Abstract
In his programme note (‘Director’s Ramblings’), Perry Mills prepares us for John Marston’s The Malcontent (1604) as performed by Edward’s Boys in a most unsettling way: ‘Be warned: this will not be a comfortable evening’. Well, I had been warned already. I was fortunate enough to attend a rehearsal a month previously: the skeleton of the production was already there. The boys who were not onstage whispered any forgotten lines to those running the scene, and they supportively cued each other for entrances and exits. I was impressed by both the independence of the young actors and the collaborative manner in which they worked.
I saw the second performance in the Levi Fox Hall at King Edward VI School in Stratford-upon-Avon. The production employed traverse staging, with spectators facing each other across a long, narrow performance space. We were all seated in close proximity to the acting area. Parents, school students, and academics – especially those in the first row – were ready for an evening of unforgettable theatre.
As the play began, a strangled cry of sadistic joy emanated from the Malcontent himself, unseen on the upper level. The boys pulled the strings and played with us as their puppets; we were their victims. An ear-splitting cacophony of barely musical sounds was heard and the play unravelled a plot full of intrigue, centred on a battle for the throne. But Mills also urges us to avoid becoming obsessed with the complex thread of the plot (‘the narrative is NOT the point’). The audience’s attention needs to be focused on the emotional storyline. As he told the actors in rehearsal, ‘You have to project yourself into the characters in order to feel what they are going through. You’ll be middle-class grammar school boys again after the rehearsal’.
The Malcontent firmly places the audience in thrall to the eponymous hero’s ferocious ambition. We cannot but dutifully follow in the wake of his ravenous pursuit of the dukedom of Genoa. Jack Hawkins delivers an incredible performance as the Malcontent, an early modern Jekyll and Hyde, playing two characters in one, Malevole, the parasitus, alter ego of Altofronto, the deposed Duke. And sometimes he even plays three or four interwoven characters, as when he mocks the old Biblioso (Nick Jones) or the bawd Maquerelle (Will Groves) by effortlessly adopting their vocal mannerisms. Broken voice, twisted posture, the frantic delivery, and contorted rhythms of the words: this is a highly demanding role physically and emotionally, and Altofronto is relieved when, like a snake sloughing its skin, he finally leaves Malevole behind. Perhaps.
Malevole is in a sense the conductor, the choir-master, leading his choir/audience by the nose (à la baguette) with his two drumsticks. He beats out the varied rhythms of the play, and his sticks become weapons, swords, guns, and phallic symbols galore, such as magic wands, cuckold’s horns, and phalluses. Throughout his many soliloquies, he addresses the audiences with brutal directness. I felt mildly ashamed when I could not contain my laughter on seeing the facial expression of a gentleman whom he called a ‘cuckold’ for no apparent reason. As in a tennis match, the gaze of the audience oscillates from left to right as the characters exchanged witty forehands and backhands with superb timing. Interactions with the spectators were sprinkled throughout the play: Biblioso nonchalantly asks someone on the front row to hold a letter for him as he dons his reading glasses; Mendoza (Ritvick Nagar) praises the beauty of a particular woman only to insult her one scene later.
Mills celebrates with his boys that awkward feeling of cringing embarrassment that theatre-goers usually try to avoid. The ‘cringe’ is by definition a difficult feeling to experience and to define, constantly swinging between mauvais goût and hilariousness. One is just not used to seeing twelve-year-old boys dressed in evening gowns, sashaying around in high heels with the confidence of celebrities on the red carpet of the Cannes Festival. Groves’s Maquerelle recalls Diane Kruger in his figure(?)-hugging bright red jumpsuit. He plays with such a strong faux-French accent that every time he utters a word the audience bursts into laughter. He displays a level of confidence that professional actors can only dream of, as he establishes himself as the true comic relief in the play.
The costumes reinforce the antithesis of boys acting as adults; nearly all of them wear tuxedos and formal suits, whereas the Malcontent wears a ragged vest and trousers covered in red paint (or blood?), with a white coat on the back of which screams the legend ‘THIS IS WHAT A MALCONTENT LOOKS LIKE’. Set in 2019 in Genoa, The Malcontent reflects that corrupt society, and the protagonist is indulged by the courtiers not in spite of but because of his propensity to criticise them. The effect is mirrored on the audience: because of our masochistic joy in being criticised and mocked, we too tolerate and even delight in Malevole’s vicious satire and abuse.
Mills, however, chooses to avoid a neat, ‘happy’ ending. Altofronto, having regained his position as the legitimate Duke of Genoa, serves as master of ceremonies, ushering each character from the stage as they are mentioned in his final speech. Last of all, he embraces his wife Maria (Felix Crabtree), who has remained steadfastly faithful. As she leaves the stage, the Duke reassumes his throne, holding his drumsticks like a pharaoh would hold his sceptres, and hisses at the audience. He then tosses the sticks away and walks off. This is a sour note indeed, pessimistic, and like so much of this production, provocative. Such a conclusion allows for several interpretations. First, Altofronto has played the Malcontent for too long, and the two characters are now indistinguishable. Altofronto will continue to be haunted by Malevole and the Duke will reign as a split personality. Second, this could be Malevole’s swansong. Malevole fades away and leaves Altofronto to reign all by himself. Third, there is no Altofronto anymore. Malevole has won and is about to cast his evil reign over the whole dukedom.
The Malcontent is a tragicomedy because it avoids death at every turn. The characters live on in a corrupted environment, yet death may strike at any moment, hanging over them like Damocles’s sword. Malevole has certainly left his mark on Altofronto, just like he has left his mark on the audience. Through the laughter, the terror, the pity, and the tears, this superb production was more than a staging of Marston’s play. It was also the reflection of ourselves and the society in which we are currently living.