“At least there’s no plague this year, “Johnny said as we enter the Globe for our rehearsal of 'Julius Caesar'.Last week, the New York Times published a poorly written essay titled Let Actors Act by Pamela Paul, former editor of the Times Book Review, in which she chose to offer her opinion on the modern debate on representation on American stages.
“It’s called acting,” she said, a sarcastic and tired way of telling people to just shut up already, anyone can play anything. But while it is true that anyone can play anything, it is another question as to whether they should. And that is a nuanced and interesting conversation Paul apparently does not wish to participate in.
I have my own thoughts on the matter, perhaps someday I will share them. It is enough to say, for now, that each individual production warrants its own thoughtful discussion. But did you know that during Shakespeare’s time, women were not permitted to perform on public stages?
Presumably no people of color, either. That doesn’t mean they did not, only that they were not legally permitted to. However, people do not always follow such laws, and for their own individual reasons.
Jinny Webber’s novel Bedtrick begins with a trope explored in the film Shakespeare In Love (and elsewhere I’m sure) in which a woman passes as a boy to play female roles on stage at a time when that was forbidden in England. Taken to its extreme, however, the person in question would have to live each day as a man, forming relationships and connections – and always under threat of discovery.
What follows is a queer fantasty, inspired by true events and peopled with historical characters, which has great resonance today as we navigate the limits of LGBTQIA+ acceptance in the 21st century.
At center is Alexander “Sander” Cooke, which was the name of a player in the Lord Chamberlain’s Men (Shakespeare’s company) and in Webber’s imagination, born female and presenting as male from a young age. Only passing, though. She presumes herself heterosexual, as evidenced by her attraction only toward men (notably, a relationship with the poet John Donne) until she enters into a marriage of convenience with her close friend, the seamstress and shop-owner Frances, when she, Frances, has become pregnant with Johnny, Sander’s older brother. Johnny is also a player in the company, and refuses to marry Frances.
Surely, that’s impossible, historians may protest. It would not be permitted, a woman living day to day, assuming the identity of a man. And that is the argument, whether it could be possible. Those who are oppressed have always relied upon an uneasy alliance with those with the privilege for assistance, people who either support or do not have an interest one way or the other in non-codified avenues of living. This is as true today as it has ever been.
This includes the character of William Shakespeare who is one of several people who know Sander’s secret and keeps it. This does not make him an ally, he has a very talented actor who he believes can best originate roles such as Portia, Viola, Gertrude, Isabel and most notably, Rosalind. It is in his own interest that Sander is not found out, not hers.
The main interest, however, lies in how the relationship between Sander and Frances evolves over the years, through friendship, passion, loss, heartbreak, and finally a true affection which rivals that of any successfully married couple. Are they lesbians? Bisexual? Is Sander transsexual? These were not terms used at that time nor are they employed here, and without such labels we simply see these two for who they are, in their own private, unique relationship, figuring out how best to live and be happy.
See also: Shakespeare On Stage
Source: "Let Actors Act" by Pamela Paul, The New York Times, 5/15/2022
Interesting, the URL for this page reads "Acting-Representation-Identity" as if it were a placeholder for a complete different editorial.
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