My Namesake, My Inspiration

One of the circumstances that gave birth to this blog is a current production of THE MISANTHROPE by Molière*.  This production uses Richard Wilbur’s verse translation, and like other productions, fails to be as funny as the play one sees when one reads it. 

A big reason for this is that much is made of the period in most productions.  While Molière was writing about and for the French court of the 17^th century, it serves only as the setting and not the substance of the play.  We place Shakespeare’s Ephesus or Athens or Rome in another time, or geography independent from his original intention, and THE MISANTHROPE is just as flexible because its subject is universal human folly.  The restrictions put on behavior by making the play a period piece handcuffs the actors from exploring the follies in the behavior of the characters. 

This is what happens to Alceste.  He is never as big in performance as he is on the page.  The word ‘rage’ is invoked several times in reference to him, but we never see rage, only agitation. Alceste is written for Sam Kinison or Lewis Black, and is always performed by Dennis Miller.  He is supposed to rant and rave, and all we are ever given are well-reasoned arguments.  When he is thus inhibited in his tirades to Philinte, his friend and sounding board, how are we supposed to laugh at his attempts to control himself and sound reasonable around Oronte, or at his infatuation with Célimène?  We need to see why the other characters consider him ridiculous, why they laugh at him, and why they are amused enough by his abuses to keep him around.  Alceste is ridiculous, and must be allowed to be so.

The play is called THE MISANTHROPE, but that does not mean that we are meant to sympathize with Alceste.  Everything he suffers he brings upon himself.  While his criticism of the other characters is justified and spot-on, so are theirs of him.

We are not, in fact, meant to take sides with any of these characters, only to laugh at their behavior towards one another.  No one is wholly innocent.  The closest are Philinte and Eliante, but their story only serves to throw more egg onto Alceste’s face.  They have the closest thing to a real moment in the play, but are always interrupted, for to have a real moment of feeling in the piece is awkward.  Unfortunately, productions try to give meaningful moments to the misanthrope, the coquette, the fops, and they all ring false and out of place.

THE MISANTHROPE suffers because it is by Molière, the French Shakespeare, and must be put on a pedestal just as high.  That mistake dries up the comedy in this essentially plot-less play and turns what should be belly laughs into polite chuckles.  The characters are never big enough, and until they are allowed to be, THE MISANTHROPE will never be as funny as everyone claims it to be.

*I am giving my readers the benefit of the doubt, and assuming that they are relatively familiar with major works of theatre, and will dispense with play synopses.  Of course, I do recommend reading any play that is new to you, and apologize for any spoilers appearing in this blog.