BY PHILIPPA KELLY, RESIDENT/PRODUCTION DRAMATURG
”O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!“ says the devoted young lover, Lysander,
to Hermia. “Love takes the meaning in love’s conference... by your side no bed-room
me deny—for lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.“ In Lysander’s lines above, the playwright
displays his fascination with wordplay (as well as his acumen for coinage—this is the
first recorded approximation of the word we now know as “bedroom”). Our words are
all too easily misconstrued; and yet how often do we end up depending on words,
these untrustworthy emissaries of intention, because actions are even less reliable!
Misunderstanding is the key to the intense and often hilarious dramatic action in A
Midsummer Night’s Dream. “Lord what fools these mortals be,“ says Puck. Mortals
might not always be fools—but foolishness is mortal, and as we laugh at the characters
in this play, we can’t help laughing at ourselves, at the reveries we take as real and the
“reality” that all too quickly seems like a dream.
The complications of A Midsummer Night’s Dream all take place in the forest. It is no
coincidence that the play was written at the heart of a demographic transformation.
Young people were moving from the country to the city to fill the employment gaps that
had opened as the plague wreaked havoc on a closely-packed urban population. As the
cities expanded, food prices doubled and tripled; and at the same time enclosure laws
were passed, meaning that farmers could no longer freely graze their herds on common
land. People looked to the forest and the woodlands as a source of nostalgia for fastvanishing values of freedom, for a fantasy “green world” unspoiled by urban values and
by the ravages of the plague.
The world of trees and moonlight
releases the dark sides of dreams as well
as their glistening luster.
2
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In the forest, characters can
walk on the wild side.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream draws on these “green world” associations. In the
forest, characters can walk on the wild side. They can chase each other about as
they haven’t done since childhood; they can fall in and out of love with no explanation
beyond a juice having been wiped over their eyelids; in the forest you can even find
yourself in love with an ass. In this “green world” all things are possible, and we
witness as “true” what may be, in the cold light of day, wildly implausible.
But the forest in A Midsummer Night’s Dream is not just a place for fanciful
nostalgia. It is also a place of menace. “I’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,“
says Demetrius to Helena, who has followed him with passion, “and leave thee to
the mercy of wild beasts.“ The world of trees and moonlight releases the dark sides
of dreams as well as their glistening luster. When we enter the woodland world and
fully allow ourselves to dream, we can’t control what comes out; and so we see
revealed the astonishing (and sometimes unwelcome) complexities, as well as the
simple needs, that we all share. Most of us, at sometime or another (or maybe all of
the time!) experience unfounded passions that spring up from nowhere. Many of us
are susceptible to feelings that defy all notions of reasons and proportion. And even
if we can see the craziness of such feelings, we’re often powerless to control them
until some other aspect of “reality” steps in to divert and clear our focus. We don’t
need a forest to make us crazy—we can be crazy anywhere. But Shakespeare’s
forest, on a midsummer’s night beneath the light of the moon, reveals all the
madness of love and emotion. ”The moon methinks looks with a watery eye,” says
Titania as she gazes fondly at an ass, preparing, in the dizziness of love, to take him
to her bed. “And when she weeps, weeps every little flower…” Shakespeare’s forest
is a place of dreams. Dreams are for singing, dreams are for weeping, they take over
our world and—in the blink of an eye—they are gone. n
CALIFORNIA SHAKESPEARE THEATER
3
The Forgeries of Jealousy
Somebody let a green-eyed monster loose in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
BY LAURA HOPE, DRAMATURG
Being jealous of someone is an obsession that leaves your brain
racing with torturous thoughts and absurd scenarios. Jealousy gives
you a sick, empty feeling in your stomach, as if a sucking void has
opened in your abdomen, threatening to pull you under into a vacuum
of self-loathing, a black hole of mental ugliness as horrific as Medusa’s
snake-riddled head. That’s right, I said self-loathing. You see, jealousy
reveals the jealous as small, insecure, neurotic malcontents, fearing
insignificance and desperate for attention. Today’s colloquial term for
the jealous is “Haters,” and that’s right on the mark. Watch a jealous
person closely: They are pathetic, really, eating themselves alive with
envy, becoming a dangerous canker hell-bent on destroying somebody
else’s beautiful garden. As some unknown wise person once said:
“Jealous people poison their own banquet, and then eat it.”
Jealousy is the disease of a rotting psyche. Yet while jealousy may eat
away one’s mind like a life-threatening case of flesh-eating bacteria,
the subject has proved quite fertile for writers, who often view it
as a disease. John Dryden wrote, “Jealousy is the jaundice of the
soul.” Socrates referred to it as the “ulcer of the soul.”
“Jealousy,” B.C. Forbes asserts, “…is a mental cancer.”
Emma Goldman even likened the Jealous to dope
fiends, admonishing: “Jealousy is indeed a poor medium
to secure love, but it is a secure medium to destroy one’s
self-respect. For jealous people, like dope-fiends, stoop to the
lowest level and in the end inspire only disgust and loathing.” That
woman had a way with words.
Shakespeare wrote quite a bit on the subject of jealousy—it makes great
fodder for both comedy and tragedy. In Othello, Shakespeare coins one of the
most enduring images of jealousy: the green-eyed monster. Iago warns Othello
with Machiavellian zeal:
O! beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. that cuckold lives in bliss
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o’er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!
Have you ever been jealous of anyone? Of course you have. It’s awful, isn’t it?
Why is jealousy green? By Shakespeare’s time, green had long been associated as
the color of illness: Bile is green, a greenish tinge to the skin was often thought a
sign of serious illness, and green was also associated with unripe or rotten food that,
once eaten, had unseemly effects. It’s a suspicious color. Who wants to be peagreen with envy? Dragons and other predators were often said to have green eyes.
You’d see those glowing orbs just before they ate you.
Jealousy and envy run amuck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Something seems
wrong with the way relationships in Athens are conducted right from the first
scene. Shakespeare gives us the marriage of Theseus and Hippolyta as the
backdrop for all the ensuing action. Like any doting fiancé, Theseus turns to wifeto-be and tells her,
Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword,
And won thy love doing thee injuries;
One of these days, Titania and Hippolyta
are going to turn into green-eyed tigers.
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.
Wait. What? Instead of giving us fairytale lovers as the
backdrop for this midsummer madness, Shakespeare
gives us Theseus and Hippolyta: Duke of Athens and
Queen of the Amazons.
The Amazons in Greek mythology were a tribe ruled
by warrior women descended from Ares, the god of
war. It was a matriarchal society in which the women
lopped off one breast in order to use their bow and
arrows more successfully. Thus altered, they infamously
defeated male warriors from other tribes. Their only
use for men was as stud stock, raising only the girl
offspring and killing the boys. According to Greek
mythology, Theseus kidnapped Hippolyta and trounced
her troops in battle. This explains quite a bit about the
first scene. The Hippolyta Shakespeare writes does
not appear to be a blushing, happy bride. She seems
strangely subdued in the first scene, almost like those
white tigers in Vegas. One sits there, looking at a rare,
beautiful, predatory, yet endangered species riding a
tricycle and spinning atop a disco ball next to a man
in a sequined cape and wonders, “How long before
the tiger snaps out of it?” It’s the same with Hippolyta.
One wonders when she too will jump off the disco ball
and, like Montecore the tiger, go “Siegfried and Roy”
on Theseus. Although he never shows it on stage,
Shakespeare knew that tale did not have a happy
ending. So what on earth is he doing?
This odd engagement scene is interrupted by the
intrusion of yet another plot—the Hermia/Lysander/
Helena/Demetrius debacle that fuels much of the
rest of the play. These four are trapped in a seemingly
endless cycle of jealousy. As mishap follows mishap,
each one of them spends time as both a jealous “Hater”
and the hunted prey of whom somebody else is jealous.
It’s a modern-day reality TV show in the making. This
foursome may provide laughs over the excesses of
jealousy, but through the fairy world, Shakespeare
makes a more brutal comment on jealousy.
The estranged king and queen of the fairies, Oberon
and Titania, have both come to witness the marriage
of Theseus and Hippolyta. They trade jealous barbs
over the fact that Oberon had a thing in the past with
Hippolyta, just as Titania and Theseus were once an
item. Yet the source of their current jealous battle is over
a small Indian boy—a changeling. The child’s mother was
a priestess of Titania’s who died in childbirth. Titania now
wants to raise the boy herself, but Oberon suspiciously
wants the child as his “henchman.” As Titania makes
clear, during the custody battle which has ensued,
“the forgeries of jealousy” have been devastating. Their
jealousy has turned the natural world up-side-down: The
wind has sucked contagious fogs from the sea, causing
rivers to flood, drowning the crops men and oxen have
worked so hard to plant. The cattle have become sickly
from the weather and lie rotting in the fields. With
“rheumatic diseases” abounding, humans are not faring
much better. Even the seasons are altered by Titania and
Oberon’s jealous war. Spring, summer, winter, and fall
are in confusion, coming one atop the other. As Titania
notes with dismay,
…this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.
Despite this, Oberon will not be satisfied. His jealousy will
not be sated until he has humiliated and defeated Titania,
just as Theseus has defeated and domesticated Hippolyta.
Out of this progeny of evils eventually comes a wedding
celebration. Hermia marries Demetrius, Helena
marries Lysander, Theseus marries Hippolyta, Oberon
domesticates Titania and takes the Indian boy. Order is
restored. The play has a happy ending. Jealousy gives
way to love, or at least marriage. And yet … I find myself
suspicious of Shakespeare’s allegedly happy ending.
When does jealousy ever really lead to contentment and
closure? Call me a cynic, but I think there is another
act to this story, one that may play out in our minds as
we drive home. Sooner or later, Hippolyta is going to
want her freedom, and Titania is going to want that baby
back—their losses will scorch them from inside. One of
these days, Titania and Hippolyta are going to turn into
green-eyed tigers. As the author Michael Beer wrote,
“Jealousy is a tiger that tears not only its prey, but also its
own raging heart.”n
SYNOPSIS
Marriage and Mayhem:
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
BY PHILIPPA KELLY, RESIDENT/PRODUCTION DRAMATURG
A Midsummer Night’s Dream has three interlocking plots, all involving
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM COSTUME SKETCHES BY OLIVERA GAJIC
marriages. The first is the marriage between Duke Theseus and the
Amazonian queen, Hippolyta, to be celebrated on this midsummer
evening. The second involves a mad scramble between four young lovers who fall rapidly in and out of love as they run
between the trees in the depths of the night; and the third is the marriage between Titania and Oberon, two fairies who
believe that their own marital struggles are the cause of the misadventures that occur in the forest.
In the play’s first scene we are introduced to the world of Theseus’ Athenian court. Hermia, a spirited young woman,
refuses to marry Demetrius, the man her father (Egeus) has chosen for her. Egeus calls on Athenian law, which states
that a girl must accept her father’s choice of a suitor or else face death. Feeling sorry for Hermia, Theseus gives her
another choice—to live forever a virgin and worship the goddess Diana.
Not liking either choice, Hermia decides to elope to the forest outside Athens with her lover, Lysander. She tells her friend Helena
of the plan that she and Lysander have hatched; and Helena, recently rejected by Demetrius in favor of Hermia, decides to disclose
the information so as to try to win him back. When Helena reveals to Demetrius Hermia’s plans, however, she doesn’t get the effect
she expects: Demetrius pursues Hermia and Lysander into the forest, closely followed by a lovelorn Helena.
Next there opens the storyline shared by Titania and Oberon, the fairies who live in the forest. Titania has refused to give
up to Oberon her Indian changeling boy, whom Oberon wishes to use as his servant. To punish her, Oberon orders the fairy
Puck to wipe a love juice on Titania’s eyelids while she is sleeping, so that when she awakens, she will fall in love with the
first vile creature she sees. The two plots converge when Oberon witnesses Demetrius cruelly spurning Helena. Oberon
orders Puck to wipe the juice on Demetrius’ eyes while he sleeps, and, true to comic misadventure, Puck makes a mistake,
wiping the juice on Lysander’s eyes instead. When Lysander opens his eyes he falls in love with Helena! Oberon sees this and
commands Puck to put the flower potion on the right young man’s eyes. Puck finds Demetrius asleep, puts the love potion
on, and sure enough he wakes up just as Helena arrives—pursued by Lysander—and, of course, immediately falls for her as
well! Both young men are now in love with a girl whom neither had wanted just hours before (and suffice it to say that neither
Hermia nor Helena can believe what has happened.) Once the lovers fall asleep on the forest floor, Puck has some corrective
measures to implement.
Meanwhile, things have been moving from the sublime to the ridiculous, with Titania awakening from the sleep in which
she too has been ”treated” to Puck’s love juice. She falls in love with an ass! The donkey is in fact Bottom, one of the
”rude Mechanicals” who are busy rehearsing in the forest a play they want to perform for Theseus’ and Hippolyta’s
wedding feast. Mischievous as well as magically powerful, Puck has transformed Bottom to an ass for his own
amusement (and ours).
Eventually, all is sorted out, with the lovers’ desires successfully realigned, Oberon getting the changeling boy he
wants, and Titania receiving another dose of restorative love juice. When Theseus and Hippolyta come to the forest
for a morning hunt, they awaken the four young lovers. Since Demetrius no longer loves Helena, Theseus overrules
Egeus’ edict and declares that Lysander should marry Hermia and Demetrius should marry Helena. The lovers decide
that they have not been foolish, but merely caught in a dream; and with great self-satisfaction they all sit and watch the
unintentionally comic performance of the tragedy, Pyramus and Thisbe, by the Mechanicals. n
A PAINTING OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE
ENTITLED ASK ME NO MORE (1906) BY SIR
LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA (1836-1912).
The WHO,
The WHERE FROM,
The WHEREFORE
BY PHILIPPA KELLY, RESIDENT/PRODUCTION DRAMATURG
A Midsummer Night’s Dream was preceded
by the three Henry VI plays, Titus Andronicus,
The Comedy of Errors and Love’s Labour’s Lost.
Written between 1594 and 1596, this play about
the crazy distortions of love emerged at about the
same time as Romeo and Juliet (of which it is an
inversion: Romeo and Juliet begins as a comedy of
misplaced desire and moves through romance into
tragedy; while A Midsummer Night’s Dream begins
with tragic overtones and ends up as a comedy).
Shakespeare’s Dream is believed to have been first
performed before Queen Elizabeth I, although we
have no firm record of this; but it is tempting to
imagine the queen, over 60 years of age at this
point, elaborately painted and powdered as she
presided over this tribute to the alluring magic
of love. The play would also have paid tribute to
the graciousness of Elizabeth’s English court, so
different from the male-dominated strictures of
PYRAMUS AND THISBE BY NIKLAUS MANUEL.
Athens. Athens may have been the Classical seat
of reason, but a young noblewoman there was
nonetheless expected to accept her father’s choice
in marriage. Elizabeth, in contrast, famously declined
to accept all manner of potential husbands carefully
picked out for her by her advisors, preferring to portray
herself as the bride of the nation and the mother of the
English people, far too committed to her subjects to
give herself to any man.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one of those rare
Shakespeare plays for which there are no known
textual sources. Shakespeare does, however, evidently
draw on Chaucer’s The Knight’s Tale, which has a
story of Theseus (“gretter was ther noon under the
sonne”) and his Amazonian bride Ypolita. The tragedy
of Pyramus and Thisbe had appeared in many other
contexts, and in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in the
hands of the Mechanicals, we find it distorted into a
hilariously miscast hodge-podge of malapropisms. This
turning of tragedy into comedy feeds into the general
theme of A Midsummer Night’s Dream: that nothing
is essentially as it appears, and everything, through
a mere twist or two of language and emphasis, is
potentially something quite other than it seems. The
lovers believe themselves to be infinitely grander and
more intelligent than the Mechanicals, yet they behave
with just as much silliness. Indeed, through their
escapades of misplaced affection, the lovers are just as
much objects of our mirth as the ludicrous Thespians
from the forest. n