NOTE: The articles in these study guides are not meant to mirror or interpret any particular productions at the Utah Shakespeare Festival. They are meant, instead, to be an educational jumping-off point to understanding and enjoying the play (in any production at any theatre) a bit more thoroughly. Therefore the stories of the plays and the interpretative articles (and even characters at times) may differ from what is ultimately produced on stage.
Also, some of these articles (especially the synopses) reveal the ending and other “surprises” in some plays. If you don’t want to know this information before seeing the plays, you may want to reconsider studying this information.
By David G Anderson
Some may find it curious given the eponymous oeuvre of Shakespeare that Mike Reiss—long time writer on The Simpsons—and Nick Newlin would land on The Two Gentlemen of Verona as Shakespeare’s worst play. Granted there is that geographical incongruity of sailing by ship to and from inland cities, and unequivocally the most horrible ending in a Shakespearean play. It is as if Shakespeare looked down at his Rolex, noticed the time, and said, “Two and a half hours?” and hurriedly scribbled, “The End!” However, within the expansive cosmos of Shakespeare there are likelier candidates for “worst” like: Troilus and Cressida and Timon of Athens. Two Gents does have its charms. It’s a lively and often funny play, and being one of the Bard’s earliest plays, it embodies “an anthology of bits and pieces waiting to be crafted into more compelling drama” (Marjorie Garber, Shakespeare After All, p. 43). It also has two minor characters who become major characters in Shakespeare’s Worst!, and who present love at its purest. The twist? They are a servant and his dog, Launce and Crab. Why else would anyone endure a whipping, being locked in the stockades, and stand on a pillory for crimes committed by their dog? It must be love!
Nevertheless, for discussion purposes and enjoyment of this hilarious play, the acceptance of Two Gents as Shakespeare’s worst is vital. So, please reserve your judgements and momentarily adopt this premise that the Bard wrote nothing worse. The perfect portrayal, synopsis, and genesis of Shakespeare’s Worst! came in a personal conversation with Reiss, “The idea was to do a straight-forward production of Shakespeare’s worst play, but with a minor character constantly commenting to the audience about how bad the play sucks, call it Mystery Science Theatre 1600.”
Before reviewing the torrent of cringe-worthy giggles, the cataclysm of theatrical incompetence, and the babbling of a multitude of seemingly inconsequential lines, which pretty much defines badness, (which in this case is good), an abbreviated Cliff Notes adaptation of Two Gents might prove helpful.
“The play is a kind of love cartoon,” (Garber*,* 44). The dyad of Proteus and Valentine, both aptly named (Proteus or protean—changeable, and Valentine—loving to a fault) are the best of friends living in Verona. Proteus loves Julia who more than reciprocates. Valentine’s father demands he sail to Milan (which according to Shakespeare’s Worst! stage directions has a variety of pronunciations) where he fiercely falls in love with the Duke’s daughter, Silvia, who secretly reciprocates. Visiting Milan, Proteus decides he now wants Silvia (critics call this memetic desire), so he perfidiously throws Valentine under the bus so the Duke will banish Valentine. This would pave the way for Silvia who is supposed to marry her father’s favorite, the dull but apparently wealthy Thurio. Julia, now posing as a page, decides to cross-dress and chase after her man, Proteus. Silvia, sneaks off with the help of a loyal knight, romantically named Eglamour, to seek the haven of a friar’s cell. They all end up in the forest somewhere outside of Milan. This is the very forest where, of course, Valentine lives in exile and has “been adopted by a bunch of outlaws as their king. Captured by the outlaws (who turn out, in typical Shakespearean style, to be more ‘worthy . . . civil, full of good’ [5.4.150–153] than the better born aristocratic lovers)” (Garber*,* 49-50). And where the most exasperating and puzzling Shakespearean verbal exchanges take place.
The furious Silvia challenges Proteus regarding his malevolent behavior and his “perjury” in betraying his friend and forswearing his former love:
Silvia: Thou counterfeit to thy true friend.
Proteus: In love.
Who respects friend?
Silvia: All men but Proteus.
(5.4.53–54)
The increasingly dislikable Proteus attempts to rape her. “’I’ll force thee to my desire,” (5.4.64). This being, “the very threat against which he was supposedly defending her, a few lines before, when he came upon her in the outlaws’ grasp,” (Garber*,* 50). Valentine jumps out of hiding to rescue Silvia and to denounce Proteus:
Valentine: Thou common friend, that’s without faith or love,
For such is a friend now. Treacherous man,
Thou hast beguil’d my hopes; nought but mine eye
Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say
I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disapprove me.
Who should be trusted now, when one’s right hand
Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,
I am sorry I must never trust thee more,
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst,
‘Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst.
Proteus: My shame and guilt confounds me.
Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow
Be sufficient ransom for offence,
As e’er I did commit.
Valentine: Then I am paid,
And once again I do perceive thee honest.
Who by repentance is not satisfied,
Is nor of heaven, nor earth, for these are please’d:
By penitence th’ eternal’s wrath appeased.
And that my love may appear plain and free
All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. (5.4.62–68)
Say what? This passage has scholars, critics, editors, even actors darting from manuscript to authoritarian text for some rational elucidation. Is there possibly some textual error, or some indecipherable variant, perhaps a line given to Valentine in error? It is all horribly mystifying.
Julia promptly swoons and the horrified Silvia thankfully is no longer required to speak for the rest of the play.
The “changed” Proteus might be the most revolting thing in all of Shakespeare, and no one is buying it. “What is in Silvia’s face but I may spy / More fresh in Julia’s with a constant eye” (4.4.103). Translation, “Any one woman will do as well as another. All men, Shakespeare hints, are invited to substitute any two women’s names for Silvia and Julia,” (Harold Bloom, Shakespeare, The Invention of the Human, p. 40).
Resuming now to the hilarity, and atrocity (in a good way), of the play Shakespeare’s Worst. The fourth wall of theatre is shattered by Launce (Proteus’s servant) to inform the audience that the horridness that we are witnessing is even more awfulthen we imagine. Reiss’s decision to spotlight Launce as the interpreter/critic is pure brilliance. “Launce and his dog matter, for the rest” (Bloom, 40).
Dying is easy, comedy is difficult, as the actor playing Launce quickly discovers. He might be the quintessential actor making the best of an actor’s worst nightmare. The play and the production are so bad that he feels it necessary to interrupt the play’s progress in order to deflect fault. His intent is to mitigate how harsh we judge him for all the awfulness. The ardent solicitation of our sympathies is shameful (which in this play is good). He exhibits nifty remote-control powers, being able to pause, resume, and fast-forward action. (Wouldn’t a remote with fast-forward capabilities while viewing a poorly-produced Shakespearean play be handy?). How regretful is the play? Take the scene featuring Proteus and his not-so-swift servant Speed, Launce counts with/for us the number of times the word “sheep” is uttered—and the normal consequence of folks who count sheep is?
Crab the dog, notorious scene stealer in every other production of Two Gents, emerges here as a sock puppet (Can you say low-budget production?). His theft of scenes escalates now that he has lines constantly interrupting and frustrating the less-puissant Launce.
Launce and Crab mock politics, other character’s names, and whatever else strikes their fancy. There is the skipping of huge parts of the play, but rather than offering explanations, Launce merely says “You’re Welcome.” The above-detailed ending of Two Gents is so appalling Launce demands that everyone redo the scene in English and once again in American. The awfulness remains, but the amusement escalates.
We live in an often vexing and byzantine world, and sometimes it’s wonderful to momentarily exit that world, to escape and to laugh. The endless one-liners, coupled with the awkward moments, mutiny, and remarkable hysterics make this supposed “Shakespeare’s Worst” play a laughing stock (in a good way). Laughter is the omphalos here, so bring a bag to breathe into if you are prone to gelastic spells. However, if laughing (i.e. fall out of your chair laughing) isn’t your cup of tea, Pericles and Cymbeline are playing at the Utah Shakespeare Festival this year.
