Thoughts on Marlowe's Edward II

My goodness am I exhausted. Up till one last night, slept till four, got grades in only twenty-five minutes late. Slept only about an hour the night before. The wife wants to know how it is I’m still standing. So, naturally, what do we do? We go to see a play. Marlowe’s Edward II was playing tonight at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, put on by the Hypocrites, a local group that I don’t think I’ve seen before.

The play itself is good, but it seems to me like I’ve seen it before. Richard II Redux, it seemed to be, to me. Could have called it Run, Richard, Run too. An effeminate young king enriches his favorites, ignores his wife, is deposed, and dies, horribly. The main difference is that Edward is far less sympathetic. He is grotesquely, and grossly, obsessed with his lover. The Hypocrites, to my distaste, played up the visuals of this relationship, and the whimpering effeteness of Edward’s character, but, unless they were putting words on Marlowe’s page, there is plenty of textual evidence to support the sexual nature of the relationship. Edward’s behavior to his wife is unkind and cruel: he evinces kindness only when she helps him restore his lover to him, and thus exchanges her literal for a resurrected metaphorical exile. And his attitude toward the kingship is childish and selfish. While the throne is a source of gifts for his toy, he revels in it, but when his funds are depleted and his toy taken – in part because Edward has deprived himself of the funds with which to pay to protect the pretty noble – he has no interest in the position, except as a tool with which to have his way again in the future.

The other main difference is the language. I can’t do a textual analysis here for you, and I’ve never read in-depth on the possibility of Marlowe being Shakespeare, but I know now that Marlowe didn’t write Shakespeare. He couldn’t have. The language of the play I heard tonight is not the language of many plays I have seen and read by Shakespeare. I’m too tired to be precise, but the lines just didn’t seem to have the … length of the lines of Shakespeare. To be undoubtedly more clichéd, they didn’t have the same majesty. I didn’t feel sorry for Edward, but I did for Richard II. That’s ’cause Richard could talk.

The play was put on in the same space as was the CST’s Rose Rage of a few years ago, and its … ugh. I can’t do any more. I’m too tired. Let me just list a few points, mostly made by the beautiful Kay:

This bloody and inventive staging of Edward II was
effective but owed much to Rose Rage, it seemed, at
least in its charnel-house motifs – perhaps they both
owe a lot to horror films, though that’s speculation of
the moment.

Like in their staging of The Three Penny Opera a few
weeks ago, the Hypocrites played this show as well at
an extremely high pitch that allowed for little in the
way of modulation. My point: The quiet moments
near the end were not nearly as successful as the
quiet moments of Richard II are – this seemed to be
due at least in part to the choices made by the
company.

Kay mentioned she was surprised that the Defiant
Theatre, a now defunct but once long-running
local group, never got their hands on Edward II, a
play of excesses.

The choice of the actor who played the king’s lover
to play the king’s executioner was more than apt; if
you don’t know why, research how Edward is
rumored to have died, and you’ll see.

My point: The extreme gayness of the main
character was distracting and came off as childish.
Edward spoke in that hyperbolically whiny vibrato
typical of television clothing designers, and
flounced or pouted at every available moment. We
wouldn’t put up with that behavior from
kindergartners, and it was effective in denuding this
king of even the faint hints of glory that might have
made us pity him.

Ok, I’m done. Pardon the mistakes. By the way, don’t pity me too much on the hours. They’re self-inflicted. Teaching is a lot of work, but I’m not getting things done all day long then having to work all night. When I slip on the ice, ’tis by my own weight that I fall.