By William Shakespeare. First published in Britain in 1623 by Edward Blount, William Jaggard, and Isaac Jaggard. Review copy from ‘The Arden Shakespeare: Third Series’, edited by John Drakakis.

When I reviewed The Taming of the Shrew, one of the things I did was discuss how I might stage it if I were directing a production, giving advice to the actors, etc. However, to be honest, this is not something I can do with The Merchant of Venice, as if I was asked to direct a production I’d likely see if they wouldn’t mind something a bit easier to stage today. It can be argued about how controversial it was at the time of writing, but it’s hard to read Merchant now without having issues with the way that the cast treats the Jew, Shylock.

First of all, this play is concerned with a lot of things, but the two things it’s most concerned with are law and money. Especially money. The play is called the Merchant of Venice, after all. Money can be used to raise your status (which is probably the main reason why Antonio is wiling to help his friend Bassanio win Portia, even if many modern productions play up that it’s for repressed love for Bassanio), but money can also be used to make money, which is the business Shylock operates. He is a moneylender. The people of Elizabethan times had a very odd relationship with such ‘usury’, inasmuch as they needed it to keep the economy going, but all their teachings told them that making money for the sole purpose of making more money was sinful, vile, etc. Therefore, why not give the job to someone who it was perfectly acceptable to hate anyway? Hypocritical, but gets around the problem nicely!

As with most Shakespeare plays, critics and scholars argue constantly about what Shakespeare really meant when he wrote the play. Was Shylock meant to be played as an evil cunning soul who was willing to cut out Antonio’s heart for a grudge? Certainly other Jews in drama of the time, such as Marlowe’s Jew of Malta, fell into the over-the-top villainy category. On the other hand, Shylock is quite sympathetic for a villain, and even more so in modern times. His speech starting “Hath not a Jew eyes” is justly famous, and one wonders why Shakespeare would make a villain so three-dimensional. (Of course, Shakespeare did this to his villains all the time – take a good look at how compelling the role of Richard III is.) Is Shylock a villain? Or is he the wronged party? Certainly his forced conversion to Christianity – thought of at the time as quite a light sentence – seems unspeakably harsh now. But if he’s the tragic hero, what does that make the others?

Speaking of the others, let’s look at Portia. She’s a great female role, one of Shakespeare’s strongest comedic heroines. (The definition of comedy throughout this essay is the one of Shakespeare’s time, by the way.) Yes, she’s abiding by her late father’s rules in regards to who she marries, but she seems to be quite content with that, and manages to end up with the right man in any case. It helps that her other two suitors – a comic African stereotype and a comic Spanish stereotype – are so goofy, of course. (See, and you thought it was just the anti-Semitism that would be trouble!) Her defense of Antonio has some wonderful set pieces, and she shows herself to be cleverer than anyone else there. She even contrasts with Jessica, Shylock’s daughter, who also gets the man she wants but does so by defying her father rather than obeying him – and we seem to think that Portia ended up with the better life. Unfortunately, because of the way that we view Shylock, we have to change the way we look at Portia, as well as the rest of the cast. They look, not to put too fine a point on it, cruel and callous.

Now, certainly part of this was deliberate. As always, Shakespeare will never write one point of view when he can show us three or four, and I’ve no doubt that his contrast of the way Shylock treats Antonio and the way that the rest of the cast treats Shylock is deliberate. I don’t think he meant his audience to side with Shylock, or even be uncomfortable, but he wanted them to see the parallels. That said, it makes it quite difficult to stage Merchant today as anything other than a gripping tragic drama. And even in productions where you have sympathetic, likeable Shylocks, you’re still left with the fact that he shows himself to be willing to cut out Antonio’s pound of flesh. Plus you have the issue of Shylock’s last scenes being in Act 4, which leaves you a final act of light-hearted romantic hijinks with rings and promises between a bunch of people who were, in dramatic terms, loathsome earlier on. Why should you care what happens to them after Shylock leaves? (The movie from 2004 gives an epilogue, showing Shylock returning to his Jewish community and being shunned, and many modern productions also show that Jessica remains hated and despised by the rest of the cast, including her husband.)

A good Shakespeare play always inspires constant debate, which no doubt makes Merchant among his very best. As a historical document it’s excellent, as a play on paper it’s fascinating even if history has made it unpalatable. As a play in the theatre I’d love to see what other performers and directors will do with it. I just wouldn’t want to be the one in charge, as I don’t think there’s a way to please everyone in this production the way I think you can (albeit trying very hard) with Shrew or Much Ado. Nevertheless, everyone should read it, if only for two of Shakespeare’s best characters, Shylock and Portia.

By William Shakespeare. First published in Britain in 1623 by Edward Blount, William Jaggard, and Isaac Jaggard. Review copy from ‘The Arden Shakespeare: Third Series’, edited by John Pitcher.

I have to say, the more I read about Shakespeare’s stuff, the more impressed I get. And we’re talking about possibly the most famous writer in history here. The notion of ‘tragicomedy’ was not new when Shakespeare wrote this play in 1610 or so, but the Jacobean audiences were still having trouble with it. John Fletcher had written a tragicomedy 2 years earlier that had bombed, and was apparently bitching about how the audiences were philistines. So Shakespeare wrote The Winter’s Tale, which basically is also sort of a tragicomedy, but divides it almost exactly in half. The first three acts are a tragedy, then the last 2 comedic and pastoral. Blending? What is that?

Oddly enough, the dividing point seems to be the bear. The Winter’s Tale certainly contains Shakespeare’s most famous stage direction in all his plays: “Exit, pursued by a bear.” It’s suspected that there may have been a performing troupe in London at the time, whose trained bear Shakespeare wanted to use. He had to know, however, that if this was going to be put on again, they would not have handy access to a bear every time. And, be it special effects or just a guy in a bear suit, the bear is almost impossible to pull off and not have it be ludicrous. So why not play that up, and make the appearance of the bear a big laugh? After all the drama of the first three acts, giggling at the bear (even as it does kill off one of the characters) lets the audience lighten up for the country dancing and foolish trickery that follows.

Speaking of the country scenes, this play is also unusual in that the lead romantic heroine does NOT dress up as a boy to disguise herself. Admittedly, there is a matter of mistaken identity here, as she’s a missing princess masquerading as a shepherdess, but she’s been raised there, so knows nothing of her magical heritage. It’s odd seeing Shakespeare, who in his later plays loved to have callbacks to his earlier ones, not use the old girl dressed as a boy (played by a boy dressed as a girl dressed as a boy), but there’s a surprisingly limited amount of cross-dressing here.

The play can be hard to perform, like almost all Shakespeare, because of his habit of using unlikeable characters in major lead roles, and not having them get what they deserve. King Leontes in this play may be the only jealous husband we’ve seen who manages to give himself brain fever through sheer force of will. His ludicrous accusations of adultery get worse and worse as the early acts go on, and it requires an actual Godly Oracle to tell him he’s an idiot. Even then, he still doesn’t believe the Oracle, so his wife and son die just to show him the error of his ways.

As I said, the first half reads very much like a tragedy. Leontes has some similarities to both Othello and Lear, but lacks the innate nobility of both of them. It’s very frustrating seeing him create infidelity out of basically nothing at all. Some productions try to make Hermione a genuine flirt and tease to give him some motivation, but I think this not only does her character wrong, but misses the idea that he doesn’t need motivation. The problem with this, of course, is that in the end he gets his happy ever after. His daughter returns, his wife is resurrected, and all is well. Many people think he didn’t suffer enough. Well, he did grieve for 16 years, but we’re not shown that much.

Oh yes, the resurrection. The other reason this play is so well known is Hermione’s appearance as a statue come to life. It’s been suggested that this was Shakespeare trying to apologize for Lear, which had in the end a dying Lear babble that Cordelia was coming back to life, and certainly it’s not the only time he would do this – Pericles, which was written only 2 years earlier, has a very similar plot where the lead’s wife is not really dead. The difference here is that we SEE the statue come to life. The Winter’s Tale is at a period in Shakespeare’s life where he was very fond of fantastic elements – after this he’d write The Tempest, which goes even further – but a lot of people can’t suspend disbelief quite that much.

Tragicomedy, pastoral, romance. Whatever. It’s one of three genre-blending plays Shakespeare wrote in a row (along with Cymbeline and The Tempest), and generally regarded to day as one of his better plays, if not necessarily in the top echelon. I’m not sure I’d be able to stage it well (the festival scene, which runs to about 45 minutes, can be punishing with all the dances and songs), and there’s the Leontes problem, but certainly this is a lot easier to put on stage today than Shrew or Merchant of Venice. Check it out if you get a chance.

Oh yes, and the ‘shores of Bohemia’ thing? That was totally a joke. Shakespeare knew where Bohemia was. He was laughing up his sleeve as he wrote that. Plus it helped add to the sense of unreality.

By William Shakespeare. First published in Britain in 1623 by Edward Blount, William Jaggard, and Isaac Jaggard. Review copy from ‘The Arden Shakespeare: Third Series’, edited by Barbara Hodgdon.

Ah, Shrew. What a messed-up play. In so many ways, not just because of its misogynistic plot. There’s the question of the 1594 quarto ‘The Taming of a Shrew’, whether it was a corrupted version of this play, whether this play was based off of it, and how much both had in common with The Spanish Tragedy. There’s the Induction, with Christopher Sly, a scene usually left off of most amateur productions these days, especially with its lack of an ending. There’s the question of what in the world Shakespeare was doing with Hortensio, which gets into the problem of rough drafts and stage-manager copies.

And then, well, yes, there *is* the plot. For those two or three people unaware, the play begins — well, let’s move backwards. To start, a drunk lying in a gutter is found by a hunting party, who decide to have some fun. They dress him up in finery, get another guy in their party to dress up and pretend to be his wife, and convince him that he’s a Lord and only dreamt he was a drunken tinker. They then decide to put on a show for him. The show is The Taming of The Shrew.

Baptista has two daughters, both of marriageable age. The younger, Bianca, is sweet and kind. The elder, Katherina, is tempestuous and bad-tempered, and the shrew of the title. Enter Petruchio, who arrives in town and watches the various suitors to Bianca try various methods to get to her. Sadly, Bianca can’t be wed till Katherina is. Petruchio, who hears the dowry on Katherina is huge, decides to court her, and, well, hijinks ensue. They are married, much against Katherina’s will, and then return to his home in Verona, where he proceeds to emotionally abuse and torture her to break her will. They then return to Padua to see her sister’s wedding, at which point Katherina, now a loving wife, gives a speech about how women should obey their husbands.

Yeah, not controversial at all, right? Oh, where to begin… let’s talk about how I would stage Shrew, were I directing it.

First of all, I do appreciate those who play Shrew more seriously. The text does not show a very pretty message, and if you want to play it as a man breaking a woman into almost insanity, it’s just as valid as people who play it as pure jolly farce. Many have talked about the play being about class struggle rather than gender wars, but this also involves a serious, tragic feeling. I *do* think some productions have gone a bit too far in this direction, notably adding things to the play, such as showing Petruchio forcibly raping Katherina, and Katherina slitting her wrists at the finale. Were I to produce this play, it would simply *have* to be as a comedy. I think I’d find it too heartbreaking otherwise.

I also feel that I’d leave in the Christopher Sly induction, and do what many other productions have done, which is add the epilogue from ‘A Shrew’ that is absent from Shakespeare’s version. In this epilogue, the lords dress Sly (now asleep) back up in his tinker’s clothes and leave him where they found him. He wakes up and tells the hostess outside the bar that he had an amazing dream, and vows to go home and tame his unruly wife at once! Sly is clearly a schmuck, and adding the epilogue from the Shrew-Once-Removed play lets you note that Shrew is not meant to be a set of instructions, nor the ideal. It’s just a farce.

I also don’t want to alter or modernize the play. This is also very common these days, with Katherina spitting her final speech out venemously, then stalking off, or even giving the speech to Petruchio, turning it on its head (Moonlighting did this when they did their version of Shrew). But Katherina’s final speech is not only the longest in the play, but is also a brilliant set piece. It deserves to be acted as written, and I think doing so deprives the actress playing her from a great chance to shine.

Really, it comes down to casting your Petruchio and Katherina. They need chemistry. They’re both strong characters – that’s the whole point of the play – and play off each other beautifully. I’d ideally like to play it as having them genuinely be in love with each other by the end of the play. Certainly, compared to the other men in the play, Petruchio is likely one of the better men Katherina has seen. He doesn’t take any of her crap, and gives just as good as he gets. And, when he’s not acting the part of an obnoxious boor (and I think the text shows that much of it *is* acting, especially in the wedding itself), he’s quite clever. Meanwhile, it can’t just be about the dowry for Petruchio. You have to show he’s riveted by Katherina from the start. He likes strong women, not so that he can tame them to be meek and obedient, but because he likes strong women. I think a lot of the taming scenes in Verona are him simply seeing how much he can do, what boundaries he can press.

This leads to Bianca’s wedding, and Katherina’s speech. Having Katherina perform it as a lobotomised perfect wife would, in my opinion, be horrible. The speech needs a great strength behind it to highlight what she’s saying. Should she mean it? Probably not, no. But I think the speech should be heartfelt anyway, as she knows that humiliating Petruchio at this point would not serve either of them. She says what will win the bet, and does it perfectly. Likewise, Petruchio during this speech cannot simply stand there smugly. He’s clearly nervous, and seeing Kate come through for him inflames his love and desire. His first words after the end of the speech – “Why, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate!” should be followed by a kiss that is toe-curling. And yes, then they should walk out together, despite Shakespeare’s stage direction where only he leaves.

One can argue that this is not the way Shakespeare would have performed it. Lacking a time machine, however, we’re unlikely to ever know that. But I think, in this day and age, one needs to serve both Shakespeare’s play and what the audience wants of it. People don’t *go* to Shrew to see the horrible crushing of a proud woman. They go to see Katherina throw things, and see Petruchio make crude sexual puns about tongues in tails. I think, despite the misogyny, despite the awkwardness, they still want Shrew to have a love story. It’s a great play for reminding you of the disconnect between a play on the page and a play in the theatre. And the fact that it’s still highly discussed today (in a way that, say, King John isn’t), shows you that Shakespeare’s words can still move the soul.