New photos are up from our last night of Measure For Measure!
“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.”
Happenstance moved us into a new venue for our closing show, but this proved quite a benefit for photos.
The rest of the photos here.
Richard II Unrehearsed is coming to Chicago July 18 and 25.
This story of a petulant ruler being forcibly ousted from power resonates strongly with our current climate. Richard finds his humanity only when all is lost.
Featuring the longest sentence in the Shakespearean canon, a hilarious sequence involving gloves, non-violent regime-change, and the famous dungeon speech, Richard II shows us that even a narcissistic despot can find redemption, but only with sacrifice.
New photos are up from our first night of Measure For Measure!
“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.”
The rest of the photos here.
Come learn to experience Verse in a dynamic new way (that is actually a dynamic old way). Unrehearsed Shakespeare is a text-based technique inspired by Patrick Tucker’s ‘Secrets of Acting Shakespeare,’ which enables actors to effectively and organically stage Elizabethan plays without conventional direction. The technique teaches teamwork, active listening, improvisation, commitment, and above all a strong investment in the text.
All classes take place at Pendulum Theater space, 1803 W Byron Street, #216
COST: $10 per student. Due upon arrival to the first class. Classes are free for all active Unrehearsed performers.
Please contact Jared McDaris or unrehearsedchicago@gmail.c
FEB 26 (Sun) 11am – 2pm: INTRO. Learn by doing. Dive into the basictenets of the technique with your fellow new-comers.
FEB 27 (MON) 7pm – 10pm: STORY-TELLING. A focus on teamwork, listening, and especially following direction for your scene partners.
MAR 5 (SUN) 11am – 2pm: MONOLOGS. A focus on stamina, actor agency and independence, and learning personal feedback and performance evaluation.
MAR 6 (MON) 7pm – 10pm: REUP. Perform full scenes from various plays. Our final night is a recreation of the ReUps that trained performers use as warmups before actual performances.
APRIL: Measure For Measure. Unrehearsed presents the classic “problem play,” whose commentary on sexual harassment, assault, and human agency seems remarkably more relevant today than when it was written.
JULY: Richard II. Shakespeare’s classic history of a weak, thin-skinned monarch teaches us about empathy, power, and pragmatism’s dominion over emotion.
OCTOBER: Coriolanus: We close our fifth season in Chicago with Coriolanus, the Roman tragedy that pits elitism against ignorance.
Originally written by Jared McDaris in 2014
SPOILERS AHEAD!
Twelfth Night was written in the opening years of the 17th Century, near the end of the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. While her sister and predecessor, Queen Mary I, had been both Catholic and violently anti-Protestant, Elizabeth was a Protestant and (perhaps paradoxically) far more tolerant of papal followers. Elizabeth believed that Catholics should be allowed to follow their own faith (relatively) openly, so long as it did not interfere with the peace. This of course did not stop the occasional persecution from other figures both public and private, but it was generally an era less bloody than Mary’s.
However, Twelfth Night was written near the end of Elizabeth’s reign, long after the death of Mary, Queen of Scots. This second Mary was a figurehead-champion (both willing and unwilling) of numerous Catholic plots (small and large, hypothetical and genuine) to retake the crown from the Protestant Elizabeth. Put simply, the religious freedom endorsed by Elizabeth I was, although presumably more liberal than her predecessor, a shadow of the freedom we enjoy today.
So the Twelfth Night Catholic Conspiracy is, by a wide margin, not the most ridiculous conspiracy theory linked to Shakespeare (witness the continually debunked and continually resuscitated Anti-Stratfordian movement).
In essence, the idea is this: Twelfth Night was written as a semi-covert celebration of Catholicism and a barely disguised mockery of Protestantism. At the time, British Catholicism was the sect associated with celebration, festivity, and casual liberality. Conversely, Protestantism was against excessive celebration, idolatry, and most tellingly: saint-worship (which they viewed as pagan), even going so far as to call Catholicism the “Cult of Mary” for their veneration of the Virgin Mary.
I know. There’s a lot of Marys.
Sebastian (Glenne Widdicombe) and Olivia (Bridgette Well), framing a Virgin Mary (Photo by Danielle Levings)
So what’s so Catholic about Twelfth Night? To begin with, it’s named after a holiday. Protestantism was the more puritanical of the two sects (this will come up again later), generally opposed to holidays (also considered a pagan concept) and festivity. Moreover, Twelfth Night features an unusually large number of characters named after Catholic saints: Andrew, Antonio (Anthony), Sebastian, Valentine, even Maria (another name for the Virgin Mary). All of these names can be found in other Shakespearean plays, but only in Twelfth Night are they all together. It’s also worth noting that Olivia is called Madonna several times (also a reference to the Virgin Mary).
Speaking of names: I am hardly the first to point out that Viola, Olivia, and Malvolio all have the word “lov” mixed into their names (“lov” being an easy misspelling of “love” in the earliest days of Modern English, when it was entirely commonplace for words to have several different spellings). “Viola” is presumably a reference to the musicality of love (Twelfth Night has a lot of music, and many references to music), “Olivia” perhaps alludes to the peaceful or peace-making qualities of love (kind of ironic, given her mercurial nature for most of the play). “Malvolio,” meanwhile, means ‘bad love.’ Olivia herself says of him, “you are sick of self-love.” Malvolio, then, is the Duessa to Olivia’s Una (or Viola’s Una, if you prefer).
Malvolio (Mike Speck) shows off the goods to Olivia (Nathan Ducker)
And what do we know about Malvolio? He is called prideful, a poseur, pompous, vain, easily deceived. He is called something of a puritan, is accused of practicing formalities to his own shadow, and most intriguingly: he is several times insulted with terms typically used to insult a “loose” woman. Almost all these terms could easily be applied to Duessa, Spenser’s spokeswoman for the ‘False Church’ in his epic The Fairie Queene. Of course, Spenser’s false church was the Catholic church, and here the false church is Protestantism, but all the same: the symbolism is powerful. Malvolio is a puritan who hates celebration, has pretensions above his rank, tells Maria how to behave, and presumes to speak for Olivia, the Madonna.
Although Viola is clearly the romantic lead of this piece, and Sir Toby is the largest role and (intended) fan favorite, it’s Malvolio who has commanded the most attention historically (King James, in his copy of Shakespeare’s works, crossed out “Twelfth Night” in the table of contents and wrote “Malvolio” in its place). Maria and Feste’s deception and abuse of Malvolio are the clear comedic center of the play. So we see the Puritan (whom Sir Andrew boasts to beat “like a dog”), duped and made a fool by Maria, then abused and driven mad by Feste the Jester: festival in human form and the musical (and ritual) emcee of the play.
The madly used Malvolio (Ethan Hall)
Feste (Tawnie Thompson) sings to Sir Andrew (Eric Scherrer)
Taken in this light, Twelfth Night seems to be a merry ribbing of the dominant belief-system, and a good-natured celebration of celebration itself. But with Shakespeare, things are never that simple (except in Comedy of Errors, of course).
A quick look at these Catholic namesakes reveals a less than flattering picture of the sect Shakespeare is championing.
Maria (Alexandra Boroff), Olivia (Danny Pancratz), and Malvolio (Chad Tallon), 2014
Antonio, by turns portrayed as the avuncular guardian of Sebastian or more often (and more successfully, I’d argue) as the boy’s enamored admirer, is shunted aside by Sebastian the instant Olivia presents herself. Saint Anthony is the patron saint of finding lost things (and people), which is exactly what Antonio does: he rescues the drowning Sebastian and expects nothing in return. He gives the young man money to buy himself trinkets and even risks venture into Illyria; Antonio is an enemy of the state and likely to suffer dearly if seen. Whether Antonio is genuinely in love with Sebastian or just a kindly older man, his sacrifices and his risks are ultimately rewarded with nothing: Sebastian offers him a single kind word in 5.1, and Antonio is forgotten for the rest of the show.
Fabian (Emma Couling) & Sir Andrew (Jessie Mutz) 2013
Andrew Aguecheek is a clown and a dope of the first order. No doubt played by John Sinklo, a Shakespearean actor know for his bony physique and sickly pallor, Andrew is portrayed either as a wan-looking wimp or a flamboyant fool (sometimes both). Most interesting is his sacrilegious oaths (he swears by God’s eyelid at one point) and his utter inability to comprehend Latin. This is particularly interesting: one of the major points of contention between Catholicism and Protestantism was Latin. Catholics insisted that the Bible (and all readings therefrom) should be in Latin, as they had been for over one thousand years. Protestants argued that the Bible should be written in ‘the Vulgate,’ so everyone could understand it. Andrew the knight’s complete ignorance of it and Feste’s presumably deliberate mangling of it show a less than holy respect for the traditionally biblical tongue. And let’s not forget that Andrew is also a braggart, a prodigal, and a clueless coward, ultimately no better than Malvolio, save for his love of festivity (if that’s a virtue).
Valentine is a minor role, but even he has one or two intriguing lines. When the Duke asks if his words of love were delivered to Olivia, Valentine replies:
“So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do returne this answer:
The Element it selfe, till seven yeares heate,
Shall not behold her face at ample view:
But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,
And water once a day her Chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance.”
(italics mine)
In order for the Scansion to work (if you’re interested in that sort of thing), Valentine must say “vail-ed,” not “vailed,” and even more interesting: “remem-berance,” not “rememb’rance.” Even more, why does Valentine need to say “The Element itself, ’til seven years heat / Shall not behold her face at ample view,” rather than simply “She’ll see no one for seven years,” or instead of “And water once a day her Chamber round / With eye-offending brine,” why not simply “She’ll weep once per day for her brother’s love.” There are absolutely many ways to interpret this, but one such interpretation is that Valentine is more than a little stuffy, more than a little pompous himself. Such stretched out fancy-talk is not uncommon in Shakespeare, but slightly unusual for a mere messenger. And why does Valentine, an incidental messenger, even have a name? He is a courtier, and has a handful of lines in 1.4, but again that hardly justifies such fanciness. It’s a weak argument, but only one among several stronger.
Sir Toby (Christopher Elst) and Maria (Sarah Thompson) wed in 2013
Maria is a gentlewoman, or so called, but she behaves little better than the coarse knights Toby and Andrew. She is both cunning and cruel, demands the same quiet that Malvolio does, and visits cruel deception and vengeance upon the Puritan, ostensibly for nothing more than a casual chastisement that she aught to discipline the rowdies more effectively.
We are led to believe that Malvolio couldn’t have fallen for Maria’s tricks if he weren’t so pompous, so vain, but how do we know he’s so vain? Everyone says so, especially Maria, but all his behavior in Acts 1 and 2 are at the behest of Olivia. Olivia demands quiet, so he demands it. Olivia demands harsh treatment of Orsino’s messengers, so he is rude to Caesario. Maria does exactly the same: she demands quiet of Toby and Andrew, mocks Feste and tells him to behave himself, and is rude and dismissive of Caesario. Yet Maria is ‘clever’ and Malvolio is ‘foolish.’ If talking to no one (“practicing behaviors to his own shadow”) is a sign of vanity, then every Shakespearean lead is far vainer than Malvolio, including Orsino and Viola.
Malvolio (Chris Aruffo) languishes in his good fortune, 2015
So what are Malvolio the Puritan’s crimes? He mocks Feste, just as Olivia does. He is rude to servants and demands quiet, just like Maria. His overt pomposity, his clear claims of superiority, don’t show up until Olivia’s (fake) letter tells him to be dismissive and superior. In fact, when he first enters in 2.5, he is already fantasizing about Olivia, wondering if she might have feelings for him. Malvolio is easily duped, not because he is vain, but because he is desperate for Olivia’s love. Sure, he daydreams of talking down to Sir Toby, but who hasn’t had the same thoughts about a belligerent and drunken superior? Any other alleged crimes are only spoken, not proven. And for that, he is imprisoned and abused, humiliated and terrified, nearly driven mad, deposed and replaced in favor (if he ever had favor) by the pretty and vacant Sebastian. And when all’s said and done, we’re treated by Feste to another beautiful song with a strong hint of melancholy: “For the rain, it raineth every day.”
Feste (Andrew Behling) & Sir Andrew (Jessie Mutz) party, 2013
So what does Twelfth Night really say about religion, and about festival? More than anything else, it says that Shakespeare was wise enough to keep his political opinions (if he had any) well hidden behind three-dimensional speakers. Incredibly, this play also features the same terribly tasteless jokes (one of Viola’s most beautiful speeches may well contain a seemingly-random bit of scatological humor), the same vapid fools, and (if Unrehearsed theory is right) the same cartoonish gesticulations, as any other Shakespearean comedy. And like every other comedy, it still has a volume of commentary on the zeitgeist and human nature as a whole. Even the Bard’s simplest, most cartoonish comedies still offer a wealth of insight about our species.
Except for Comedy of Errors.
HEY! Be sure and check out our third annual Twelfth Night on Twelfth Night.
TWELFTH NIGHT ON TWELFTH NIGHT
January 17th & 25th
The Rugby Club, 3614 N Damen Ave
Doors open at 7:00, show starts at 7:30
$5 at the door
Come be something great… the Audience!
By Jared McDaris
In celebration of our upcoming Twelfth Night, here’s a quick re-publishing of what I learned a few years ago.
The year was 2008. It was a more innocent time. I was wearing blue stockings, oversized pants, an oversized white shirt, and an oversized… I wanna say jerkin, but I know I’m wrong.
Still wearing glasses. What an amateur. (Volpone, 2008)
The play was Volpone. I was playing Voltore, a greedy lawyer who gives a slanderous speech in court. I had to tell a story to the audience, an untrue story, involving several characters who were onstage, but with whom I’d had no interaction. I had to remember who was whom based on what I’d already seen that day, get those people close to each other, keep the action downstage, and move quickly enough to keep the energy high.
On top of all that, I had a challenge that, at the time, had never been addressed.
Most of the basic rules of Unrehearsed Shakespeare are simple verbal interpretation, and none of these is simpler than the this/that rule. Simply put, when you say “this glass,” you must be touching the glass; when you say “that glass,” you must not be touching the glass. Easy as pie.
But there was another issue. It’s easy enough to grab a sleeve or point to a shoe, but what about “this argument,” “these illusions,” “that vile deception,” or my personal favorite, “these deeds?” How do you touch, or point to, an abstract idea? How do you indicate a thing that is no longer there?
Eventually, these would come to be known as “Abstract Thises and Thats,” but at the time, I just saw words highlighted in yellow and orange, which meant I had to touch something or point at something. So, not knowing what else to do, I grabbed the air. I pointed at the sky. I patted the ground. I gesticulated wildly. It was cray.
This was somewhat tenebrous ground at the time. We had been given clear instruction not to “interpret” our characters unless the text said so. I couldn’t “gesticulate wildly” unless someone described me as doing so, or if I described myself thusly.
…Thusly…
But on the other hand, there were those words. I had to grab something. I had to point at something. So I did.
What I didn’t know was, later in the play, the two leads come on and comment on my character. In essence, they say: “That guy sure was crazy. He was shouting and gesticulating wildly.”
BAM!! Shouting (I had a lot of exclamation points, a rarity in original Elizabethan copies), and gesticulating wildly! Bam! Nobody told me I was flailing my arms about, and Voltore sure never describes himself as an amateur windmill. How could I have possibly known to do that?
That’s the greatest thing about Unrehearsed Shakespeare: it works. We’ll probably never know if this is really how they did it back then, how carefully Shakespeare (or in this case Ben Jonson) chose his words, or how strongly cod-pieces figure into the phrase “my willing love,” but we do know that when we apply these guidelines to scripts from the era, any scripts from the era, it creates dynamic performances that are always new! Exclamation point!
Twelfth Night is a play I have worked on eight times, both in Unrehearsed productions (this is our fifth annual Twelfth Night on Twelfth Night, and my seventh Unrehearsed performance of it) and in more conventional shows (like in Milwaukee couple Summers ago). But it took me until now to realize: this script has more Abstract Thises & Thats than any other I can remember working on. And what’s really cool is, most of these Abstracts are spoken by Olivia and Malvolio. What do these two have in common?
Besides the fact that they’ve both been played by Danny Pancratz, looking ridiculous.
Malvolio (Danny Pancratz) is released from prison 2012
Chad Tallon (Malvolio) and Danny Pancratz (Olivia), 2013
Well, there’s another chapter in the Volpone Voltore story. Shortly after his first impassioned lie in court, the lawyer’s situation reverses. He’s betrayed by a confederate and has to go admit his folly to the court. He does this (at the suggestion of the title character) by pretending to be possessed. He goes mad, convulses on the floor, pretends to vomit up needles (that was fun) and otherwise acts stereotypically insane (all at the direction of Volpone). In a way, his wild gesticulations were a prelude to the coming comic madness.
Voltore, being told to vomit up pins… yikes (Volpone, 2008)
So what does this have to do with Olivia and Malvolio? In a play about repressed passions exploding forth, they are the two characters who are most often called crazy. Olivia is simultaneously called a madonna and a mad-donna, both madam and mad-dame. Most of these epithets are hurled by Feste, liberally; and shortly after she proves him right by madly lusting after the young Caesario. Malvolio’s madness is more straightforward: falsely accused of demonic possession, he is locked up and driven mad (or nearly there), also by Feste.
Sydney Ray as the dame of questionable stability.
It rocks my world that these two different authors, in these two different comedies, would assign such a heavy amount of Abstract Thises & Thats to characters who have the label of ‘insanity’ attached to them.
We’ll never know if Unrehearsed Shakespeare is historically accurate, but it works, and even after eight years, it continues to yield new and fascinating ideas for me, and new ways to apply those ideas to performance.
Be sure and check out our fifth annual Twelfth Night on Twelfth Night, and judge for yourself.
TWELFTH NIGHT ON TWELFTH NIGHT
January 17th (Tuesday) and 25th (Wednesday)
The Rugby Club, 3614 N Damen Ave
Doors open at 7:00, show starts at 7:30
$5 at the door
Come be something great… the Audience!
Mike is an Unrehearsed veteran of ten years who has performed in such plays as Antony & Cleopatra, All’s Well that Ends Well, Hamlet, and Merry Wives of Windsor. You can see him as a special guest performer in King Lear on Monday and Tuesday, December 12th and 13th.
Q: What first turned you on to Shakespeare?
MIKE: We can credit Bill Kincaid for this one. I did some Shakespeare classes – both acting and literary – in undergrad, but really never got into Bardiness before working with Bill at WIU. As soon as he introduced SVO, my game brain latched on and I was hooked.
Q: How has your approach to Unrehearsed altered over the years?
MIKE: I’ve become more and more comfortable using the audience as a buddy or a sounding board. Earlier on I spent a LOT of effort on keeping the text onstage and actively tried to keep my focus off the audience…but frankly, they’re the ones paying to see the show, and in shared light they KNOW I can see them, so why not engage?
Q: What, to you, is the most intriguing thing about King Lear?
MIKE: There’s so much factional interplay – your casting breakdown gave instructions for 5-6 different costume colors based on allegiances – but it all comes back to the personal. “How loyal is this person to me, and how do I know?” becomes a key question for every character I can think of, especially the ones who get it wrong.
Q: How would you compare Unrehearsed to conventional theater?
MIKE: I’d quibble and say that it’s still conventional theatre – just with a different set of conventions. And those conventions are a huge part of the fun: playing the Unrehearsed game, following the Unrehearsed rules, and accepting the results. I don’t know WHY this speech switches from “thou” to “you” in a single sentence, but I don’t have to know why; I just need to follow that coded instruction in an observable way that the audience can follow. Maybe my scene partner and I will find a purpose for it, or maybe we’ll stay confused, but the audience doesn’t need our comprehension, only our acting.
Q: Has Unrehearsed influence your teaching techniques at all?
MIKE: Yes – Unrehearsed has really hammered in the importance of observing what’s actually happening in the room, focusing on students rather than on curriculum. That’s been an immensely useful lesson in teaching performance (stage combat in particular; I think those two disciplines reinforce each other nicely), and anything else: all my prework says I need to be across the stage from the speaker, but she’s got a crown and she just said “we,” so I guess I’m over by her now. OK, now what? My plan said today’s class was going to start choreography, but half the class is still cutting incorrectly? Choreo gets pushed back a bit, and technique gets more time. What’s next? Unrehearsed trains you to acknowledge where you ARE, not where your notes said you’d be.
Q: What’s your favorite Unrehearsed role to date?
MIKE: Malvolio is the only role I’ve done twice, and it was a blast both times. Of course, there was something like 8 years between iterations, so…
Mike as Gremio in Taming of the Shrew (2011)
Q: What else is coming up soon?
MIKE: Chicagoans should know about two stage combat opportunities in January: the Winter Wonderland Workshop and its associated Intensives (www.macenfp.org/#events), and Destruction in Decatur, a downstate two-week workshop that offers skills tests (http://destructionindecatur.
===== 
