Gidgette Preaches

Shakespeare's R&J presented by QUT Gardens Theatre Brisbane from 12 to 17 July 2010

2010-07-18T19:46:00.000-07:00

Below is a copy of my review published at Briztix.com

Shakespeare’s R&J is a highly physical adaptation of Romeo and Juliet with a cast of four young men set in a Catholic boarding school during the 1950s. Typical of mischievous teenagers in any era, these school boys are initially drawn by the forbidden allure of Romeo and Juliet which is banned in their school. Progressively they take turns reading and enacting the various roles in hidden corners well away from teacher surveillance. The result is a culturally relevant interpretation of Shakespeare with particularly confronting social and political commentary on gendered role-play and gay marriage. R&J originally ran for 400 performances in New York City and won the prestigious Lucille Lortel Award in 1998 for outstanding achievement in Off-Broadway theatre. Written by American playwright Joe Calarco, and directed by Craig Ilott, this adaptation shortens the original tragedy and weaves a number of Shakespeare’s sonnets into the action, thereby lending a richer texture to this enduring paean to unrestrained love.

What did you like about this performance?
Both Tom Stokes (Romeo) and Ben Gerrard (Juliet) bring authenticity and tenderness to their first exchange at the Capulet’s ball. In this scene they manage to hold the corporeal nature of their attraction in perfect tension with the quasi-religious, transcendental overtones of their love. The thrill and immediacy of the meeting is brought quickly to climax with their first kiss, reaching poetic consummation with the sonnet’s concluding rhyming couplet. Moments like these should be celebrated and I think everyone should experience the music of the interlocking lines of this beautifully crafted sonnet in a live environment.

What didn’t you like about this performance?
It’s easy for directors to become distracted by the challenge of setting a Shakespeare play in a new and more relevant context for today’s audience. Consequently they sometimes forget the most important goal is to provide quality acting that exhibits a sound grasp of dramatic verse. Unfortunately during the first third of R&J there were moments when lines sounded rushed and the rhythm of the verse lost. The ensemble skipped over the natural phrasing of the text, giving the effect of an urgent race to the end of each scene. When pushed along like this the meaning is glossed over while the tempo ticks along at allegretto speed leaving the audience lagging behind. The result is similar to listening to a pianist hammer through a Bach minuet while forgetting to musically breath, only to rest once they reach the double bar line. Surely just as a pianist first uses a slower tempo to work on the more difficult aspects of each line of music, then an actor should work closely on the technique of each line of dialogue before pitching up the tempo in the full flight of performance. In hindsight I think that opening night nerves may have contributed to the problem considering the players sounded more relaxed as the night progressed.

Why should we go and see this show?
It’s helpful when well-meaning friends counsel you on how best to deal with the vicissitudes of life, but as each year passes you might find their advice starts to stale and become predictable. When this happens I think literary heavyweights like Shakespeare, best interpreted by shows like R&J, can step in and give a fresh and innovative perspective on your own life. Want advice for the best way to recover from unrequited love? It’s right there in R&J when Benvolio advises Romeo to “weigh” the vision of Rosaline (Romeo’s love object) “against some other maid”. Such advice suggests clearer judgment of one’s romantic prospects can be better achieved when two women are poised evenly in the “crystal scales” of the mind. That's quite a sophisticated and powerful metaphor for the decision-making process and all the more memorable due to R&J’s ability to creatively convey what is so often thought but rarely so well expressed.

Was there anything remarkable about your experience?
Some of you may be familiar with the various approaches directors have taken when adapting Romeo and Juliet for Australian audiences. Back in 1999 Brisbane’s La Boite Theatre explored issues of racism and reconciliation by casting the Capulet family with indigenous actors and the Montague family with non-indigenous actors. The colonising impulse of Australia has been similarly explored by casting indigenous actors in the role of Caliban, whose intimate knowledge of the land is cruelly exploited by Prospero in The Tempest. Such modern interpretations do effectively shed light on the anxieties surrounding our nation’s shady history, but I personally cannot see why theatre continually feels the need to rescue Shakespeare from the category of boring capital ‘L’ Literature in its original form. To create a distinctive production today you don’t need elaborate conceits in casting and setting to give the text currency. Shakespeare even in its barest form will always be current and will continue to bring what Andrew O’Hagan calls “the news that stays news” well over four centuries after its original conception. After saying that, I must confess that I’ve never seen an interpretation of Shakespeare quite like R&J with its challenging take on an often told story that still manages to retain the spiritual essence of Shakespeare’s original.

Dante's Inferno presented by Zen Zen Zo Physical Theatre at The Old Museum, Brisbane, 6 - 22 May 2010

2010-05-13T03:31:00.000-07:00

(Gustave Dore's Avaricious and Prodigal)

What you see below are my responses to some review questions that will be published online at Briztix.com next week. Enjoy!
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Inferno is the first cantica in Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy, and has proven to be an overwhelming favourite among generations of artists who have repeatedly appropriated this first part of the poem over the lesser known Purgatorio and Paradiso sections. You just have to view Peter Greenaway’s video project A TV Dante, or the detailed illustrations rendered by Gustave Dore and William Blake, or even the film Dante’s Inferno using hand-drawn paper puppets, to see how this epic has attained and retained its status as a classic today. Now Brisbane audiences have their chance to experience Zen Zen Zo Physical Theatre’s own revision of Hell, Dante’s Inferno: Living Hell, set in the heritage-listed grounds of The Old Museum and running until 22 May.

What did you like about this performance?
One of the strengths of this production is its ability to place the audience in the role of a questing pilgrim. When left alone to roam the conical layers of hell, we have the chance to play protagonist, poet, and narrator, by taking Dante's place in the original text. As a theatre-goer who is used to passively sitting quietly through the duration of a play, I found the experience of wandering between the third (the gluttonous), fourth (the avaricious/spendthrifts), and fifth (the melancholic) circles of hell a welcome change from the confining codes of audience behaviour. The first half of the performance set outside the building recalls the mystery plays popularised in Europe during the Middle Ages which were known to dramatise biblical subjects in a churchyard or marketplace. We are even provided with our own heralds in the form of two joking guides who deliver vernacular synopses of the narrative. Couple this with the various canto prologues printed on banners around the site, and we are left in no doubt about the nature of the errors committed by the wretched souls before us. It’s also worth adding that it seemed entirely appropriate and clever to tie three tormented souls under a large sausage tree marking the circle of gluttony. Equally inventive was the adoption of a leafy arched hedge as the gateway into hell. Both instances demonstrate imaginative and judicious use of the grounds that mark this play as a must-see for Brisbane audiences.

What didn't you like about the performance?
As much as I enjoyed the freedom of taking in the sites of hell outside, I found the various distractions and interruptions (ballet students walking through the middle of performance spaces, flashing beams from cars parking too close to the setting, difficulty in hearing some of the performers) detracted from the experience as a whole. Considering I attended the first preview night, I’m sure these problems will be ironed out as the season progresses. I should also add that the burlesque routine in the circle of lust, exhibiting what can only be described as bawdy zombies, failed not only in its execution, but in its choice of subject over the Francesca and Paolo episode. The sentiment and pathos in this story of two lovers is arguably one of the most celebrated episodes in the Inferno, yet it was overlooked by this production, resulting in an uncomplicated representation of lust that failed to capture the psychological depth explored by Dante. This is just one example among many where I thought the production lacked emotional heft.

Was there anything remarkable about your experience?
Stellar performances from Lia Reutens and Earl Kim during the second half help the company wrest free from the dead hand of Dante and embrace a more relevant interpretation of the lower depths of hell for a contemporary audience. We first meet the couple sitting in a kitchen. They are expert in the art of self-deception; a situation I’m sure many of us can relate to in this realistic depiction of a living hell. Their dull table talk is thrown into relief by a chorus line belting I’m Through With Love (made famous by Marilyn Monroe) into spatulas instead of microphones. I think this is a good example of how a transition in style from the lofty to the commonplace works well, bringing some levity to the interpretation of an otherwise earnest text. It’s also worth noting the plastic beauty of the actor playing an angel sent to guide us into the second half of the performance. Her serenity was enthralling, and enhanced beautifully by makeup that gave her the quality of well-formed sculpture.

Why should we go and see this show?
The original text of the Inferno is famous for the imaginative variety of its torments at every level of hell, but I think in this production it is the last region in the journey that provides the most thought-provoking and dismal depiction of life. It is a region blinkered by an ideology that affects every member of today’s audience, and I know I wasn’t alone in my surprise at how evil manifests itself in this concluding scene. I’m not going to spoil the ending for those yet to attend a performance. Just keep your eyes, ears, and mind open and you’ll discover just how tragically flawed we all are in our irrepressible desire for knowledge, power, and happiness.

A Streetcar Named Desire, QUT Gardens Theatre 18 - 25 March 2010

2010-03-25T21:02:00.000-07:00

(Tennesee Williams)

A few weeks ago Briztix requested a review of A Streetcar Named Desire, written by Tennessee Williams, directed by Leonard Meenach, and featuring QUT's third-year actors. What you see below are my responses to some of the review questions that will be published online next week. Enjoy!
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A Streetcar Named Desire first opened on Broadway six years before second-wave feminism began to dismantle defined gender roles in the home and workplace. Back in 1947 tangible freedoms were yet to be realised by the likes of Blanche DuBois, an ageing southern belle from Mississippi, and her sister Stella, living in New Orleans with husband Stanley. Both of these characters represent a generation of women who had long suffered under entrenched sexual double standards, traces of which still remain today in our own communities. Streetcar shocked and disturbed audiences back in the 40s because it was the first American play to expose a strong sexuality at the core of its female characters, thus attracting negative criticism from America’s Legion of Decency. Even for today's audience the play has the potential to be equally contentious because Blanche’s predilection for romancing young boys, we’re talking teenagers here, would strike a chord for anyone familiar with current debates surrounding the sexualisation of children in our society. Streetcar opens with Blanche seeking shelter under her sister's roof in the hope of escaping her tainted reputation back home, but I will stop the narrative here to avoid plot spoilers for those who will attend the QUT Gardens Theatre production of Streetcar this week.

What did you like about the performance?
Hilary Caitens, playing Blanche, manages to achieve what any good actor should achieve, and that is to make her character empathetic. Initially, when she walked on stage I let out a quiet guffaw of disbelief that the director could cast such a young woman in an ageing role. But after some settling in, Caitens makes the vain and pretentious Blanche a completely believable character with the help of her lofty style and grandiloquent gesturing. I couldn't help wondering how Caitens sourced and developed the highly convincing mannerisms of a much older woman. What is also remarkable is that even the southern dialect of Blanche appeared consistent and effortless for this duplicitous character who is adept at both concealing her age and dark past for the sake of survival. It is Caitens’ protean ability to shift between doleful frailty, audacious coquetry, despair, and unchecked rage that give her performance the kind of manic quality we expect from Blanche as she descends into madness.

What didn’t you like about the performance?
I think any actor taking on the role of Stanley would be aware of Marlon Brando’s long shadow cast from his menacing performance in the film version of Streetcar released in 1951. It is not just the stage actor, but also the audience that has Brando’s interpretation of Stanley in mind when presented with yet another adaptation of a play that has accumulated significant cultural value from repeated exposure to generations past.

(Marlon Brando in film version of Streetcar 1951)

With this kind of history in mind, you could forgive me for expecting Nathaniel Middleton (Stanley) to convey the same irascible, cocksure performance that Brando delivered as a hulking enfant terrible, battling with Blanche to restore balance to his household. Instead, Middleton shows us a weaker version of the original Stanley. His presence on stage failed to exude the kind of threat that could break Blanche down and violently consume her in the penultimate bottle-smashing scene. His voice didn’t project as strongly as his fellow cast members, leaving the impression of a less than overwhelming character, which seems to work against Williams’ intention for the role. You see, Stanley is supposed to challenge not only Blanche, but the politeness and values she embodies as a relic from a fading agrarian aristocracy. Overall, it is a shame that Middleton does not manifest the rough strength of the rising underclass, because that is the crucial element required to bring a thrilling tension to his relationship with Blanche.

What was the audience’s reaction to the performance?
Some of the best scenes were those that made the audience laugh. Middleton does well to reveal the humorous side of Stanley’s limited intellect, especially during the scenes where his character is talking out of his depth about property law, or the quality of Blanche’s jewels and furs. Taiyo Hara (Mitch) and Caitens also do well to bring out the awkwardness of their courtship ritual, which was warmly met with hoots of laughter from the audience. On exiting the theatre I couldn’t help but overhear fellow audience member’s laudations over Caitens’ performance. It seems my gushing praise for her portrayal of Blanche was shared by others that night.

Was there anything remarkable about costume and set design?
I think it is worth noting that costume and set design coincides with the era in which the play was written. I think this approach has its advantages because it allows theatre to do what it does best--recreate and thereby expose the historical roots of the narrative, while also shedding light on the provenance of today’s social mores and customs. Perhaps for the sake of historical accuracy Stella should have worn stockings and suspenders instead of the seamless nylon pantyhose that were not released publicly until well over a decade after the period in which the play was set.

Why should we go and see this show?
After reading Streetcar in one sitting just one week before the performance, I found the actors brought out elements of humour that I had entirely missed on my first reading. This in itself is a pressing reason to see the play performed live whenever the opportunity arises. Another reason to see this play is that many of the actor’s performances match those that you would find in any Queensland Theatre Company, or La Boite Theatre Company production-–but for half the price.

A short bio on yourself?
Alison is a recent UQ Bachelor of Arts (Literary Studies) graduate. She has attended countless local orchestral and operatic performances, along with numerous theatre and ballet productions during her past ten years of living in Brisbane. There are few things she enjoys more than seeing a Shakespeare play come to life on the stage, or hearing the Queensland Symphony Orchestra perform pieces she plays at home on her piano. Coupled with a background in deejaying electronic dance music under the name of Gidgette, she is a true dilettante with not nearly enough time on her hands.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Brisbane Arts Theatre 31July - 4 September 2010

2010-02-19T03:48:00.000-08:00

My audience response published at briztix.com

The Brisbane Arts Theatre’s production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof uses Tennessee Williams’ original script to deliver a version of the play written before any alterations were made for the stage and screen of the censorious 50s. We are first introduced to Brick as the feckless anti-hero of this very modern tragedy; a man who has retreated from life after the suicide of his best friend Skipper. Brick’s specialty is inaction and his reasons are complex. He refuses to play husband to Maggie (the eponymous Cat), instead preferring the anodyne caresses from the liquor cabinet. Only Brick’s father, Big Daddy, manages to break down the laconic Brick in the closing scenes of the play by forcefully disinterring memories from Brick’s repressed past. Directed by Alex Lanham, and running until 4 September, there is still time for culture vultures with a predilection for everything mid-century to check out this gorgeously costumed period production.

What did you like about this performance?
Fans of the American television drama Mad Men, or even those who are just mad for all things vintage would undoubtedly get a kick out of the verisimilitude of the 50s styled costumes and stage setting. We are even allowed a cheeky peek at the tops of Maggie’s (Dominique Mutch) stockings, and her curves could easily be interpreted as those from another era. Small touches adding glamour to the night did not go unnoticed, such as recordings of American classics “Mack the Knife” and Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” played to the audience during interval. My only quibble would be with Maggie’s hair that looked more like a throwback to a style sported by practitioners of 90s riot grrrl rock (think L7 and Babes in Toyland), than the smooth and voluminous look donned by Elizabeth Taylor for the Hollywood screen back in 1958.

What didn’t you like about this performance?
As a longstanding patron of Brisbane Arts Theatre who has attended a number of performances over the past decade in this most intimate of theatres, I was disappointed with this particular production for a few reasons. First, Alex Comben as Brick has considerable trouble settling into a consistent vocal register and appeared to be in constant battle with the Deep Southern dialect that has become synonymous with Williams’ plays. One wonders what kind of performance Comben could have delivered if he had dropped all attempts at foreign locution and directed his energy toward other aspects of characterisation that were lacking, such as his on-stage dynamic with Maggie. The same can be said for William Davies as Big Daddy who rapidly oscillates between his native Australian accent and the demotic rhythms of the Mississippi plantation home where the play is set. The production is running for well over a month so one would hope Davies and Comben smooth out these inconsistencies or drop the American accents altogether.

Was there anything remarkable about your experience?
One of the more experienced actors, Meredith Sinclair playing Mae, shines with strong delivery in a consistent American style that is no doubt aided by her previous role as Maggie back in the 1998 BAT production of Cat.

Why should we go and see this show?
To witness a challenging examination of masculinity that helps us measure and contemplate the widespread uncertainties surrounding gender that we experience today.

A New Sex; A New Perspective?

2009-10-31T19:34:00.000-07:00

(Orlando as a woman in Sally Potter's filmic interpretation of Virginia Woolf's novel)

In “Orlando: A Biography” (1928) Virginia Woolf gives us a revisionist romp through English literary history, satirically engaging with the spirit of each age from 1585 to 1928. After reading Woolf's “A Room of One's Own” (1929) just a few months ago, I can now detect a feminist dialogue between both of these works that were published just one year apart.

Orlando is a man until the age of thirty when he awakes as a woman in the seventeenth century. With this in mind I hope you'll forgive the rapid oscillation between gendered pronouns in the following. You see, Orlando as a young man had "insisted that women must be obedient, chaste, scented, and exquisitely apparelled by nature" (141). Yet after he awakes as a woman, making a complicated start with "plaguy" petticoats (137), Orlando then reflects on how she will have to pay for her previous demands on women. Only now does she realise that "women are not (judging by her own short experience of the sex) obedient, chaste, and scented ... by nature, they can only attain these graces by the most tedious discipline" (141). When compared to the kind of feminist polemic found in Mary Wollstonecraft's "A Vindication of the Rights of Woman" (for the benighted check this), you can see how the figure of Orlando offers us a deeper insight into historical construction of the feminine. Orlando's swift change of sex is a much more imaginative, thereby more effective, way to access the kind of deflation (horror?) a seventeenth-century woman would feel when suddenly sentenced to life as a tea pourer. Echoes of Enlightenment feminism are in abundance here as Orlando realises just how "ignorant and poor” women are when “compared with the other sex", while men "debar [women] even from a knowledge of the alphabet" (143). The humour of Orlando's predicament also helps Woolf's cause, as we see the effect a woman's exposed calf can have on an observing sailor who stumbles so violently that he misses his footing, only "saving himself by the skin of his teeth" (141). Today it is laughable that the sight of an ankle could mean almost death to a man, but this scene is set during a time when women directed all effort toward preservation of their chastity. Only after laughter subsides can we reflect on the role chastity played in the social government of women during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It was the foundation stone of female subjugation.

(Virginia Woolf)

A similar use of gender shifting is found in Woolf’s creation of Shakespeare’s sister (Judith) in “A Room of One’s Own”. In this later work, Woolf suggests that “it would have been impossible, completely and entirely, for any woman to have written the plays of Shakespeare in the age of Shakespeare” (48). To prove her point, she creates Judith Shakespeare, and takes a deeper look at her hypothetical life. You see Judith “was not sent to school, she had no chance of learning grammar and logic, let alone reading Horace and Virgil” (49). She may have “picked up a book every now and then, one of her brother’s perhaps, and read a few pages, but then her parents came in and told her to mend the stockings or mind the stew, and not moon about with books and papers” (49). Like the real Shakespeare, our hypothetical Judith Shakespeare “had a taste for the theatre” and wanted to act, but "she could get no training in her craft", and whenever she approached the stage door “men laughed in her face” (49). I think this case provides at least one plausible argument for why men have figured so large in historical records of achievement. If a woman was even gifted with Shakespeare's potential during his age, she would have had no means to cultivate that talent, and no female tradition to turn to for inspiration.

Both of these works have proved to be personally inspiring, and I'm quick to recognise that even this inspiration is a luxury in itself. Why? Because the presence of a strong, female literary tradition was not afforded to any woman during Shakespeare's time, or even during Orlando's time in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Therefore, as a twenty-first century woman I consider it a privilege to review works such as those discussed above, and hope to add to a tradition many of us take for granted today.

Narcissus and Eve

2009-10-11T18:50:00.000-07:00

Narcissus, by Mchelangelo Caravaggio, ca. 1598.

If you are familiar with the Narcissus and Echo episode in Ovid's Metamorphoses, then you would have no problem spotting Milton’s own echo of this scene in Book Nine of his Paradise Lost. We know from Ovid’s work that Narcissus becomes transfixed with his own image reflected in a “clear, unmuddied pool of silvery, shimmering water” (3.407-408). He falls in love with his own “fraudulent image of beauty” (3.439), which ultimately leads to his demise. Moving forward some sixteen hundred years later, we can see that this episode still commands attention when it appears again in Milton’s epic. The scene that corresponds so closely to Ovid’s Narcissus episode begins with Eve’s looking “into a clear / smooth lake, that to [her] seemed another sky” (9.458-459). First, it’s apparent that this lake has the same mirror-like qualities as the pool in Ovid’s narrative. Like Narcissus, Eve is “pleased” with her image, and even hesitates to seek out Adam because she thinks he might be “less fair, less winning soft, less amiably mild, than [her] smooth watery image” (9.463-480). Dennis Danielson illuminates the significance of this scene by recalling a common critical response to the episode. He says a majority of critics view Eve’s “Narcissus-like” infatuation “with her own image” (152) as evidence that she is “fallen before the fall” (153). But Danielson improves on this interpretation by showing that Milton is in fact “presenting Adam and Eve’s potential for falling”, meaning Eve's vanity reflects her “fallibility, not [her] fallenness” (153). Danielson’s argument is convincing because Milton does draw on Eve's fallibility, thereby enriching the setting for a plausible fall following the lake scene. We know that Eve eventually succumbs to Satan’s flattery. She is so easily duped because she has already shown that vanity is her dominating weakness.

Danielson, Dennis. “The Fall and Milton’s Theodicy”. The Cambridge Companion to Milton. Ed. Dennis Danielson. Cambridge: CUP, 1999. 144-59.

The Recurring Image of Stone in Ovid's Metamorphoses

2009-10-11T18:20:00.000-07:00

Pygmalion, by Gerome, 1881.

One theme that connects a number of stories within Ovid's poem is that of stone. Douglas F. Bauer’s study illuminates how “the stone image has such an important function in the scheme not only of the whole work, but also of each individual book” (2). Admittedly, Bauer’s taxonomic assessment borders on the ludicrous when in the closing pages of his study we find him bogged down in mathematical calculations, auditing the number of verses surrounding the Pygmalion episode. Minor quibbles aside, his examination of stone and its many manifestations provided enough impetus for me to dig a little deeper for more stone imagery. I uncovered three connected episodes that show how Ovid uses this image of stone literally and metaphorically to convey the presence, or lack thereof, of life. Deucalion and Pyrrha are commanded by an oracle to “cast the bones [stones]” of the earth behind them in order to “repair the loss of [their] wretched race” (1.379-383). The rocks eventually soften with the help of moisture from the earth, transformed into an “outline of human form” featuring a “nature more gentle than stone” (1.400-403). Thus, the evolution of man from stone gives us one of the first striking pictures of human life in the poem. Moving to Book Three, the scorned and rejected Echo receives no love from Narcissus. The pain and shame she experiences drags her to the depths of despair, reflected in the loss of “all moisture” that shrivels “the lovely bloom of her flesh” (395-400). She is eventually transformed into stone, conveying both a haunting (only the echo survives) and chilling picture of unrequited love. Thus, we are reminded that love and life are associated with moisture and flesh, and the inverse is seen in Echo’s emotional death marked by stone. Moving finally to Book Ten, the ivory statue carved by Pygmalion “gradually loses its hardness, softening, sinking, [and] yielding” to her master’s loving hands (280-285). This transformation from the inanimate to the animate, from stone to soft and malleable flesh, recalls the first Deucalion episode in Book One. However, what is different about the Pygmalion episode is that it telescopes human creation down to the level of the individual and not the entire human race as displayed in the Deucalion episode.

Bauer, Douglas F. “The Function of Pygmalion in the Metamorphoses of Ovid”. Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 93 (1962): 1-21.

Milton's Satan

2009-10-11T18:03:00.000-07:00

Satan As A Serpent, Enters Paradise In Search Of Eve, by Gustave Dore 1832-1883

"... Then from his loftie stand on that high Tree
Down he alights among the sportful Herd
Of those fourfooted kindes, himself now one,
Now other, as thir shape servd best his end
Neerer to view his prey, and unespi'd
To mark what of thir state he more might learn
By word or action markt: about them round
A Lion now he stalkes with fierie glare,
Then as a Tyger, who by chance hath spi'd
In some Purlieu two gentle Fawnes at play,
Strait couches close, then rising changes oft
His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground
Whence rushing he might surest seize them both
Gript in each paw..." (Paradise Lost Book Four)

In order to get closer to Adam and Eve, Satan momentarily embodies a number of animals that already exist in the garden. Initially he surveys Eden from his “lofty stand” on a “high tree” (4.395). Then he decides to get closer, so he “alights” from the tree and starts to mingle with the “four-footed” beasts (4.396-397). He does this primarily by taking on the shape of any animal that “serve[s] best his end” to spy on “his prey” (read Adam and Eve) (4.398-399). What is intriguing is how the behaviour of the animals change as he possesses them. Once Satan enters the lion, it starts to “stalk with fiery glare” (4.402). As he takes on the form of the tiger, it “couches close… watching” two fawns at play (4.405-405). The pattern shows that each animal he embodies starts to prowl, stalk, and monitor their prey. This picture is markedly different from the one shown before Satan entered Eden. In the pre-lapsarian garden, those same animals were initially found “frisking” (4.340), playing, and gamboling in Eden. Here Milton is showing how Satan’s blood-thirsty nature still shines through as he possesses any one of those animals, who now behave with intent to kill. It reveals a similar transformation to those found in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Numerous episodes in that work show how an essential characteristic, be it Io’s beauty or Lycaon’s bestial nature, shines through after transformation takes place. In Satan’s case, his evil tendencies never leave him. He retains his essential nature, even when he shape-shifts into an animal. This is significant because it reveals his true character, which is evil.

Milton's Pandemonium

2009-10-11T17:03:00.000-07:00

Pendemonium, by John Martin, 1841.

In the following I've taken a closer look at John Milton's Paradise Lost, Book One lines 700-722:

... Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared,
That underneath had veins of liquid fire
Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude
With wondrous art founded the massy ore,
Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion-dross.
A third as soon had formed within the ground
A various mould, and from the boiling cells
By strange conveyance filled each hollow nook;
As in an organ, from one blast of wind,
To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes.
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge
Rose like an exhalation, with the sound
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet--
Built like a temple, where pilasters round
Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid
With golden architrave; nor did there want
Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven;
The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon
Nor great Alcairo such magnificence
Equalled in all their glories, to enshrine
Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat
Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove
In wealth and luxury...

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This extract appears immediately after Mammon has directed the fallen angels to rifle the “bowels” of hell so they can access gold for the construction of Pandemonium – their new capital of hell (687-690). From the outset I followed Geoff Page’s advice by reading the piece “first solely for the sound and second for the sense” (58). During the first reading I found the effects of alliteration and assonance created a perfect euphony that provided a wonderful aural accompaniment to the visual detail found in the passage. I could hear the slippery lakes of gold described as “liquid fire sluiced from the lake” (701-702). The emphasis on the double ‘s’ sound in “sluiced” and the alliterated ‘l’ sound on first and second syllables helps us imagine the lapping channels of slick gold rushing through to fuel the creation of Hell’s first palace. The dregs have to be skimmed from the boiling gold and we can hear that too with a similar emphasis on the ubiquitous ‘s’ sound, as Satan’s crew “scummed the bullion dross” (704). The emphasis on ‘s’ evokes the wet and messy work of preparing the materials to fill out the temple.

We know that Milton “played the organ” (Tesky xvi). This piece of biographical information goes some way in helping us understand how he developed the kind of skill required to replicate in verse the sonorities associated with organ music. The imaginative organ simile features the ever present ‘s’ sound again as we are told that the palace rises “with the sound / of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet”. This inventive pneumatic sequence, where the temple rises from the channels of gold, is described by Milton as a process based on inflation by the “sweet” sounding winds of an organ. It’s just one example of Milton’s ability to fuse two seemingly dissimilar elements (air and gold) into an image of a titanic proportion.

Of course, a second reading brings out many of the subtleties in Milton’s writing that may not be apparent in the first reading. Time is needed to unpack ambiguities within the passage, and one such ambiguity can be found in Milton’s description of the palace “built like a temple where pilasters round were set” (713-714). A quick dig in the dictionary tells us that a pilaster is a rectangular shaped column, which makes us wonder why Milton is using “round” as the adjective to the noun. You would assume that with blank verse you would encounter noun/adjective inversions, that is, “round” as the adjective may be placed after the noun, instead of before. But in this instance “round” means “set around”, that is, the columns are set around the palace in a decorative fashion. This example is an instructive case for Page’s argument for a second reading. The example shows that careful examination can bring out the full detail and skill invested in Milton’s verse.

The extract under consideration here shows the range of Milton’s knowledge of music, mining, architecture, Greek and biblical mythology, and the classical canon. Milton's range of expertise is reflected in his impressive vocabulary, featuring technical terms that betray a poet with formidable intelligence. His descriptions of the decorative work around the beams, roof, and columns of the temple, are strikingly ornamental just like the “fretted gold” roofs and “golden architraves” he is envisioning (715-717). These descriptions are effective in evoking images of opulence and grandeur in Satan’s new home – a home that could be seen to rival heaven.

Immediately preceding this passage the narrator says Satan's palace will show “how the greatest monuments of fame… are easily outdone by Spirits reprobate” (695-697). Further, we are told that the angels can create “in an hour” what others can “scarce perform” in an age (697-698). The angels certainly follow through on these claims with the kind of intricate and impressive craftsmanship that would match monuments found in the ancient biblical empire of “Babylon”, or in the land of ancient Egyptian King “Belus” 717-720). Milton’s careful selection of comparable empires, known for their “wealth and luxury” (722) is conveyed effectively through epic simile, the kind of extended comparison we find peppered throughout this sprawling epic.

The quick erection of this palace with such lavish detail is credible because Milton had already drawn Satan’s army as an unrivalled and swift-working “brigade” (675), proceeding in military fashion with "incessant toil" (698). We know that Satan needs a secure base of stability in what is essentially an unstable hell for him and his army. By showing us what this highly efficient crew can achieve, in just one hour, Milton rightly demonstrates the level of organised power expected from a figure that has always been regarded as God’s only truly threatening rival.

Page, Geoff. 80 Great Poems. Sydney: UNSW Press, 2006.

Tesky, Gordan. “The Life of John Milton”. Paradise Lost. Gordan Tesky. New York: Norton, 2005.

Ben Jonson's The Alchemist: A Closer Inspection of The Great Plague

2009-10-11T16:53:00.001-07:00

(Picture: Ben Jonson, after Abraham van Blyenberch)

Cheryl Lynn Ross’s “The Plague of The Alchemist” goes some way to explain how the social fabric of London was transformed with the arrival of the plague in the early 1700s. She explains geographically how the rogues and swindlers, who normally “haunted the margins of London” (445) in the liberties, were able to penetrate London’s boundaries and take dominion as a “temporary aristocracy” (439). Members of the original ruling class could afford to decamp during the plague, leaving the city to metamorphose into a “macabre carnival” of “license” (439) teeming with cozeners and vagabonds who enjoyed the freedom the plague granted them. Similarly, Ben Jonson’s The Alchemist shows in microcosm the kind of metamorphosis that was taking shape throughout London. From the view inside Lovewit’s house, we can see the plague is the primary agent for change to the collective livelihood of Subtle, Face and Dol. We know, for example, that Subtle previously had no secure position in London’s social hierarchy. The arrival of the plague gives him temporary access to Lovewit’s house so he can pretend to a higher social standing, and make even more money from cheating clueless aristocrats such as Mammon and Kastril. The reversal of the venture tripartite’s fortune in the final act coincides with Face’s return to his original identity (Jeremy the servant), as he hands over the rich Dame Pliant to the propertied Lovewit. This symbolises the reassertion of the dominance of the ruling elite, rendering the temporary metamorphosis of Face and his criminal cronies as fleeting and powerless against the secure hegemony of the aristocracy that Lovewit represents.

Ross, Cheryl Lyn. “The Plague of The Alchemist”. Renaissance Quarterly 41.3 (1988): 439-458.

The Responsibility of a Critic

2009-05-07T22:42:00.000-07:00

Last month the literary blogosphere became all atwitter over Anthony Gottlieb's review of Alexander Waugh's The House of Wittgenstein. Many bloggers have taken issue over Gottlieb's lengthy historical analysis of the subject (Wittgenstein Family) matter. His review seems to be written at the expense of providing a detailed critique of how Waugh deals with and presents the subject in the book under review. Wyatt Mason over at Harper's Magazine struck at the heart of the matter by suggesting that arguments of the kind we're seeing at the moment are normally fuelled by a "philosophical difference over what responsibility a reader has to a book".

I agree with Mason on this point alone. He represents one camp of readers who say that "criticism that doesn't read closely isn't literary criticism" at all. This view works on the assumption that the potential book buyer would prefer an intimate examination of a book's prose, which would, in turn, inform their buying decision. I think this dictates a disturbing limit on the role a literary critic can play in society. It takes us back to the nineteenth century. Back to a time before Oscar Wilde's The Critic as Artist unveiled a new and challenging take on the critic as an interpreter of art who uses an original work as a starting point for new and independent creations. Wilde says this type of subjective translation of literature is an essential and organic process that will always “show us the work of art in some new relation to our age". This challenge is always at the front of my own mind when I attempt to review any piece of literature.

I position myself firmly alongside Wilde when I suggest that any book under review should be treated by the critic as just one idea that can be used as a raw material to "invent fresh forms" of meaning for generations to come. In short, I believe a reviewer is not obligated in any way to focus solely on the book under review. I'm sure the majority of readers who scour the lengthy and richly contextualised reviews in the pages of The Australian or The New York Review of Books wholeheartedly agree with me on this issue.

The Health of Australian Literature

2009-05-07T06:06:00.000-07:00

Since July of last year, I’ve closely followed heated discussion surrounding the Productivity Commission’s investigation into the estimated costs and benefits of lifting parallel import restrictions (PIRs). This highly contentious territorial provision currently provides “publishers and/or authors, who hold the Australian rights to a title, protection from competition from foreign editions of that title”.

Discussion draft submissions from Peter Carey, Nick Earls, and Tim Winton have been published recently by the Commission, and all of them suggest that the quantity and quality of Australian literature will deteriorate markedly if these import restrictions are lifted. This foreseeable deterioration is directly linked to the financial health of the Australian publishing industry, which may come under threat if faced with a flood of competitively priced imports. Our publishing houses are viewed by many stakeholders as an essential “part of a delicate ecosystem, where the seeds of our culture need protection”. Carey, twice Booker Prize winner, is just one of many authors who have benefited from this kind of protection. He remembers the "Australian publishers who accepted [his] work when it was rejected in London and New York”. One just has to browse through the submissions from UQP and The Queensland Writers Centre to understand the vital role Australian publishers have played in the exposure and support of new Australian authors who have gone on to achieve national literary iconic status.

After hours of wading through these submissions from Australian publishers, booksellers, and authors, I can detect a thread of frustration in trying to accurately assess the cultural value of a healthy local publishing industry. As an undergraduate English student who has had the privilege of exploring our nation’s literary classics, I know it’s near to impossible to quantify the cultural benefits associated with reading works by the likes of Patrick White and George Johnston. These books are invaluable tools of reflection, which foster deep and imaginative analysis of historical events that have shaped the lives of Australians. They allow space for reflection on ourselves, as Australians with our own idioms and values, and I see this as the unique purview of our national literature. This is why all efforts should be made toward its growth and preservation for the sake of generations to come.

The Role of Literature in the Classroom

2009-05-07T05:36:00.000-07:00

Anyone who follows the Review pages of The Australian will be familiar with ongoing debates over the role literature should play in the teaching of English in our schools. On one side of this debate sits conservative opinion, spearheaded by the likes of Imre Salusinszky and Kevin Donnelly, who both believe that "enduring classics associated with the Western tradition must be given pre-eminent status" in the classroom. On the other side sits post-modern argument, voiced by the likes of Mark Howie (Australian Association for the Teaching of English), who sees immense value in studying other forms of text that fall outside traditional definitions of literature.

In the past month this debate has come to a head as the National Curriculum Board takes its final submissions for the development of a "rigorous, world class national curriculum” to be implemented in 2011. To discuss the finer points of the submissions, ABC Radio National’s Ramona Koval brought together both Donnelly and Howie on the Book Show. It is this discussion in particular that sparked my interest in the matter. Previously, I thought Donelly was just another elitist cultural defender, incapable of recognising the value of studying various forms of popular culture, such as film and television, in the classroom. Now, after listening to his interview with Koval, I’ve found his views on the humanising dimension of literature compelling, and not dissimilar to my own. I now realise that we both think literature can strengthen our ability to find connections between ourselves and others, and we both believe this enlargement of sympathy can have a positive social impact that starts first in the classroom. In short, Koval’s interview fleshed out Donnelly’s overall concern about the potential “reduction in literature in the [new] curriculum”, and now I find myself sharing in Donnelly's concern.