When Marlowe calls, you answer.
That's the explanation for why Maggie, Gail and I went on a whirlwind trip to New York and Philadelphia Saturday and Sunday. About a week ago, Maggie bought a ticket to Marlowe's The Jew of Malta starring F. Murray Abraham, and then she bought tickets for Gail and me, and so we went. Because, honestly, how often do you get to see The Jew of Malta? The answer is NOT OFTEN. In case you were wondering.
So Saturday morning we left bright and early (Maggie's text to me: "Awake am I") and zoomed up to Jersey City, where Maggie's family live. Nothing eventful, aside from lusty singing, happened on the drive. For the record ("the record" being primarily Meg), I did not take any wrong interstates or make any mistakes! I have improved!
Maggie's family's house is gloriously wonderful, as is their neighborhood and their whole city. There are some pictures up on flickr, but what they don't capture is the glorious industrial landscape on the way in or the terrifically beautiful desolate buildings nearby or the individuated character of every building by the house. I loved it. I think her house is like the Victoria and Albert Museum (except not, you know, built by the colonial empire ) – completely eclectic, done in fifteen different directions at once, but, it is, like the cry of hounds Hippolyta describes, so musical a discord. The room I stayed in has ink-drawing like red koifish all over the walls and a wrought grating in the fireplace through which the heat comes, as well as an eighteenth century chest. There's a Steinway grand in the piano room, and pots hung between the kitchen and study, and an attic where they keep their books and their rocking horse. My father's house, the house where I grew up, is also old (though twenty years newer than Maggie's), and disparately furnished, but its eclecticism is different.
We met Maggie's brother Gideon, who is awesome and funny, and we had a lunch made of impromptu sandwiches, and then we explored Jersey City a little. (Cold. Cold cold. But we knew nothing of how cold it could be yet.) We went to a vintage store that was awesome and talked about all the clothes. We admired the storefronts.
Then we got some Chinese food and went back to Maggie's house and had dinner with her family, who are all alike awesome, and then to the play.
Which ruled. The only potential quarrel with the production is that it could be too accessible. It made me feel…well…good. Really, really good. Completely, totally, wholly entertained – and completely, totally, righteously on the side of Barabas, who was almost completely, totally, wrongedly on the side of moral right. At least for most of the play. And while, on the one hand, a lot of that is indigenous to the play – god, what a masterpiece it is. More on that later – some of it may be a) reading against the text and b) too easy.
But. I don't think I really quarrel with the decision to let the audience feel as good as it possibly can. You could do a production of this play where the audience comes away feeling really creeped out and disturbed by the anti-Semitism of the Maltese and of Renaissance England. You can't do a production where the audience itself is unquestioningly and totally convinced from the beginning (as Marlowe's original audience would have been) that the Jew is going to be the worst kind of villain. That's one way that the play really is designed to work, and it's just not a way that works for us any more – and that is, in fact, right. Recreating the original performance conditions is always going to be impossible, and though speculation on them can be useful, it isn't an end in itself.
And something that is totally original to this play, as well as totally important to its performance today is that it is MAGNIFICENTLY entertaining. Especially, especially, especially in this performance. Good god. Gail said at intermission she felt it was excessively farcical, and indeed it was farcical – all the opportunities for jokes are taken, all the moments of audience contact are made, the set, the costumes, the physicality, the speech – everything is played as directly to audience enjoyment as it can possibly be. (It grew on Gail, by the way. Although I think her first point is not entirely invalid, especially because of the reasons cited above – perhaps The Jew of Malta should disturb us a little more. On the other hand, plenty of things disturb us every day. This play teaches by delighting. Go sentence and solas!)
My favorites:
- Murray Abraham as Barabas, of course, -- Maggie said she was terrified of him. I felt in league. From moment one, I was caught with him, even when he did terribly wrong. He glittered, but like Barabas's beloved gold, that glitter was malleable, warm even. He was mesmerizing.
- Ithamore, Ithamore, Ithamore. I would have put Arnie Burton first, but, as in real life, the big star had to come before. But, god did I enjoy watching him. From the moment he came onstage as Ithamore he was electric – and, in fact, I was shocked (the metaphor continues) to see that he was Ithamore. Because the character is a Turk, I assumed the actor would be dark-skinned, but Burton is not. So when the actors moved (magnificent, magnificent!)to reveal him leaning against a post sullenly, seductively, electrically, looking straight at Barabas, it was a stupendous surprise. He was consistently funny, intensely unsettling, and unfailingly riveting. I loved it.
- Costume designer David Zinn – there wasn't a single missed mark in the show. We were (how could I have failed to mention this) front row center (which means something amazing astounding at this tiny, blackfriars-size theater. It meants thisclose), and I could see every detail of every costume, and they were all perfect. You could tell from the moment someone walked on who she or he was going to be – the glittering widow Catherine, the foolishly ideal Mathias, the dangerous Spaniard del Bosco, the scheming courtesan Bellamira – they were all magnificent.
- Other favorites: nerdily, sweetly naive Vince Nappo as Mathias; Scenic designer Jon Lee Beatty, whose set called to mind original performance spaces, and was just understated and just spectacular enough (although the discovery space was underused); beautiful Chirsten Simon as Katherine (could not stop looking at her); hilarious Cameron Folmar as Friar Barnadine and taeboish (sorry, he really looks like Billy Blanks) Ezra Knighta s Calymath and Friar Jacamo.
But really, I liked everything. Everything. It kind of kills me that I can't see Merchant, which has the same cast. I also really need to re-read the play right now and underline all the parts that stood out so amazingly. Because really this play had two stars: F. Murray Abraham and Kit fucking Marlowe. Because OH MY GOD that play is good. It is SO good. It is long but fast, complex but intensely easy to understand, poetic but colloquial – the thing is like the most glorious clockwork you've ever imagined. It is a great play. It is a really great play. And I never recognized that before. I was too caught up in the way it's…well, disturbing. To me as a 21st century American Jew, that is. But of course, the Jew part isn't exactly the point – not with Marlowe. (And not with Shakespeare either.) The point is something like society, and lust, and over-reaching, and power, and language, and poetry, and glory, and weight. The point is something like London, 1592. And it is magnificent.
So. This entry is already dreadfully long. We went home. We slept. Maggie gave me some awesomeawesome platform shoes and some beautiful bracelets. In the morning we talked about race (which we had, in fact, been talking about constantly, from music in the car to the play to the neighborhood to colonialism to etc.), had breakfast, went to the old Jersey City rail terminal which was stupendously beautiful but also about the coldest place I had been in my life, and drove to Philadelphia.
Where we met Gail's friend Walter and his friend nameIhaveshamefullyforgottenbutwe'llcallherAnnie and waited outside in the veryvery cold at a hipster brunch place for a long time and then got a table. It was worth the cold wait. Maggie and I had tofu scramble and beet salad and delicious coffee in tin mugs.
Then we walked around Philadelphia for a long time, and I totally revised my opinion of the city. (I really like it now! Before I was not that impressed.) We also froze almost entirely to death, especially on the portion of the walking where we went through the historic colonial district and saw Independence Hall. But it was still worth it. It was so cold, actually, that we took a cab back from Independence Hall to my car. Then we drove home.
It was a fabulous trip. I know that because there were great hardships: getting up early – which I often do, but still.); losing work time (work? Bah! Marlowe!); driving a really long way (I really enjoy driving, right Meg?); being desperately cold – and none of the mattered one tiny bit at all. Because it was a great trip.
Labels: audience, early modern, morality, performance, theatre, trips
Traveling with Ginny: 'Splash!'-free for 26 years and counting.
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