Henry VI, Parts 1-3 (Old Globe San Diego)

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers" ~ Dick the Butcher

 

There is a certain irony in the fact that one of Shakespeare’s best known lines is found in the middle play of a trilogy which is rarely performed. This might explain why the line is often misunderstood and taken out of context. 

 

And there is a lot of context in the Henry VI plays. 

 

As regular readers will know, I am doing my best to see all of Shakespeare’s plays live. Unfortunately, I thought I had lost my best chance to see the Henry VI plays. The Utah Shakespeare Festival did them back in 2018 and 2019 - my wife went to see them but I was unable to get free. 

 

Thus, when I saw that The Old Globe in San Diego was going to do a version of the three plays over two nights, I knew I had to take my chance. This is the sort of trilogy that you can’t really split up. The three plays have a single narrative arc, and make less sense without the others. Combine this with a large cast requirement, an epic story, and the need to make careful cuts to the bloated scripts, and you have a recipe for a very expensive production. In addition to that, the plays are not as popular as others, so there is a financial risk as well. Hence, see it when you can. 

 

The Henry VI plays were likely Shakespeare’s first, and show some rough edges. The three plays have roughly 170 named characters, the mood swings wildly from bawdy humor to over-the-top pathos. The subtlety Shakespeare would later develop hasn’t yet fully developed, leading to sections with clunky language and overly didactic points. 

 

This isn’t to say that there aren’t glimmers of the genius to come: in fact, there are some incredible scenes and speeches and dialogues. It just isn’t consistent like it will be when Shakespeare is in his prime. To a degree, the fun of these plays is in seeing Shakespeare start to explore the ideas that will eventually form the basis of his masterpieces. 

 

The challenge for any production of these plays is to figure out how much to cut, and how much to retain. 

 

First of all, I think it is important to note that nobody actually does uncut Shakespeare. Not only are the plays incredibly long, but they are repetitive throughout - Shakespeare essentially recaps stuff all the time, so new arrivals or inattentive groundlings can catch up. This isn’t necessary for modern audiences, who take theater a bit more seriously, and expect to get a tauter narrative for their money. 

 

For modern American audiences, the details of English history are both less familiar to us, and less personal. Shakespeare routinely included a plethora of historical figures since his wealthier patrons would likely be related to them, and would be disappointed if Uncle William, the 16th Duke of Earl didn’t get a line somewhere. Modern productions, therefore, combine characters. 

 

Even with this, and with actors playing multiple characters, the cast for this production was still pretty large. 

 

Likewise, the plot is typically simplified for these three plays. Some of the machinations and specific events in history get to be a bit too much. The main cut in this production, from what I can tell, is the second half of Part 3. We get nothing of Warwick’s defection to Henry VI - which was driven by Edward IV’s choice of a wife. That whole subplot is gone, and Warwick dies in battle without much to indicate who he is fighting for. Not that it really matters by the end. Everyone is in it for themselves by that point, and the country has descended into chaos. 

 

This production also blew through the other historical stuff at the end of Part 3, with actors reciting some of the events and battles, rather than putting them all on. I think this was a good idea, as Shakespeare loaded up that final play with four on-stage battles plus more that were reported by messengers. It is…a bit much. 

 

The other central decision to the production was to cut the plays so that it could be done in two nights, rather than three. This is common, although most combine Part 2 and Part 3 in a single night, like Utah did. 

 

In this case, director Barry Edelstein made a more unusual choice and divided the three plays into four total acts. 

 

The first act is essentially Part 1 of the trilogy. It ends with the deaths of Talbot and Joan of Arc, and the arranged marriage between Henry VI and Margaret. 

 

After the intermission, the play resumes with the first part of Part 2. That play, generally considered the best of the three, is all about the court intrigue, rather than the battles that dominate the first and third parts. The first night ends at the midpoint of Part 2, with Suffolk banished (and then killed by pirates) for his murder of Gloucester, and Cardinal Beaufort’s madness and death. 

 

The second night opens with Richard Plantagenet inciting Jack Cade to rebel. Cade is a typical populist demagogue, claiming royal birth (which few actually believe) and making promises that range from pandering (bread will be cheap!) to absurd (make it a felony to drink cheap beer!) 

 

This is where Dick the Butcher’s famous line comes in. Dick doesn’t believe anything Cade is saying, but he is there to knock skulls anyway, and doesn’t really care who he does it for. More about this scene later. 

 

This act ends with the country descending into chaos, and the king fleeing. 

 

The final act is Part 3. Plantagenet forces the king to relinquish the crown after his death, allowing Plantagenet to rule, and his descendents thereafter. This incenses Queen Margaret, who leads the army to victory. Plantagenet is killed, but his sons, Edward and Richard take up his cause. 

 

This is where there are a lot of cuts, because in life and in the play, there is a gap of over a dozen years, when Edward rules, before Henry VI briefly reclaims the throne. Much intrigue and drama even without getting into all this. 

 

At the end, Shakespeare sets up the character of Richard III as the most Machiavellian of them all - he would end up writing that play soon thereafter, arguably his first smash hit. 

 

While I haven’t seen this play before, and therefore have no comparison, I will say that I think Edelstein created a compelling narrative arc and theme for the plays. The tempo never dragged, and everything worked to further the narrative and the theme. 

 

Shakespeare was a monarchist - he didn’t particularly trust the common people - and believed in the rule of law. I am not much of the former, but definitely a fan of the latter. In these plays (as in his later ones), Shakespeare is concerned with an unfortunate reality of politics. 

 

Whatever the form of government, politicians who are only in it for themselves end up destroying stability, decency, the nation, and eventually themselves in the process. 

 

Henry VI is flawed because he is weak and unable to unite the country, and I sympathize with his general personality - I too would prefer everyone get along. But it is the others who do the greater damage, and they put themselves and their own power and ambition above the good of England, heedless of what they break in the process. 

 

In turn, character after character chases power and fortune, only to be cut down and replaced by another. With every rise and fall, every death, every murder, every intrigue, England suffers. Public confidence is shattered, and demagogues and opportunists exploit the people. Like so much of Shakespeare, this seems all too relevant today. 

 

In fact, Edelstein very much made some nods to our current time and place in the sequence involving Jack Cade. When we first meet him - at Cade’s rally - he is dressed like QAnon Shaman, and his supporters are waving giant flags that look suspiciously like Trump flags - just with “Cade” and “1450” on it. 

 

Cade’s handwaving to reduce inflation sounds darn familiar, as does his cavalier approach to women. (Cut from this version, but on point is a scene where Dick the Butcher rapes the wife of another supporter. Cade responds that all women are fair game in his kingdom.) 

 

Edelstein also changes around some characters, from what I can tell, in order to make a closer parallel to the January 6 coup attempt. Rather than the historical William Crowmer, this version uses the name Michael Spence - so that the crowd can chant “Hang Mike Spence.” Although fictionalized, Cade did end up murdering four members of the aristocracy, with the help of his rioting followers. 

 

As Utah apparently did in its production, this one started with historical costumes, but moved to modern ones as the play progressed. For the director, he indicated that he felt that with the death of the old guard, England went from medieval to modern - from an arguably more honorable and mutual view of power and responsibility to a more Machiavellian view, with individual power taking precedence over the common good. 

 

Whether this is actually true is debatable, of course. It certainly seems as if personal power has always motivated certain kinds of humans, and this occurs in all places and times. Perhaps what has changed is whether those conscience-free sorts gain power or are marginalized. 

 

Part of the difficulty with Shakespeare, in this case, is that he, for political reasons, decided to make Richard III into a villain. As in the case of Macbeth, this turns out to be a slander. The historical Richard III was actually a fairly effective leader, died honorably in battle, and was likely not responsible for the deaths of the princes in the tower. And he wasn’t a hunchback either. 

 

But, because Queen Elizabeth I was a Tudor, Richard became the villain, and her grandfather Henry VII the hero. 

 

Where Shakespeare did get it right, however, was the truth that when men who are only in it for themselves come to power, everyone suffers. 

 

I wanted to mention some things I particularly loved about this production. Overall, I thought that it did a great job of storytelling. The end was a little less compelling - but considering Shakespeare’s seemingly anticlimactic original, with act after act of wrapup, I think Edelstein did a fantastic job. His choice to end with Henry VI’s death rather than spend the end setting up Richard III was particularly effective. The plays then become about Henry, rather than veering from him to Richard completely. 

 

I also thought the way the acts were cut was effective. Each of the four acts over two nights had its own story, its own arc, and its own message. Again, great storytelling. 

 

Shakespeare wrote song lyrics for his plays, but otherwise, there is nothing to go on for what music should be included. Thus, I have seen everything from local college productions that lean on current pop songs to professional productions using Elizabethan era music. There is no wrong way to do this, just as there is no right or wrong when it comes to background music and incidental music. (Years ago, I got to play in a combined orchestra and local actor production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream using Mendelssohn’s effervescent score.) 

 

For this production, The Old Globe commissioned new music by Julian Mesri, performed live at each show by guitarist Martin Martiarena and percussionist Nathan Hubbard. And it was phenomenal. Ranging from period style tunes at the beginning to hard rock, blues, and movie music style scoring, it truly felt like it supported every emotion, every plot turn, every beat of the choreography. And believe me, live music sounds different than pre-recorded. It just does. Serious brownie points for the live music. 

 

There were also some set pieces that I greatly enjoyed. I already mentioned the January 6 Cade riot. I also liked the Roaring 20s style French party, with Margaret as a chanteuse. (I hope I am getting the era right - if not, my wife will let me know…) [Update: 1940s]

 

There is also the scene where Richard Plantagenet explains his ancestry in order to convince Warwick and others to support his bid for the crown. He brings out a vintage slide projector, and goes through a presentation, complete with thoroughly cheesy illustrations to aid with memory. My 13 year old laughed through this entire section. 

 

Jack Cade’s death was also played for laughs. In real life, Cade was indeed starving and in flight across England after his fickle supporters deserted him. And he was killed by minor gentry Alexander Iden, after breaking into Iden’s garden and threatening him. 

 

In real life, however, Iden was youngish to middle aged, and went on to serve with distinction in the wars. 

 

In this production, Iden is an ancient and tottering yet determined man. As happens often in Shakespeare, a death is accompanied by much speechifying, and this is no exception. So, we have Iden in very slow motion, totter over to stab Cade, who is so busy blithering on at length that he forgets to dodge the very slow dagger. It is pretty hilarious, as is Iden getting honored later - he takes so long to kneel and then to rise. (Great physical acting by Mahira Kakkar, by the way.) 

 

I also want to mention some outstanding acting performances. Since this is a professional production, the acting was excellent across the board, so no shade on anyone omitted. There were some that I really loved, however. 

 

Keshav Moodliar as Henry VI was impressive. He had the fun job of changing in age across the three plays - starting more or less at age 8. Rather than change his appearance significantly, he did it all with physical acting, and with voice pitch. He was thoroughly convincing as an impulsive child, and at the end as an introspective yet broken man. The price of tickets would have been worth it for his performance alone.

 Richard Plantagenet, the future Richard III, and Henry VI

The two most important female roles were top notch as well. Cassia Thompson handled two roles: prince Edward in the second play, and Joan of Arc in the first. (And, I believe, a few minor roles - everyone had to pitch in for the riot and battles.) As Joan, she utterly commanded the stage. Edelstein intentionally took the edge off some of the xenophobic and sexist bile Shakespeare directed at poor Joan, but it is still clear how much contempt most of the men had for women in general. Joan spit it right back at them. Great acting, and I hope to see more of Thompson in the future. 

 Joan of Arc

Elizabeth Davis carried the role of Margaret, which is one of Shakespeare’s greatest female characters. She is every bit as designing as any of the men, and has more huevos than most of them combined. One could ask whether she is a villain or a tragic hero - and both could be correct. Davis had the presence, the dignity, the gravitas, and the ruthlessness needed for this character. Riveting whenever she was on stage. 

 Cardinal Winchester, Gloucester, Margaret, Henry VI, Salisbury

William DeMeritt was likewise perfectly cast as Richard Plantagenet. His range of moods, his intelligence, and endless ambition made him another contender for the hero of this play. “Villain” seems too simple for a man who would have made a better ruler than Henry VI, and who fails mostly because Margaret has a bigger army. But for her, he would have pulled off a largely bloodless coup. 

 

As far as true villains, Suffolk in the first play, and Richard III in the second, both played by Gregg Mozgala, were thoroughly loathsome and scheming. It took me a minute to realize that they were the same actor, because of the different wigs and facial hair, but his unique stage presence (in part because of cerebral palsy) gave it away. I do not know how he is in real life, but he is so damn intense on stage. You could believe either character would cut your throat without a second thought. 

 

Ian Lassiter also made an incredible transformation between the two plays. As the old sage Gloucester in the first, he had long hair and a goatee. In the second, he had curls and a shaved face for Edward IV. The voice alone gave away the reality. His acting styles were totally different for the two characters as well. 

 

I also wanted to note Sofia Jean Gomez as Warwick for another intense, riveting performance. She lists herself on her website as “gender fluid,” and I believe it. Her physical machismo in this play matched that of the most macho characters. Another actor I would love to see in any role. Literally. 

 

I know I am missing a bunch of roles - it is always difficult trying to keep two entire plays in one’s head well enough to write about it afterward. Suffice it to say that this was an outstanding performance all around, and I highly recommend seeing it before it closes next month. 

 

***

 

So, which Shakespeare plays have I seen live? Well, maybe it is easier to list the ones I have NOT seen live at least once. 

 

Titus Andronicus - I just missed seeing our friend Marina in this. The dates didn’t work out. My wife got to see it. 

Antony and Cleopatra - USF is doing this next season, so I am hoping to check it off my list.

Troilus and Cressida - This one is very rarely done, and might be the most difficult to add, unless it is:

King John - I missed seeing this one at USF a number of years ago - they did the history plays in chronological order, and my wife saw most of them, but I believe not this one or Richard II, which we both saw at the Old Globe. I only saw Richard III and Henry VIII at USF. Another one that is rarely performed, so I will definitely try to see it wherever it is done next.

The Two Noble Kinsmen - I did see the Covid pre-recorded version from the London Globe, but that isn’t quite a live performance. Not everyone counts this, as it was co-written. But so was Henry VIII and Pericles, so? 

There is a Tide by Agatha Christie

Source of book: I own this

 

Back in my childhood, I read a lot of Agatha Christie - my mother was and is a big fan. My first was And Then There Were None, which is a classic to be sure. 

 

While I still read mysteries fairly regularly, it has been many years since I actually read one by Christie, which is kind of odd considering my wife had a pretty good collection. 

 

Anyway, for my annual backpacking trip with my brother and assorted cousins, I needed something small, light, and expendable to take with me. (Considering we got caught in a thunderstorm and downpour on the trail, it is a miracle the book survived.) In this case, my wife suggested this beat up trade paperback that could easily fit in a pocket. 

 

This book, like so many 20th century British books, There is a Tide was published under two different names - this is the US title. The British one is Taken at the Flood. Shakespeare aficionados will recognize both titles from Brutus’ speech in Julius Caesar. 

 

One of the reasons that Christie is considered one of the all time great mystery writers is that she avoided recycling plots or otherwise reusing material. Sure, there are the necessary elements for a proper British mystery, but her books don’t feel like the same books with different characters. 

 

This one is no exception. It includes Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective, now retired yet still dabbling. However, it is notable that we don’t get our first dead body until halfway through the book. There are a number of unexpected twists and turns, although experienced mystery readers may well be able to follow the careful clues and arrive at the truth before it is revealed. 

 

This book is also notable because literally nobody in the story is likable. Well, except Poirot, perhaps, and he is an acquired taste. 

 

The Cloade family is one of those bourgeois-with-ambition sorts you find in many of Christie’s books. They aren’t aristocracy, but they have in some cases married it, and they hope to move up in the world. 

 

Most of them, however, have been disappointed. Jeremy, the lawyer, married the girl with a title, but her father went bankrupt. His law business has been struggling anyway. Lionel, the doctor, has gotten in debt for his research projects. Rowley, the farmer, needs to improve his land to compete, but lacks funds.

 

The one with money is Gordon - and the rest of the family sponges off of him. 

 

But there is a problem. During World War Two, Gordon unexpectedly marries the young Rosaleen, a widow whose husband disappeared and was reported dead somewhere in Africa. 

 

Back in London during the Blitz, a bomb takes out Gordon, and Rosaleen inherits everything. Her brother David is an unscrupulous sort, and seems to exert a strange control over his sister. 

 

Meanwhile, Hercule Poirot is told a strange story at his club, of a man whose wife loathed Africa and wanted out of her marriage, so he faked his own death, referencing the old poem, “Enoch Arden.” When he is later consulted by one of the Cloades, he remembers the story and realizes it is the same person. 

 

Obviously, there are all kinds of motives for murder here, but when we finally get a corpse, everything is all wrong. Poirot has to dig through layers of deception to figure out what happened. 

 

I won’t spoil further than that, other than to say that plenty of people in this book are not who they claim to be, and the obvious motives conceal the deeper ones that really drive what happens. 

 

As with most of Christie’s books, there are some dated elements. This one at least avoids racial slurs and background racism - probably because all the characters are white. However, the ending unfortunately recycles the trope that what independent women really want is a dangerous man, and the way to catch her is to use violence. 

 

Yeah, ugh. I wish I could say this is a thing of the past, but this presidential election has revealed that a disturbing number of douchebros still think that what feminist women really need is a good rape. 

 

This is particularly disappointing, because Lynn is otherwise a good character. Poirot’s observation is particularly good:

 

Poirot looked at the girl with interest. A handsome girl, he thought, and intelligent also. Not the type he himself admired. He preferred something softer, more feminine. Lynn Marchmont, he thought, was essentially a modern type – though one might, with equal accuracy, call it an Elizabethan type. Women who thought for themselves, who were free in language, and who admired enterprise and audacity in men.

 

Other than the last part of it – I find that women of that sort admire enterprise, but not necessarily audacity – he hits on some truth. The certain “femininity” that certain subcultures value isn’t some universal, or even universal of the past. Rather, it is a specifically Victorian or 1950s affectation. A cultural moment. Strong women have always existed, and at various times, they have been celebrated.

 

That part aside, this is a good mystery, with Christie’s characteristic skill in providing clues. One of the complaints I have had about some modern books lately has been that they forget the important rules of good writing - particularly mystery writing. Don’t include anything that is irrelevant. A clue is either crucial to solving the mystery, or a red herring that will be important in other ways. Don’t skip crucial clues either, though. The reader must be given everything necessary to solve the mystery if they pay attention and are as sharp as the detective. 

 

This book certainly demonstrates these rules - every detail turns out to matter, and there are no holes in the plot or evidence. Christie is a classic for a reason. 

 

Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe (Stars Playhouse 2024)

First of all, let me preface this by noting that according to my inside information, this show experienced some significant challenges, mostly related to the summer Covid surge that took out a bunch of people during crucial phases of preparation; and as a result, there were substitutions, insufficient rehearsals, and changes and adaptations from the original intention. 

 

So, for anyone involved in this, I understand that you had to overcome a clusterfuck, so don’t think of any criticism as throwing shade. I know you all did what you could under difficult circumstances, and I’m glad this didn’t end up canceled. 

 

I read Doctor Faustus in high school, and became fascinated with the whole Faust legend and the different ways that playwrights and authors handled the story over the years. Marlowe is so very different from Goethe, to put it mildly, and shorter remixes by authors such as Washington Irving, each have their own flavors and points to make. 

 

And yes, I have read both parts of Goethe’s Faust, but have not yet read Thomas Mann’s novel. But I own it and do intend to read it. 

 

There is no real mystery why we humans are captivated by the idea of selling our souls. After all, we can see this phenomenon all around us. We see it in the Bible: 

 

Then the devil led Him up to a high place and showed Him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. “I will give You authority over all these kingdoms and all their glory,” he said. “For it has been relinquished to me, and I can give it to anyone I wish. So if You worship me, it will all be Yours.” But Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God and serve Him only.”

 

One might say this is the rare version of the story where someone doesn’t agree to sell their soul. 

 

The earliest versions of the legend arose in Germany, and generally had the moral of “Learning too much is bad, so best stick to the doctrine the Church teaches.” Faust studied too much, learned too much, and ultimately sold his soul for knowledge. A twist on the story of the Fall of Man, in other words. Stay away from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. 

 

By the time we get to Marlowe, though, things are already looking a bit different. Faust is bored with his learning - he rejects medicine and science and rhetoric. What fascinates him in his boredom is necromancy - he wants to speak with someone from the other side, someone who can grant him knowledge. And even more than knowledge, what he wants is POWER. 

 

He summons Mephistopheles, and promptly asks that he have a lackey, someone to do shit for him - his magic genie so to speak. Sure, he asks some scientific questions. And gets some, um, really dated wrong answers. But power is his thing. Not that he wants to rule, but he gets off pranking those in power and messing with politics behind the scenes. 

 

Actually, that does look kind of fun, unless you are the butt of the joke. Marlowe takes time to poke fun at a recent issue with rival Popes - which was probably as particularly funny to Elizabethan audiences as all Shakespeare’s jokes at the expense of the French. 

 

Marlowe also appealed to the groundlings with the humorous side plots involving Faust’s assistant and his pranks on the gullible commoners. Perhaps not quite up there with Shakespeare’s best, but still funny. 

 

I looked the play up to see if my memory was correct, and it was: there are two versions of the play. Kind of like the folios and quartos for Shakespeare. The earliest version is shorter, with fewer of the humorous scenes, and a few line changes. We got the longer one, I believe. 

 

The one change that is the most fascinating is one involving the central theological question: Is Faust irrevocably damned? 

 

At the time the play was written, Calvinism was increasing in popularity in England. It was already the dominant belief in Scotland, as Sir Walter Scott would note in his historical novels, and it would come to dominate English politics a generation later during the English Civil War and the Puritan commonwealth. 

 

For those not raised in Fundamentalist religion, a central tenet of Calvinism is “predestination.” God, in his supposedly infinite power and wisdom, decides before the dawn of time which humans will be elected to go to heaven, and which to hell. None of us really have a choice - we either are part of The Elect, or we are damned. 

 

Other versions of Christian doctrine either believe in free will, or in some form of universalism. (The latter was actually the dominant view before Constantine needed to put the fear of Hell into his subjects…) 

 

One of the recurring scenes in this play occurs when Faust is hearing his good angel and his bad angel in his head. (I am curious if this is the first version of this in print? I cannot find confirmation.) Faust’s good angel, up until the end, urges him to repent, and states that Faust can be saved if he will repent. 

 

Okay, “if he will repent” is in the later version. In the earlier version, it is “if he can repent.” Big difference theologically. 

 

It is easy to assume that the question is about that contract signed in blood. But it really isn’t. To a true Calvinist, Faust is damned before he is born. That he signs the contract is as inevitable as his damnation, and both were decreed by God himself. Mephistopheles and Lucifer are merely pawns in God’s game. 

 

If one believes that repentance is purely a matter of free will, on the other hand, the contract is irrelevant. Signing it was a sin, but it was no different from other sins, and, as the good angel insists, Faust can repent of it and throw himself on the mercy of the Divine. 

 

That Faust never in fact repents is either proof that he was predestined to damnation, or that he chooses it until the very end. 

 

One of the questions that has never been answered is whether Marlowe intended the play as an argument in favor of Calvinism, or a refutation of it. Since he died soon after the first performance, it appears nobody had the chance to ask him - and he may well have refused to comment. 

 

Two hundred years later, of course, Goethe would conclude that Faust could be saved - as indeed he is in that version. You can read my analysis from a decade ago of that play if you like. 

 

There is another passage that I really loved in this play. Soon after the fateful contract is signed, Faust and Mephistopheles begin their conversation - Faust has many questions about the nature of the world. 

 

Mephistopheles: Now, Faustus, ask what thou wilt.

Faust: First will I question with thee about hell. 

Tell me, where is that place that men call hell?

Mephistopheles: Under the heavens

Faust: Ay, but whereabout?

Mephistopheles: Within the bowels of these elements

Where we are tortured and remain forever.

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed

In one self place, for where we are is hell,

And where hell is there must we ever be;

And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves,

And every creature shall be purified,

All places shall be hell that is not heaven. 

 

This is bold stuff, and shockingly modern in a way. Hell is not a place, but hell is here - and now. I think about this a lot these days, seeing so many that believe they are in hell right now - and because of that belief, so they are. 

 

The most obvious is the MAGA crowd, believing in Trump’s vision of America (particularly the cities) as a hellscape. This becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: when you see the existence of immigrants, refugees, people of color, impoverished people, unhoused people, and LGBTQ+ people as a dire threat, then walking through the world is indeed hell. Hell is what we create. 

 

Marlowe had a reputation as an atheist - and a homosexual - but it is unclear how true either was. To be sure, his writing often had homoerotic themes, and he was a humanist by the standards of his day. 

 

But this is also disputed, because it is definitely true that he served as a spy for Queen Elizabeth, and his reputation as a bit of a dangerous man probably helped his career. He died at age 29 in what may well have been a murder - although a barroom brawl over a woman…or a man…is also plausible. There are a lot of questions about the death, and not a lot of clear answers. If you want to read up on the theories, Wikipedia has a good summary. 

 

Regarding the accusation of atheism, there is no doubt that his writings contain plenty of evidence that, at minimum, he distrusted institutional religion and orthodox doctrine. This play certainly pushes back at religion, particularly the Catholic church, even as it takes the form of a morality play. 

 

While evidence of homosexuality is tainted by the unreliability of the witnesses, Marlowe certainly seemed drawn to homoerotic themes in his writing. Even in this play, Faust’s request for a wife is dismissed as trivial. 

 

Mephistopheles: Tut, Faustus,

Marriage is but a ceremonial toy.

If thou lovest me, think no more of it. 

 

Courtesans are fine, and he can have them, but the primary relationship is with Mephistopheles. What starts out as a master/servant relationship pretty quickly starts to resemble a close friendship, or perhaps something more. 

 

Having explored the play itself a bit, I wanted to talk about the production. 

 

This was a seriously stripped-down version. By that, I do not mean that lines were cut - as far as I can tell, it was presented in full (in the B folio version.) Rather, costumes and sets were nearly absent, props were minimalist, and lighting was austere - although quite effective. 

 

For the most part, the actors wore black. There were some changing accessories to differentiate characters, since most of the supporting actors played multiple roles. The main exception was that the Pope got a good hat and vest - presumably from a prior production. The set was four wooden boxes that got moved around throughout. Props included a staff for the good angel, books, and little else. Bare bones, simple, and enough. 

 

The lighting involved some effective changes in color and emphasis, but again was very simple. Overall, the focus was on the acting and the language, which is not a bad way to go with this play. 

 

All this was good, and impressive considering the clusterfuck preceding it. 

 

The weaker part of the play was the diction. Some of this was the fact that some parts had to be read rather than memorized - and I totally get the problems of swapping actors at the last minute and other challenges. It is what it is. 

 

What the production could have used (in a more perfect world) was more vocal coaching for the actors. Marlowe isn’t quite as flowery as Shakespeare, but it is of the same era, and unless your actors are veterans to Elizabethan plays, it can be difficult to get the cadence and flow right without assistance. There were some cases where the line breaks were emphasized too much, a few mispronounced words, and more where the language felt awkward. 

 

As I noted above, I do not mean this as shade to any actors, given the circumstances. 

 Salvador Vidaurri (Faust) and Kelsey Morrow (Mephistopheles)

What I do want to say is that the leads - Salvador Vidaurri as Faust and Kelsey Morrow as Mephistopheles - had great chemistry, and were solid overall. Our longtime friend Selah Gradowitz as the good angel and other parts, and Scott Deaton as the Pope, Lucifer, and others clearly had the most experience with Shakespeare and Elizabethan language, and they were particularly outstanding. 

 Selah Gradowitz (Good Angel) and Salvador Vidaurri (Faust)

Definite props to the rest of the cast and crew as well, for making this play happen under difficult circumstances. 

 

I note that next season will include Ibsen and Lillian Hellman, continuing Stars Playhouse’s project of bringing less performed classics back to the local stage. I am looking forward to seeing both of them. 

 

This play runs this weekend as well. Tickets at the door, or online at bmtstars.com.

That Constant Coyote by Gerald Haslam

 Source of book: Borrowed from the library, but I later found a copy at a book sale.

 

Gerald Haslam was a local author, native to the Bakersfield-adjacent town of Oildale, with deep Okie roots. He led a colorful life as a youth - working the fields, the oilfields, and doing a stint in the Army - before finally settling down to a career as a writer and educator. 

 

Years ago, when my wife was getting her college prerequisites before nursing school, she did a unit on the Dust Bowl. As part of that, she wrote a badass paper on Steinbeck, spoke with former residents of Sunset Camp, and had a conversation with Haslam. 

 

I hadn’t actually read any of his stuff, but then my eldest kid borrowed this book, and enjoyed it, although he recommends Straight White Male as even better. 

 

Haslam wrote in multiple genres, from biography to essays to novels to short stories. That Constant Coyote is the later - a collection of short stories set in and around California’s San Joaquin Valley. 

 

While I didn’t grow up in Bakersfield, I moved to Kern County in my teens, and bought my first home here. My wife grew up here, so we both have significant roots in the area. Thus, these stories are set in places I know pretty well, and Haslam brings them to life vividly. 

 

The stories themselves are quite varied in topic, mood, and message. Some are heart-rendingly sad. Others are laugh-out-loud hilarious. The characters are mostly Okie sorts, but there are exceptions. (One of the best stories is about an African-American young man who follows his grandfather into bull riding and the rodeo scene. I believe it is loosely based on someone the author knew.) In every story, however, the characters are wonderfully vivid and so true to life. Haslam was right when he complained that the central valley was woefully neglected as a setting for literature. 

 

For most people, all they will know of this part of California is The Grapes of Wrath. As good as that book is - and I love Steinbeck - there are other perspectives that are well worth reading. I recently read The Consequences by Manuel Munoz, for example - another set of short stories about valley denizens. While somewhat different in background, Haslam also brings a much-needed look at the people and places in our area.

 

Haslam wrote a preface to the book, and I wanted to note a line in there, about his own life history. 

 

I toiled in the interim at a packing shed near Delano, loading boxcars with crates of table grapes. The fruit was picked by Mexican and Filipino adults who labored in searing sun, while cooler and more desirable jobs in the shed - jobs such as mine - in those years went exclusively to whites, often just kids. 

 

This sort of self-awareness and understanding of privilege - economic and racial are just two examples - that undergird Haslam’s writing. Like the best authors, the book never condescends, but looks respectfully and empathetically at all. 

 

In one of the stories, a ne’er-do-well young man complains to his responsible sister that he can’t find the “right” kind of work. 

 

“Sister, me and the guys we look for work, but we can’t find nothin’ but nigger work - packin’ sheds, mowin’ lawns, them deals. We hold ourselves to be white men.” 

 

In the title story, about a man returning to his land up on Breckenridge Mountain as he is dying of cancer, he and his wife note that a bounty hunter finally killed the coyote that had been plaguing his ranch. 

 

“He poisoned that old nemesis of yours.”

“Well, that’s just great,” I replied sarcastically.

She stopped and stared at me. “Clint,” she said, “you’ve been after him for years.”

“I’ve been after him. It was between us, not some damned state hunter.”

“Men!” Doris shook her head and began brewing coffee.

 

It is a great moment in a good story, one that touches on the circle of life and the inevitably of death. 

 

There is another line in the harrowing story of the Keyesville Massacre - when Federal troops murdered dozens of Tubatulabal men in cold blood. (The commanding officer was court martialed, and later committed suicide.) 

 

In the story, the young man, Hawk, is called lice by one of the soldiers, and he responds, “At least we have not become savages.” 

 

In another story, Uncle Fate Newby is an aging wrestling champion. One day, an African American man appears out of the blue, and challenges him for his crown. And loses, but even Fate knows it was darn close, and decides to concede his title. 

 

It is an interesting story in part because it shows the complicated racial relations that still characterize California. This isn’t the South, where social distinctions still hold considerable sway. I grew up in a working class neighborhood, where we were one of a handful of white families in an otherwise minority block. There is a certain comradery and respect among people who work hard and struggle to make rent that isn’t seen as much in white collar subcultures. Respect can be earned, regardless of race. That is how I grew up - playing with kids and earning respect. 

 

In this story is also a pretty hilarious line from the narrator, a young boy who watches all this. At the opening of the story, Fate is claiming Shirley Temple is a shrunken adult, not a kid. 

 

You see, Uncle Fate Newby didn’t cotton to uncertainty. He lived in a known cosmos largely of his own creation, and few of his fellow philosophers have been better equipped to define the limits of reality. 

 

Another excellent story is the one about the unemployed, nearly homeless family, part of an encampment near the river. As so often happens, the do-gooders show up with their self-righteousness and condescension, and wonder why things go badly. The narrator’s father asks the do-gooders what church they are from, and they seem reluctant to say so. 

 

“Just what I figured,” he said. “I knew I seen this preacher before. Member when we tried to worship at your church last summer and you run us off?” 

 

Our former church, to their credit, wasn’t this way, but we all know the sort. Oh yes. This is the problem with “charity” as a paradigm - it preserves the hierarchy between giver and receiver. Justice, on the other hand…

 

There are multiple stories in which class and race intersect. Another of those is “The Horned Toad,” where the old Mexican great- grandmother has to be uprooted from her home and come live with her daughter and her white husband. The young boy is at first scared of her, particularly since she pretends she cannot speak or understand English - before slipping and revealing that she can in fact do so. There is a hilarious exchange later in the story. 

 

No more did I sneak around the house to avoid Grandma after school. Instead, she waited for me and discussed my efforts in class gravely, telling mother that I was “muy inteligente,” and that I should be sent to the nuns who would train me. I would make a fine priest. When Ese Gringo [the father] hear that, he smiled and said, “He’d make a fair-to-middlin’ Holy Roller preacher too.” Even Mom had to chuckle, and my great-grandmother shook her finger at Ese Gringo. “Oh, you debil, Sharlie!” 

 

I don’t have a quote from it, but I do want to mention “My Dear Mr. Thorp,” which is a sequence of letters to the editor of a literary publication from aspiring authors hoping to be published, along with the responses. It’s really very funny, and one suspects Haslam was all too familiar with rejection notes. 

 

Another truly hilarious story is “The Great Waldorf Astoria Caper,” about a wealthy local man who brings back a gold digger former beauty queen, and all the fallout from that. There is a barroom confrontation between the old guy and his nemesis, leading to this gem:

 

“Can’t even kick a man’s ass when you want to. Whatever happened to the Bill a Rights?”

 

I have literally had clients like that. It’s a thing here among some of the old timers.

 

Another story is a poignant look at an older couple, whose fights have become a dance, as the son notes. A recurrent one is about the husband’s driving. For him, a car is freedom, and for her, his car is the way he avoids dealing with things. 

 

It culminates in an incident where he is found driving the wrong way on the freeway. This is personal to me, because my late grandfather was the same way - a terrible driver. His keys finally were surrendered when he made the evening news driving the wrong way on the freeway. 

 

Haslam’s telling focuses more on the marital dynamics, and again, he is very perceptive about how this works - something I have seen in my law practice time and again. 

 

There is another dysfunctional family dynamic at work in “The Welder’s Cap.” I noted above the lazy brother who just wants to drink beer and sell dope with his buddies. The responsible sister is literally the only one in the family with a job, and is also going to college. This doesn’t get her respect from her mother. (The father is deceased.) 

 

“When I was your age, I was married and had me two younguns. I wasn’t a-paintin’ my eyelids to make men look at me. I wasn’t goin’ to no classes at night. No Ma’am. There’s a whole lot school don’t teach you. I don’t know why you can’t settle down and get married and give me some grandchildren.”

 

She responds:

 

“Well, I can quit at the bank and go to the park, drink beer with Brother and his buddies. I’m sure one of them’ll be happy to give me babies…and probably VD…” 

 

And later:

 

“It’s young girls nowadays wanta act just like menfolk. They don’t stay home with children. They don’t cook no more. They don’t sew. They don’t even get jobs. Nosir, they get careers. Always takin’ classes.” She looked at me then and pleaded, “Why can’t you just settle down?”

 

If this sounds to you like J. D. Vance and the Republican party’s view of women, you are not mistaken. It also sounds like my mother and her expectations of my wife. 

 

The double standard is apparent: there is no corresponding nagging to Brother to grow up. But what is really at stake is that she is going to eventually leave and move out, and the stability of the family will lose its keystone. 

 

“Missing in Action” takes a look at the Japanese American experience during and after World War Two. It is in the form of a conversation between a father and son, with the son finding out some unpleasant things about his father. This is, unfortunately, a bit close to home for me. 

 

The son mentions the push to give at least a pittance of reparations to those who were put in concentration camps like Manzanar during the war. The father vehemently objects. What follows is talk about the Mirahashis, neighbors of the father before the war, and their fate. 

 

Although this was written about 40 years ago, it is shocking how proto-MAGA the father is already. Complaining about “liberals selling out the working man,” referring to whites as “real Americans,” and eventually admitting to his son’s horror, that he had helped torch the Mirahashis’ home after the war. People he had bought groceries from back in the day. 

 

And finally, it comes out that the Mirahashis’ son fought as an American in the war, and didn’t make it back. 

 

As the story makes clear - and I can’t do it justice in this post - the father is actually haunted by what he did, but is so deep in self-protective denial and layers of rationalization that he can’t bring himself to a place of repentance and healing. As I said, far far too close to home. And a really effective story too. 

 

I am glad I read this book, and am impressed by Haslam’s writing. He should be better known outside Kern County than he is. I’d definitely recommend seeking out one of his books.