Twelfth Night

They said on the 27th of March last that it couldn't be done, and it did seem impossible: to level and fill 16 acres of what had once been a salt marsh, dig a moat, lay foundation piles and piers, erect a huge theatre of pioneering design, and prepare a production in time for a July 9 opening.

I-told-you-so's were voiced when May 7 rolled around and no erecting had yet begun. Bad weather provided an almost constant impediment, to say nothing of a couple of serious mishaps. Three days before the scheduled opening a downpour was still able to drench everything and everybody; certain facets of the construction were eleven days behind; and the actors had not yet even tested the stage. Failure seemed assured. At 7:30 p.m. on July 9 steamrollers were still operating and workmen were still driving stakes. But at eight o'clock the Governor and other prominent citizens arrived by boat for the formal ribbon-cutting dedication of the Metropolitan Boston Arts Center. And a half hour later, the Theatre lights went down and the Cambridge Drama Festival's inaugural performance got under way right on time.

Everyone concerned had worked zealously and overtime on this exciting community project. And the mounting of any show on schedule would have been an impressive achievement. But the fact that the opening performance provided a highly engrossing evening calls for a hearty "Bravo." This is not to say that the performance was perfect; the show was somewhat uneven, the cast had not been able yet to gauge the acoustics of the strange structure with a full audience in it, and much of the lighting was insecure. But it was far superior to what one could have expected under the circumstances, and most of the faults have doubtless been remedied during the intervening performances.

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In choosing the first show, the powers-that-be naturally wanted a festive work of acknowledged merit. They settled on Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, and engaged Herbert Berghof as director. The work is too well known to warrant much comment. It is, of course, the last and subtlest of the Bard's true comedies--a study of (1) unrequited lovers (in which, by rare exception, young love is not opposed by an elder generation), and of (2) poseurs. Every member of the personae is a persona in the old Latin sense of a mask-wearer; and the play is, in a way, an Elizabethan counterpart of today's best-seller, The Status Seekers.

Now Shakespeare was a pretty imaginative fellow. And director Berghof is one of the most acutely imaginative men in the business (as any one of his recent productions will testify). Put the two men together, and the result was bound to be unusual and worth careful examination.

Berghof's thinking must have run something as follows: "This is a festive occasion, so I want a festive production. The author has obligingly given a good deal of license in the second part of his complete title--Twelfth Night; or, What You Will. The most famous words in the whole play are, oddly enough, the very first ones: 'If music be the food of love, play on.' Ha, look at the next words: 'Give me excess of it.' And Shakespeare has filled his text with references to songs. Of course we can't have singing without dancing too. I'll advertise my version as 'a music and dance extravaganza of Twelfth Night.' [Webster's Dictionary defines 'extravaganza' as something "wildly irregular."] Malvolio has a phrase in the play, "the fools' zanies." I'll just interpret that as "the Fool's zanies" and create two new characters, a singing zany and a dancing zany, to accompany Feste the Fool; and the three of them will provide a running counterpoint throughout the show.

"Naturally, all this extra singing and dancing will take up a lot of time. And I do want the show to be entertaining above all, so I'd better play up the farcical opportunities and invent a lot of by-play. Still, I only have two hours and a half. Well, I'll do a little pruning here and there in the text; and I guess I'll just have to omit the whole taunting of Malvolio in prison, though I realize it's the climax of the entire anti-Malvolio plotting. This does mean I'm upsetting Shakespeare's delicately balanced construction; but that will have to yield just this once to allow for my additions, because, after all, I've got to have a really festive show."

Whatever one may think of this line of reasoning, it must be admitted that Berghof has succeeded in doing almost everything he set out to do. His production makes use of the fine two-story basic stage that Robert O'Hearn designed for the Cambridge Drama Festival's shows in Sanders Theatre. High up, Lester Polakov (whose costumes add much to the general lightness and brightness) has affixed a number of white, stylized orange-tree tops. And by having spikes driven into the poles, Berghof has enabled people to scamper up to a third level. In the garden scene where Malvolio discovers the faked letter, Berghof has a whole crew of people costumed as animals and perches them in the treetops with all manner of animal noise-makers to razz Malvolio (one of them even hits Malvolio with the contents of a water pistol).

Berghof's staging of the outdoor barbecue and drinking party participated in by Sir Toby Belch and his cronies is a brilliant elaboration. It is also leisurely: the carousers join in singing, one after another, a wonderful series of catches and glees--and not just snatches, but entire pieces. These, and the rest of the extensive musical score for the show, were composed in a sure-handed, neo-Elizabethan style by Andre Singer (his instrumentation is comprised of flute, trumpet, harp, and a sizable battery of percussion).

The Viola-Aguecheek duel is lengthy (there must be five minutes without a word), but hilarious all the way. And to inspirit the combatants, Berghof has his Dancing Zany beat a drum during the dueling--an historically authentic touch. There are many other instances of inspired staging. And at the end, instead of having everyone exit and leave Feste alone to sing the closing song, Berghof brings everybody on stage, even Malvolio, and has each principal sing a solo bit as in a massed opera buffa finale.

What of the individual performances? It will come as no surprise that Siobhan McKenna's Viola is a gem. Someone once wrote that Violas are born, not made; and Miss McKenna is clearly a born Viola. She is a great enough actress not to have to worry that, at her first entrance, she not only doesn't move under her own power but is completely unconscious.

Viola is the one honest, sincere, and normal person in the play. Yet for most of the time she must go about abnormally disguised as a young boy, who looks like her twin brother Sebastian. The problem was quite different in Elizabethan times, since actresses were interdicted and both roles were taken by young boys. Miss McKenna is able to convey a zestful boyishness without ever losing her innate womanliness. And more than any one else in the cast, she pays attention to the poetic qualities of the text (though on opening night she sometimes lowered her voice to the brink of inaudibility).

Zachary Scott manages to convey Orsino's melancholy, but more by appearance and manner than by speech. And he has the pleasure of being wheeled about in a handsome mollusk-shell chariot. Patricia Cutts is a soft Olivia, in love with mourning and "of beauty truly blent" as the mistress of an enormous household.

Tammy Grimes, as Olivia's gentlewoman-servant Maria, is perfect. She makes it clear that Maria's wits are as sharp as her nose and her chin; she is quite bright enough to have thought up one of the profoundest statements in the play: "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em." Miss Grimes skedaddles and flits about with a lively infectiousness that is devastating.

As the cold-voiced Malvolio, Fritz Weaver is adequate. His best moment, though, occurs when he is speechless: in his cross-gartered scene he brings along the forged letter and, misinterpreting Olivia's question, "Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?," drops it on the ground in stunned amazement. William Daniels' Sebastian leaves a favorable impression. Frederick O'Neal looks the part of the sea-captain Antonio, but his Shakespearean diction is woefully deficient.

George Mathews is pretty funny as Sir Toby Belch. But there is much more in the role than he has extracted from it; he doesn't even live up to his own last name. Michael Wager acts a suitably foolish Sir Andrew Aguecheek, and looks ridiculous in his red and azure clothes and yellow gloves. John Karlen makes the most of the servant Fabian, the one badly written role in the play.

The Feste of Alvin Epstein is outstanding. But even his performance is overshadowed by those of the two sidekicks Berghof invented for him. The Dancing Zany in entrusted to Geoffrey Holder, a 28-year-old six-and-a-half-foot mine of talent: dancer, choreographer, singer, actor, painter, composer, writer, photographer, book illustrator, and folklorist. This show draws on only the first three of his many gifts. Dressed in a striking white costume with mismatched red and orange gloves and stockings, he does a thousand and one things with skill and vigor. The Singing Zany is played by Russell Oberlin, who cavorts about with lightness. Being the world's finest countertenor (natural male alto), he displays again and again a soaring voice of unbelievable purity and beauty.

This Twelfth Night may not satisfy the Shakespearean purist; but it is certain to please everybody else.