Feminism in the Field of Verse and Violence

Cross-posted from Brave Spirits Theatre's blog

CW: sexual assault

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a feminist. For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved William Shakespeare. As an artist and a woman, I often find myself thinking about the ways in which these two things can be in direct contrast. The drama of the early modern English stage is one that frequently stages verbal, physical, and sexual assault against women. As a company, Brave Spirits Theatre is interested in exploring the violent nature of these plays – it’s in our tagline: verse and violence. And yet our modern entertainment is full of examples of violence against women being glorified, sensationalized, or use as a shortcut for character development. I’m tired of watching movies and tv shows that use assault carelessly. So I’m often left asking myself: How do I (and how does Brave Spirits) present these plays that we are dedicated to in a responsible manner? What are we asking our audience to witness, and to what purpose?

I’ve been thinking about these issues in a renewed way, for three main reasons: 1, I’m directing The Changeling, which contains multiple instances of non-consensual touch; 2, the appointment of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court has opened deep wounds for many, not only because of the alarming rate at which women are assaulted in America, but also the way survivors are treated in the aftermath; and 3, I recently spent the weekend in Milwaukee at the Statera conference, an organization dedicated to the uplifting of women in the arts. During one of the sessions at the conference, we talked about what female and feminist directors can do when they are hired to directed outdated and misogynistic pieces, especially when they are considered classics of the American theatre.

It’s certainly a big question, and there are not necessarily any easy answers, but the overarching take away I had is: it matters who is in the room; it matters who has a say in how how these stories are interpreted.

The story of The Changeling has been overwhelmingly controlled by men (and of course the play was written by two male playwrights from a highly patriarchal period). As I’ve researched the play, I’ve found myself frustrated with the way many male directors and editors have characterized the events and the tone of the play. Analyses of the play often treat Beatrice Joanna and De Flores as perversely meant for each other – as though Beatrice’s ugly internal desires matches De Flores’ ugly exterior. As one male director noted, “The Changeling is like Romeo and Juliet on the dark side.” I find this description, which has much more frequently been applied to ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore, to be a complete misunderstanding of The Changeling: this play is not about love, even in a twisted form. Many productions use the word “sexy” to sell this play, which is probably used to frequently as a catch-all selling point for all Jacobean drama. The Changeling may be about sex, but that is not the same thing as being sexy.

To place Beatrice Joanna and De Flores in a love relationship is to ignore the ways in which Beatrice’s entrapment in a patriarchal society limits her choices. To consider Beatrice as evil as anyone else in this play is to ignore the fact that she pursues killing Alonzo as an alternative to Alsemero challenging him to a duel; that Alsemero suggests murder first. It is to ignore the emotional manipulation that De Flores constantly practices on Beatrice, his purposeful and consistent attempts to demean her and have her internalize that low opinion.

In the major climax of the play, De Flores requires Beatrice’s virginity in payment for the murder of Alonzo. It is, unequivocally, an act of rape. But I’ve seen productions, artists, and academics twist themselves around in order to insist that what happens in that scene is consensual. I was horrified to read in the Shakespeare Handbooks edition of The Changeling, by Jay O’Berski, the comment, “It’s clear that he loves her and respects her enough not to drag her off for instant gratification” (pg. 48). This is a horribly offensive misunderstanding of the way sexual assault works. O’Berkski continues, “She may struggle violently with him if this is interpreted as a rape but her silence may signal a complicity that screaming for help would surely absolve” (pg. 50). This is rape culture – What were you wearing? Why didn’t you yell for help? Why didn’t you fight back? Why didn’t you tell someone? To claim that the scene would need a “violent struggle” in order for the action to “count” as rape is deeply problematic. From what I’ve seen, male interpreters of this text do not stage, or perhaps even realize, the emotional and mental manipulation that often accompanies acts of sexual violence. They do not think about what the act of coercion looks like. They do not consider the non-physical forms of abuse. And they do not consider the lasting effects such trauma has on a person.

To seek to rehabilitate De Flores, to present him as misunderstood, is to refuse to confront the cruelty men, socialized by entitlement and patriarchy, are capable of doing. To make this play a love story is to prioritize his experience over hers. What does it mean to stage early modern plays with such violence and how do we do it responsibly? It’s a question I’ll continue asking myself, but I know it matters who gets to tell the story. It means believing the experience of the female characters.

– Charlene V. Smith, Artistic Director