Certain character types recur throughout Shakespeare’s canon of plays: the ingénue, hero, villain, and clown. These types are embedded in the
history of how we tell stories, and they continue to reappear today, of course, in books, films, and television, as well as in contemporary stage
productions. But in Shakespeare’s time, the characters we now recognize as archetypes were drawn from real people—the actors in his
company. Shakespeare wrote for specific people who would play the same sorts of roles over and over again. He deeply understood their talents
and what they were capable of achieving on stage, and he wrote to suit their skills.
One of those people, the comic actor Will Kemp, played Shakespeare’s “clown” roles, including Dogberry—the malapropism-prone
Constable in Much Ado. Dogberry is brought to life in our production by the great comic actor John Ahlin, who is known to our audiences
for his performances in Charlotte‟s Web, The Accidental Death of an Anarchist, and Waiting for Godot. Here, John talks
about how we can make a direct connection between 400-year-old stage characters and contemporary human beings, and the challenges of
playing the clown.
On Playing Shakespeare’s Clowns
Or, Have You Seen My Bottom?
By
John Ahlin
B
eing funny is hard. Being funny on demand is just shy of impossible: It‟s like trying to get the hiccups on
purpose. If I were simply to decide to make the next sentence humorous I can tell you, I would already be
emitting torrential flop sweat. Comedy is like a lawyer delivering his closing argument, except the jury
shouts out the verdict every other line. The feedback is instant: get the laugh…now, or you fail. I guess that‟s why
comedians use fatal adjectives to describe their acts; „I killed, I slew, I died, I bombed.‟ It‟s not easy.
Fate, proving at least she has a sense of humor, got me an audition for
the role of Dogberry, the clown role, in Shakespeare‟s Much Ado About
Nothing at Two River Theater. Every actor‟s audition process is different;
mine is pretty straightforward. Much like the evil king in Jason and the
Argonauts strewing dragon‟s teeth on the ground to summoning warrior
skeletons, I scatter chattering joke shop dentures to summon Skeltons, as
in Red Skelton, and other comedy giants: Phil Silvers, Milton Berle,
Groucho Marx, Lou Costello, Jerry Lewis. I bring forth the titans too;
Oliver Hardy and Jackie Gleason. I watched these master comics on our
black-and-white TV set (proving you don‟t need X-Box to waste your
youth) and used all their spirits to inhabit my id when I went in to audition. John Ahlin as Dogberry (left) & the cast of
The director was outnumbered and had to cast me.
Much Ado About Nothing. Photo by Joan Marcus.
Now where does one start in playing a Shakespeare clown? And when we say clown, we don‟t mean Ringling Brothers,
we mean a character that appears mostly for laughs. (No pressure.) And Shakespeare‟s low comedy is usually high over
the heads of modern audiences, using topical references from 400 years ago and puns and mispronunciations of words
nobody knows any more. Thanks Shakes. Add to that the entire audience having expectations of a laugh riot: “Oh,
Dogberry‟s a screamingly funny role.” Oy, I need to lie down. But nothing great was ever achieved lying down (the
Sistine Chapel notwithstanding) so I decide to charge ahead. It is good advice in acting and life that sometimes you
need to draw both knees up to your chest, yell “cannonball!” and jump in.
Heeding Hamlet‟s advice to the players, to “hold as „twere, the mirror up to nature”, I crack open the ol‟ folio and take
a look at Dogberry. Well, nature‟s mirror must be cracked because this character is crazy!! Who talks like this? I can‟t
make sense of him. I‟ll misplay this role as badly as that grande dame actress, the one a critic said “played her role like a
sinking battleship firing on her rescuers.” Cue the anxiety. But then I pull out, with a flourish, my actor‟s secret
weapon: not caring. I won‟t worry about the critics, or embarrassing myself, or fortune and men‟s eyes. I‟ll learn the
lines, be ready to fully commit and trust my director, cast mates, and Shakespeare.
C
ollaborating on comedy in a dry clinical rehearsal hall is like whistling Liszt with a mouth full of
Fluffernutter. It is hard to expose yourself, trying something you know is only 5% there without an
audience, and not worry that people will judge you. But, if you can brave all that, a miracle happens. Live in
the role for just a few minutes and you start to understand. Stay in the play and a human character slowly reveals itself.
It happens every time I do one of the Kemp roles. Will Kemp was a member of Shakespeare‟s company and a clown
of renown, with legions of fans coming to see his familiar routines. He liked malapropisms and carrying on both ends
of a conversation with himself, which Shakespeare wove into his roles, and he also liked ad-libbing his own jokes.
Kemp was probably the prime culprit when Hamlet warned; “Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is
set down for them.” He had a pet dog too, which did tricks, and even the dog was immortalized as a character in Two
Gentleman of Verona, where Launce comes on stage with his dog, Crab. Kemp originated Launce and many clown roles
including Bottom, Costard, Dromio and Launcelot Gobbo. I‟ve played several and I feel I really know Kemp. I
displayed my Bottom in Pittsburgh, the audience ate it up (this stuff writes itself).
Shakespeare wisely included popular clowns in his plays but, being Shakespeare, used them brilliantly. He would
contrast the tragedy by having comedy in strange places; Ophelia‟s grave for instance. The less I strive for laughs
playing Dogberry the more alive and real he becomes. He is simply an outlandish person of imagined self-importance
(who isn‟t), when suddenly the whirligig of fate thrusts real greatness upon him. What pours out of him is not shtick or
jokes but pure humanity. His wants and needs and reactions are huge but honest. And if they happen to be funny, well
that‟s Shakespeare‟s genius. Shakespeare coined or invented over 1500 new words. I herewith will try to coin one,
Anthroportrayology: Discovering mankind by inhabiting a role. Playing the clown is simple; just move toward the
human…and trust one of our greatest humans, Shakespeare.