Constancy Unrewarded

Faithfulness to a job has always been a fool's errand. Constancy is inevitably unrewarded. In fact, "Constancy Unrewarded" is the subtitle of Bernard Shaw's comical blank-verse drama The Admirable Bashville.

Shaw wrote the piece as a mocking adaptation of his most famous novel, Cashel Byron's Profession. Of course, Shaw is known as a dramatist, not a novelist. Being Shaw's most famous novel is like being the most popular kid on the math team. It's hardly something brag-worthy.

After being rejected by nearly every publisher in Britain, Shaw had the piece published in a socialistic periodical. The novelist Robert Louis Stevenson thought the best thing about the book was a footman named Bashville, who falls rather hopelessly in love with his aristocratic employer, Lydia Carew.

The relations between wealthy patrons and a servant class hardly even deemed human is on display on Broadway right now, not in an unlikely revival of The Admirable Bashville, but in the imported Korean musical Maybe Happy Ending, which I finally caught up with last week. Though ostensibly a futuristic piece of science fiction, the play skewers the relationships the wealthy have with the people they employ so long as it's convenient for them.

In Maybe Happy Ending, we are introduced first to Oliver, a Model 3 robot who has been left by his former owner James in what appears to be a studio apartment where he can listen to records and enjoy a lifetime subscription to Jazz Monthly. Oliver's orderly routine is interupted by the robot across the hall, a Model 5 named Claire, who in spite of her more convincing human-like manner has a less robust battery than the Model 3s and requires frequent charging.

Just as Bashville's love for Lydia can never be reciprocated, Oliver will forever pine for James, the former owner he idolizes. In Shaw's story, Lydia feels a tinge of guilt for not being able to reward her servant's constancy. Similarly, James in Maybe Happy Ending feels such remorse for having to retire his outmoded Model 3 that he sets Oliver up in what he hopes will be a humane resting place for retired robots, even though it's essentially just a glorified warehouse for unwanted junk.

Even more poignant in the musical is the story of Claire, the Model 5 who knocks on Oliver's door. Her former owner gifted her designer clothes and even a car. (Model 3s can't drive, but 5s can.) She is aware, however, that the woman she served did this because she is rich, not because she actually cares about her. Shaw's admirable servant eventually professes love for his employer, but robots like Claire are apparently incapable of love. We learn that Claire received a profession of love from her owner's husband, which led to the humans warehousing her so they could deal with their own messed-up relationship.

The thing is, while our society might treat employees like robots, we are in fact capable of love, pain, regret, and all of the other emotions our owners (oh, wait, employers) can experience. In Maybe Happy Ending, Oliver and Claire do eventually fall in love, or at least think they do. Being that both are now obsolete and replacement parts are no longer being manufactured, their time together is limited, though. Eventually, both will run out of battery life.

Today, A.I. thieves and other wealthy exploiters are making workers across the world increasingly obsolete. Offers of early retirement or retraining to older workers betrayed by the system they helped to build and maintain often seem like little more than warehousing for old robots. Perhaps it eases the consciences of those with power, but if we are to discover our own maybe happy endings, it will have to be on our own.

It seems there is no more help for the victims of economic exploitation in real life than there is for the discarded servants of fiction.

A Man of the People

I've written before about the actor Edmund Kean's working-class associations, including his membership in the notorious Wolves Club.

William Hazlitt, a theatre critic who admired Kean, frequently linked him with the common man. "Mr. Kean's acting is not of the patrician order," he wrote in the London Magazine in 1820, "he is one of the people, and what might be termed a radical performer."

Seeing Kean as the title character in William Shakespeare's Coriolanus, Hazlitt deemed him a failure. Since "the prevailing characteristics of the part are inordinate self-opinion, and haughty elevation of soul," Kean simply lacked the aristocratic grace to play the role, Hazlitt thought. Instead, Kean "descended into the common arena of man," which might have been good for other characters, but not Coriolanus.

Similarly, Hazlitt was disappointed at seeing Kean in the regal title role of Shakespeare's King Lear. Of course, Kean wasn't exactly acting Shakespeare's Lear, as he was performing Nahum Tate's adaptation of the play with a happy ending. Still, Hazlitt found Kean's performance "altogether inferior to his Othello."

The parts of Kean's Lear that Hazlitt found most affecting were the ones where he was least royal and most human. He singled out this speech Lear has when reunited with Cordelia:

Pray, do not mock me;

I am a very foolish, fond old man,

Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;

And, to deal plainly,

I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks, I should know you, and know this man;

Yet I am doubtful; for I'm mainly ignorant

What place this is; and all the skill I have

Remembers not these garments; nay, I know not

Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,

For, as I am a man, I think this lady

To be my child Cordelia.

Hazlitt wrote that on speaking the last words, the great actor "staggered faintly into Cordelia's arms, and his sobs of tenderness, and his ecstasy of joy commingled, drew streaming tears from the brightest eyes."

That was the Kean that Hazlitt wanted to see, and it appears to have been the Kean most of his other fans wanted as well.

Under the Gaslight

Augustin Daly's 1867 melodrama Under the Gaslight first provided the stage with the image of a helpless victim tied to the railroad tracks.

Who was that helpless victim? A beautiful damsel in distress? Nope. He was a one-armed Civil War veteran who was trying to thwart the villain's wicked plans.

The damsel in distress was the one who takes a hatchet, brakes out of the railroad station where she is locked up, and saves the man. This scene was hardly apolitical, as the veteran remarks after being saved: "And these are the women who ain't to have a vote!"

Under the Gaslight catapulted Daly to success when it first opened at the New York Theatre under the management of the Worrell Sisters. It followed a rich gentleman named Ray Trafford who is in love with Laura Courtland. She appears to be from a good family, though Ray later learns that as a young child Laura was rescued from a life of crime as a six-year-old pickpocket in the employ of a criminal named Mother Judas.

When the secret gets out, Laura runs away, wanting to save her sweetheart from a socially disastrous marriage. The audience gets to see various well-known New York locations onstage, including Delmonico's Restaurant, the "Tombs" jail and courthouse, and a pier looking out over Jersey City. At one point, Mother Judas throws Laura off of the pier, and Ray leaps in after her. The audience must have been on the edge of their seats.

It is the next act that contains the play's true sensation scene, though. It opens in Long Branch, New Jersey, where the fashionable rich New Yorkers have all assembled. They are being shadowed, however, by Mother Judas and the villainous Byke, who claims to be Laura's father (though this turns out to be a lie). Snorkey, who like many disabled veterans at the time was making his living as a messenger, tracks Byke to a railroad station at Shrewsbury Bend. It is there he is overpowered and tied to the tracks.

Onstage trains nearly missing their victims became a staple of melodrama. The year after Under the Gaslight opened, Irish dramatist Dion Boucicault tried to go one better, and have a near-miss with an underground train in London in his play After Dark. Daly sued Boucicault, claiming that scene infringed on his copyright.

Under the Gaslight doesn't get revived very much these days, unlike some Boucicault plays, including The Streets of New York. Still, it's great fun!

Heathers

I missed Kevin Murphy and Laurence O'Keefe's musical Heathers when it was originally Off-Broadway, but now it's back at New World Stages, incredibly dark and incredibly fun.

The musical is based on the cult-hit film from the 1980s about teenage suicide (don't do it) and the effects it has on a high school. This was long before Dear Evan Hansen, and the film's take on adolescence is far too bleak for Broadway.

Off-Broadway, on the other hand, seems a perfect venue. I thought the musical might put the act break after the first death, but no. Like the film, the play starts out pitch black and keeps getting darker. The actual first-act closer "Our Love Is God" is simultaneously soaring anthem and sickening satire.

Obviously, the show had to musicalize the immortal line "I love my dead gay son!" That song becomes the opening of the second act (but with a fun twist from how it appears in the movie). There's also some fun audience participation involving the teacher Ms. Fleming, played by Jeannette Bayardelle.

Isabella Esler is pretty perfect in the leading role of Veronica Sawyer. John Cardoza as J.D. appears to be doing a Christian Slater impersonation, just as Christian Slater in the film confessed to essentially doing a Jack Nicholson impression. In both cases, it worked. The three Heathers, Zan Berube, Jackera Davis, and Ava DeMary, all look like they're having the time of their lives.

If you get a chance to see the show, I heartily recommend it. Just don't drink anything the cast hands you...

Perfect Strangers

A while ago, I was doing some research on A.R.T. in Boston, and I saw they were putting on a musical called Two Strangers (Carry a Cake Across New York).

"Why on Earth," I wondered, "would a theatre in Boston be producing a new musical about New York City?" The answer, of course, was it was in development for Broadway, having already played London's West End.

The piece was written by Jim Barne and Kit Buchan, two Brits who channeled their enthusiasm for far-off, exotic New York into the character of Dougal, a young man from the United Kingdom visiting the U.S. for the first time. Dougal is a bit... much.

Fortunately, his naive enthusiasm is balanced by Robin, a New Yorker who grew up in Flatbush and currently works at a coffee shop in Manhattan, waiting not for her big break, but to figure out what it is she wants to do with her life. Right at the top of the show, we get a musical contrast in their attitudes as he sings the soaring anthem "New York" and she has a quiet but beautiful number called "What'll It Be" as she begins her day in the coffee shop.

The show promises the plot in its title, but for greater context, the cake in question is a wedding cake, and the reason the two people are strangers is that they are related to the couple getting married in different ways. (He's the groom's estranged son, while she's the bride's younger sister.) Things get complicated when a layer of the cake gets dropped, but rather than going in the expected direction of the two protagonists trying frantically to fix their mistake, the play makes a curious turn in the Act One closer "American Express" as they decide to go all out with a borrowed credit card.

While the bride and groom never appear in this two-character play, we do get a sense of them, and the more the play goes on, the more we feel their pending matrimony will be a disaster, and a dropped cake is the least of their worries.

I finally caught up with the play this past weekend, and I have to say it is delightful. If you have a chance to see it, go.

"Chaos is come again"

Last weekend, I saw Atlas Shakespeare Company's production of Othello, starring William Oliver Watkins in the title role.

Watkins was one of the actors I worked with when developing my adaptation of Moby-Dick, and he does a wonderful job as Othello, an authority figure who inspires awe in all who meet him.

His undoing, of course, is Iago, played by Clayton Hamburg. He and Watkins had great chemistry in Atlas's previous production of William Shakespeare's Henry VI plays. As Warwick and the Duke of York respectively, they made a great team. In Othello, we get to see their team disastrously torn asunder by Iago's lies.

Desdemona is played by Charlotte Blacklock, who grew tremendously in the role of Margaret throughout Atlas's productions of the Henry VI plays and Richard III. One of Desdemona's foils is Emilia, who pushes back against her husband even as Desdemona endures shame and abuse from the man she loves. Leah Schwartz, who played Joan of Arc in the first part of Henry VI, sparkles as Emilia.

The rest of the cast is game as well, and Adriana Alter's direction is fresh and original, especially in the final act. The murder scene is shocking, and the final moments get the audience to question if the cycle of violence will ever end.

Othello is playing through June 28th, so make sure to see it while you still can.

Henry VI

The Atlas Shakespeare Company recently performed William Shakespeare's Henry VI trilogy in two parts, combining the first two plays, and then performing the third as a stand-alone production.

When the Public Theater announced they would be hosting NAATCO performing Henry VI: A Trilogy in Two Parts, I knew I'd have to check it out, if for no other reason than to compare how the companies divided up the material differently.

The current production reduces The First Part of Henry VI into a single act. Joan of Arc, who is clearly a witch and a sorceress in Shakespeare's text (since there's no way the French could possibly beat the English without cheating), is cleaned up considerably when played by Myka Cue. One could almost mistake the play for being historically accurate.

In the second act, the production further develops the characters of Henry VI (Jon Norman Schneider) and Queen Margaret (Teresa Avia Lim). It is Margaret who ultimately takes over the kingdom, as well as the play, and Lim is more than up to the task. She was recently featured in Gingold Theatrical Group's Pygmalion, but has appeared in a slew of other classical works as well.

The same can be said of Rajesh Bose, who previously shared the stage with Lim in Caesar and Cleopatra and now plays the ambitious Duke of York. Possessing a better claim to the throne than the current king but reluctant to openly defy him (yet), the Duke of York is forced to seek out allies, chief among them the Earl of Warwick, who came to be known as the Kingmaker. Anna Ishida plays Warwick wonderfully, as the Earl attempts to navigate the changing political landscape and also keep his head.

York's dark monologue in which he plots the uprising of Jack Cade both ends the first part of the current production and begins the second part. Did Cade's popular revolt in 1450 have anything to do with York? Probably not, but Shakespeare was never one to allow history to get in the way of a good story. Cade did use the name of John Mortimer, an earlier claimant to the throne, and this production cleverly has Orville Mendoza play both the real Mortimer in the first part and later the fake one.

The second act of part two of this production ties up the later scenes of The Third Part of Henry VI, which display a parade of slaughter. After the Duke of York it given a paper crown and had his head lopped off, the war is continued by his son Edward, played by David Shih. In NAATCO's co-production of Bus Stop at Classic Stage Company, Shih played the somewhat comic character of the bus driver, but while Edward is not above cracking jokes, he can also be terrifying, as when he and his brothers murder the young prince (Tommy Bo).

Shakespeare also gives ample space to the Clifford Family, whose power base was in the north of England, but who owed their allegiance to the Lancastrian King Henry VI. James Yaegashi, who plays the villainous Bishop of Winchester in the first part, returns terrifyingly as Old Clifford in the second part. He is succeeded by a son just as bloody, Young Clifford, played by David Lee Huynh (whom the audience previously saw as the Dauphin of France).

For the most part, Henry VI is like a well-written soap opera: good, escapist fun. However, this tale of incompetent leadership, broken promises, and disastrous foreign wars can't help but resonate with contemporary America. Though the adaptation by director Stephen Brown-Fried cuts a great deal to trim a trilogy down to two evenings, it doesn't needlessly alter Shakespeare's words. Perhaps that's why the audience appeared shocked when Warwick delivered this speech written centuries ago:

    Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,

    That know not how to use ambassadors,

    Nor how to be contented with one wife,

    Nor how to use your brothers brotherly,

    Nor how to study for the people's welfare,

    Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?

Once again, Shakespeare proves to be our contemporary.