains, then against the Romans.  When he finally openly confesses his guilt and crimes, he is absolved by his wife--whom he promptly smacks to the ground.  This Posthumus is a dangerous character--clumsy, impulsive, violent and not very bright.  In fact he looks quite a bit like his foil and opposite, Cloten, the "harsh, noble, simple nothing" of the play--they can wear the same clothes, and actually do.  And yet, Shakespeare is not finished with his tarred and much tainted hero--at the very end of the play Posthumus for once acts just as he should, as we hope he would, and for the first time appears to be a prince indeed.  Too little too late? Decide for yourselves.  It's only one of the many mysteries awaiting you way out west in Ancient Britain, soon arriving at Rock Ledge Ranch.