Keeping Up with the Lancasters

King Henry VI costume design by Lauren T. Roark

By Kathryn Neves

The last few years have seen a rise in British family dramas. With shows like The Crown and Downton Abbey, it’s easy to see why complicated families make such entertaining stories. But this isn’t a new trend— no, it goes all the way back to Shakespeare!

This year at the Utah Shakespeare Festival, we’re continuing one of the biggest family dramas in history. Henry VI Part One, though not often produced, is a captivating look into England’s crazy family dynamics. Now, you don’t need to be an expert on the English royal family to enjoy this season’s production, but Henry’s family history is too exciting to ignore. Let’s take a closer look at the family behind some of Shakespeare’s masterpieces.

The story really starts with Edward III—Henry VI’s great-great-grandfather. Whether or not Shakespeare wrote a play about him is debatable— but even so, Edward is at the crux of this ongoing family crisis. After studying his family tree, Edward decides (much to France’s chagrin) that he is the rightful king of France. And thus, the Hundred Years’ War is born. Although he eventually admits that he isn’t France’s rightful king, his actions leave a bitter taste in the French mouth for decades to come.

Edward has many children, and three of them are major players in this ongoing drama: Edward the Black Prince, the heir to the throne; Lionel, Duke of Clarence; and John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. Unfortunately, the Black Prince dies before his father, so when Edward III eventually passes, the rightful heir is his grandson; the Black Prince’s child, Richard II. Because he is only a baby, his uncle John of Gaunt is left to care for the kingdom while Richard grows up.

As you might know if you have been following our history cycle, Richard II is a very bad king. Corrupt, weak, and extravagant, Richard finds himself very unpopular with his family— especially with Gaunt’s son, Henry Bolingbroke. And when Gaunt dies, instead of letting Bolingbroke rightfully inherit his father’s wealth and lands, Richard seizes it all for himself, sending Bolingbroke into a frenzy. He rallies up an army and takes over the throne. After declaring himself King Henry IV, he imprisons and murders Richard. Not a great way to treat a cousin, if you ask me.

Naturally, the rest of the family is not extremely pleased with Henry IV’s behavior. One group of cousins in particular hates Henry the most; the grandchildren of Lionel, Duke of Clarence. Because Lionel was born before Gaunt, his descendants believe that they have more of a right to the throne than Henry does. So Henry IV spends his entire reign fighting off his own family to keep the throne for himself— eventually passing it on to his son, Henry V.

Henry V’s reign starts off with a whole lot of excitement. Like his great-grandfather, Edward III, Henry decides that he deserves the French crown more than the current French king. And, as you probably remember from two seasons ago, Henry does pretty well in France; he wins major battles and gains a lot of land, as well as the hand in marriage of the French king’s daughter, Katherine of Valois. Things seem to be going well for Henry.

But meanwhile, there’s another player in the story; someone who will upset everything for Henry and for his infant son, the future Henry VI. His name is Richard, the Duke of York. He’s the great-great grandson of Lionel of Clarence, Edward III’s second son. He’s also the grandson of Edmund of York, Edward’s fourth son, on his father’s side. This makes him Henry V’s second cousin, twice removed. And he wants the throne too. After all, he is from the Lionel’s, who, in his opinion, really deserve the throne. As if that isn’t enough, Richard also wants revenge: Henry V’s line, the Lancasters, have killed Richard’s father. So, while Henry V lives out the rest of his life, Richard bides his time.

After dying quite young from dysentery, Henry V leaves his throne to his infant son, Henry VI. And because the new king is so young and weak, France decides to make their move: Henry V is dead, so they want their land back. And now is the perfect time for Richard York to move in too. After gathering a group of rebels, Richard starts a fight against the Lancasters for the throne— thus kicking off the War of the Roses. Richard goes on to have several children, two of whom will eventually become king—but enough of that. I won’t spoil it for you.

Watch Henry VI Part One this summer! With warfare, witchcraft, and good-old-fashioned family drama, you’ll be on the edge of your seat. It’s a thriller that moves us ever closer to the conclusion of Shakespeare’s history cycle.

(And if you forget anything, take a look at this family tree– we won’t tell. It’s your own little cheat sheet!)

Why Shakespeare Rewrote History

By Kathryn Neves

The lineup of plays this season at the Utah Shakespeare Festival is looking to be one of the most exciting yet— especially with the continuation of the History Cycle. Henry VI Part One is a play you may not get the chance to see elsewhere, and it’s sure to be powerful with master director Henry Woronicz, and star actors like Geoffrey Kent, Jim Poulos, Tracie Lane, and John Ahlin. But with this play comes one important question— why is it so different from what really happened?

Shakespeare is notorious for rewriting history to fit his dramatic needs. Combining characters, omitting important events, and making up iconic scenes in the hopes of boosting the drama of the story all work together to create plays more founded in fiction than fact. For instance, Henry VI Part One contains one of literature’s most iconic and exciting scenes— the plucking of red and white roses, initiating the start of the infamous War of the Roses. It’s a tense, striking scene that sparks the brutal wars of the next few plays. It’s because of this famous scene that we call the conflict the War of the Roses. So what makes this scene really amazing is that it probably never happened.

There is absolutely no evidence that either side ever plucked colored roses during an argument. On the contrary, the Yorkist white rose and the Lancastrian red were heraldic badges worn by either side. Shakespeare’s political flower-picking was really only a metaphor for the noblemen siding with their closest kinsmen. Before Shakespeare, no one thought much of the red and white roses. They were just pieces of the heraldry, nothing more.

Why make up an entire scene? Why didn’t Shakespeare just write what really happened? Wasn’t historical accuracy important to him at all? Well, no. At least, probably not. Shakespeare was, first and foremost, an entertainer; second, a propagandist for the English state. And in his day (and in ours, too), a powerful, visual scene was much more exciting than watching actors just talk over their political leanings. Though, of course, there’s plenty of that in Shakespeare too.

The rose-picking scene isn’t the only thing Shakespeare changed. The role of Joan of Arc, the maid of Orléans, is wildly different in Shakespeare’s play than in the real history. And why is that? Well, that can be answered in one word: propaganda. Shakespeare changed certain characters and events to reflect more favorably on the English crown and the State religion: in this case, both. By villainizing Joan of Arc, Shakespeare was promoting English Protestantism and also justifying the crown’s execution of her.

For the huge number of historical plays that Shakespeare wrote during his lifetime, very few of them tell the real story. But all in all, that’s okay. We watch a Shakespeare play to be entertained and to learn about the human spirit. And in both of these pursuits, the Bard is extremely accurate. So come enjoy Henry VI Part One this season. You might learn something new— but, of course, take all the history with a grain of salt.

The Merchant of Cedar City

By Kathryn Neves

Since the very first year of the Utah Shakespeare Festival, audiences have fallen in love over and over again with Shakespeare’s “dramedy” The Merchant of Venice. It’s an appealing love story wrapped around a complex, fascinating study of religious and social tensions. And because of its popularity, the Festival has produced it a number of times! From fun and farcical to deep and complex, this play has evolved in its Cedar City productions over the years; and this year is perhaps more eye-opening and groundbreaking than ever before. Breaking down barriers between gender, race, and traditional vs. progressive theatre techniques, Melinda Pfundstein’s production of The Merchant of Venice is bound to be stunningly powerful. But before you see it this summer, take a look at our previous productions!

1962

The Festival’s first production of The Merchant of Venice in 1962

In the very first season of the Festival, The Merchant of Venice was an obvious choice. With its themes of religious tension and persecution, this show has always been a Utah favorite. According to the July 19, 1962 edition of the Iron County Record, the production was immensely successful: “Despite threatening weather, overflow crowds attended performances of . . . The Merchant of Venice.”

Of course, back in 1962, it was a very different production than what you might see today. Festival Founder Fred C. Adams stated in 1975 that “we were working with a totally inexperienced company with temporary settings and with limited time.  We played the story as a romantic comedy which I now feel was something of a cop-out . . . an easy way around what I feel to be the message of the play. It was the best we could do with the time, settings, and experience level with which we had to work.”

Director: Fred C. Adams
Antonio: Gary Magnuson
Shylock: Drew Moren
Portia: Gaylynn Sherratt

1968

Only six years later, the play was back by popular demand: as Adams stated, “Festival audiences have already enthusiastically endorsed The Merchant of Venice.” And as audiences evolved, so did the production. This time around, Shylock’s story of revenge and hatred was much more important than the romance between Bassanio and Portia.

Director: Brian Hansen
Antonio: Gene L. Eugene
Shylock: Richard C. Jamieson
Portia: Ellen Matthews

1975

Margaret Bongiovanni (left) as Portia and Paul Craggs as Bassanio in 1975

In the seventies, in the midst of reshaping racial relations in the United States, The Merchant of Venice was more relevant than ever before. Adams, in a 1975 edition of Utah Holiday magazine, stated that “to the audience, the play may be a warning to Americans that compassion must prevail. . . . We need to be reminded this summer that narrow definitions of man’s relationships will not survive. Shakespeare was telling us this over 300 years ago.”

Interestingly, this was produced in the first season after a balcony added onto the then in-progress Adams Shakespearean Theatre.

Director: Fred C. Adams
Antonio: Lon Huber
Shylock: Sam Tsoutsouvas
Portia: Margaret Bongiovanni

1983

According to director Margaret Hahn, the next production of The Merchant of Venice was all about harmony and understanding in a time of contention. “The action of the play concerns itself with the struggle for an ideal of harmony: in love, in friendship, in family bonds and religious bonds within the reality of a changing new mercantilistic world. . . . Even though Portia professes the law of mercy and love here, her actions quickly become merciless in their rigidity to that law. Shylock is guilty, but we have seen the betrayals and hypocrisies that have poisoned him.”

Director: Margaret Hahn
Antonio: Henry Woronicz
Shylock: James Edmondson
Portia: Katherine Moore

1992

The 1992 production focused on values and ideals— the way that characters clash because of what they believe in, whether religious, moral, or practical in nature. As stated in the director’s notes, “Shakespeare’s kaleidoscopic display of virtues and vices is crucial to the meaning of The Merchant of Venice. These blatant contradictions bring to life characters which otherwise would be mere abstractions in the world of the play. We recognize their humanity because of the unresolved conflicts within their souls.”

Director: Eli Simon
Antonio: George Judy
Shylock: William Leach
Portia: Deanne Lorette

2000

Anthony De Fonte (left) as Shylock and Richard Thomsen as Antonio in 2000

Following the last several productions, the 2000 version of Merchant delved even deeper into Shylock’s complex character and fluid standing between hero and villain. From Ina Marlowe’s director’s notes: “The humanity and empathy that always flowed from [Shakespeare’s] pen makes Shylock too complex to be dismissed, too eloquent to be ignored. Shylock no more represents all Jews than Antonio all Christians, yet Shakespeare’s story sees even the oppressor destroyed by the world his hatred creates. Generations of anger, blame, and degradation combust, and the verdict of the court brings ‘justice,’ but no peace.”

Director: Ina Marlowe
Antonio: Richard Thomsen
Shylock: Anthony De Fonte
Portia: Kathleen McCall

2006

From prolific and powerful director J.R. Sullivan: “We must encounter the Merchant, the Lover, the State of Grace, and the Jew anew. The so-called ‘problems’ of the play become the center of its complications and life. Once again, ‘the form and pressure of the time’ is unpacked with the trunks that contain the old play.” This production brought us even closer to understanding both the differences and the similarities between Jews and Christians in a world full of religious tensions.

Director: J. R. Sullivan
Antonio: Michael Sharon
Shylock: John Pribyl
Portia: Sara Kathryn Bakker

2010

Gary Neal Johnson (left) as Antonio and Tony Amendola as Shylock in 2010

In the Festival’s most recent production of Shakespeare’s masterpiece, a renowned actor, Tony Amendola, brought a complexity, humanity, and realism to Shylock in a way that stunned and amazed audiences. From a review in Salt Lake City Weekly, July 14, 2010, Dan Nailen wrote that “the tension between Christians and Jews in The Merchant of Venice isn’t the sole focus of the play, but it does have a massive influence on the plot, thanks to the boiling hatred between Shylock . . . and Antonio. . . . While Shylock is clearly the villain, Amendola fleshes him out in such a way that the audience can feel sorry for him as his world collapses around him.”

Director: Sharon Ott
Antonio: Gary Neal Johnson
Shylock: Tony Amendola
Portia: Emily Trask

Did you see any of these productions over the years? Tell us what you remember via our Facebook or Twitter feeds: #merchantusf

Bookends of Villiany

Lisa Wolpe as Shylock

By Kathryn Neves

From Puck to Prospero, Cordelia to Cleopatra, Shakespeare’s heroes light up pages and stages across the world. And as for the villains, Shakespeare’s close look into their motives and their actions reveal complicated, realistic characters such as the world has never seen. Truthfully, the villains can be more compelling than their heroic counterparts. And nowhere is that more true than this season at the Utah Shakespeare Festival. This year, two of Shakespeare’s most infamous villains take the stage— the bitter Jewish moneylender Shylock, and the jealous, manipulative ensign Iago. By creating villains that stand practically opposite each other, Shakespeare explores the spectrum of evil with all its complexities and contradictions.

The difference between Iago and Shylock can be stated very simply; it’s the nature/nurture debate. Is evil born, or does it arise out of circumstances? Well, according to Shakespeare, both. Iago, with very little motivation or reason, takes pleasure in destroying the lives of the people around him. His evil seems to be born; there’s really no reason for him act as nefariously as he does. Iago hates Othello; without any real provocation, he destroys Othello’s life.

Shylock, on the other hand, is trapped in a terrible circumstance, surrounded by bigotry, hatred, and prejudice, he has no choice but to grow bitter and hardened as a way to protect himself. He has so much justification in his evil actions that often, audiences sympathize with him more than they do Antonio. His villainous actions are a response to the years and years of cruelty that he has received at the hands of the Venetian Christians. After seeing him downtrodden, spit upon, and mocked consistently, we can understand and sympathize with Shylock, even in his villainy. Not so with Iago.

Often, people claim that Iago is a psychopath. One of the primary signs of psychopathy is a lack of empathy. This certainly holds true for Iago. He shows no remorse, no kindness, and no understanding to any of the victims that he pursues. While he may act innocent and honest in front of the other characters, it is clear that Iago can’t or won’t make connections with the people around him.

Shylock, however, is the complete opposite. One of Shakespeare’s most famous speeches comes in act 3, scene 1 of The Merchant of Venice. “Hath not a Jew eyes?” Shylock asks. “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?” Shylock shows clear signs of empathy and understanding, to the point that he pleads with others to empathize with him and all members of his race. Continuing on, we see that Shylock genuinely cares for his loved ones. When Jessica runs away with Lorenzo, he is distraught; when he sees that his wife’s ring has been stolen, he is heartbroken. His relationships with his loved ones matter to him, while we can see that Iago cares nothing for anyone around him—not the trusting Othello or even his own wife Emilia.

Perhaps even more telling is the way that they carry out their evil plots. Shylock is direct: he has one goal, and that is to go after Antonio. He doesn’t hurt anyone else in the process: only the person who has wronged him. Not only that, but he goes after Antonio with blunt honesty—he doesn’t hide any of his emotions or his intentions from the merchant. Iago, too, has one victim in mind, Othello; but unlike Shylock, Iago doesn’t care who gets in his way. He doesn’t care who else he hurts, so long as he can get his revenge on Othello. Iago destroys Roderigo, Cassio, Desdemona, and Emilia in his plot to bring down his nemesis. Not only that, but rather than going about it honestly, Iago tricks the people around him into hurting each other. Iago’s villainy is a web of deceit, manipulation, and sadism.

It’s no wonder, then, that audiences in every time and place have found sympathy with Shylock’s plight and nothing but disgust and hatred for Iago. It’s clear that Shakespeare wanted us to understand Shylock—he even wanted us to like him, to some extent. Shylock’s lines and language are direct, honest, and heartfelt, while Iago’s lines are full of lies, arrogance, and disgustingly explicit language. Iago was crafted as the archetypal villain—pure evil—while Shylock is a villain who is startlingly real.

Looking at these two characters, it’s clear that evil is complicated. You might say that some are born evil, some achieve evil, and some have evil thrust upon them. Evil can be both psychopathic and sympathetic. That’s why Shylock and Iago have endured the test of time as some of Shakespeare’s strongest characters: they show us the different extremes of evil. By watching them, we can come to understand just how complicated and human the quality of evil really is.

The Top (Under) Dog

Charlie costume design by David Kay Mickelsen

By Kathryn Neves

It’s rare that we repeat a non-Shakespeare play here at the Festival— so right off the bat, you should be able to tell how wonderful we think The Foreigner really is. The last time we showed it, audiences fell in love with Charlie right away. With his adorable awkwardness and his lovable shyness, not to mention his cleverness and wit, it’s hard not to love him! After all, who doesn’t love an underdog?

Underdogs seem to be the favorites in almost everything. Whether it be in football games, reality television shows, or even sitcoms, we nearly always root for the underdog. I mean, what do you think the hipster movement is all about? It’s about discovering underdogs. Hipsters seek out underdogs more than anyone!

And Charlie, in The Foreigner, is most definitely an underdog. He’s the classic bottom of the totem-pole, if you know what I mean. Painfully awkward around friends and strangers, losing in love and in life, and a really strong bad-luck magnet— what else can you ask for in a character like him? But strangely enough, it’s these unfortunate qualities that make us root for him. We all want to see the underdog win sometimes!

Some of the most popular characters in theatre, film, and literature are absolute underdogs. Think Chandler Bing or Charlie Brown or maybe Cinderella or even Falstaff. (Of course, try not to think of the obnoxious underdogs— I’m looking at you, Jar Jar Binks.) But Charlie Baker, the star of The Foreigner, tops them all. He is the best underdog of them all. He’s the top (under) dog, if you will. And why is that? What makes him so great?

The great thing about Charlie Baker is that he overcomes his underdog-ness. He makes it to the top and becomes who he has always wanted to be.

It’s amazing to watch Charlie’s development through The Foreigner. He starts out so hopelessly shy that he can’t even stand to talk to anyone; he would rather be alone, all the time, than say a single word to anyone. It’s because of this that his friend Froggy tells everyone that Charlie doesn’t speak English. That way, Charlie will be left alone. Right? Wrong.

After a few painfully uncomfortable scenes, Charlie starts to peek out of his shell. We see him learn to make a fool of himself, and even have some fun doing it. He makes up nonsense words and starts building confidence in the people around him. Little by little, he comes out of himself. Or maybe he grows into himself. He seems to take joy in being silly for silliness’ sake— and then, of course, all sorts of shenanigans ensue.

Now, I don’t want to spoil the show for you, so I won’t say too much else— but I will say that Charlie, by the end of the play, overcomes everything standing in his way. He faces every single fear and learns to like himself. He stands up for himself and for everyone else, and best of all, he learns— finally— how to really have fun. And that’s why we love him so much. We see Charlie go from an underdog to a winner.

Of course, he still keeps all of his fun and nonsense, and even some of his awkwardness. He wouldn’t be the Charlie we know and love without all that.

It’s not so surprising that we love to see an underdog. It’s the Great American Dream to go from rags to riches; from underdog to overdog. When we watch Charlie grow this way, we get to feel like we can too— we see it’s possible for an underdog to become the alpha in a dog-eat-dog world.

So come see The Foreigner this season at the Utah Shakespeare Festival! You’ll see a crazy romp cramped into a rural fishing lodge; you’ll hear words you’ve never heard and you’ll see a cast of characters so eccentric it’s practically like watching a sitcom. But mostly, you’ll see what everyone wants to see— you’ll see the underdog finally come out on top.

Interracial Marriage in Shakespeare’s Day

Desdemona costume design by Kyle Schollinger

By Kathryn Neves

Shakespeare’s Othello is a complex play, and one of the most interesting topics within it is the idea of interracial marriage. With a black Othello and a white Desdemona being at the center of an immense tragedy, audiences for centuries have wondered about the implications of their relationship. An interracial marriage in the sixteenth century? It seems impossible. After all, it’s easy to assume that Elizabethan people were completely backwards in their thinking. And we know that in the last few centuries, interracial couples have faced extreme prejudice, racism, and hatred just for living their lives. So it comes as a surprise to most people to learn that interracial marriages weren’t unheard of in Elizabethan times. Though they weren’t as common as they are today, Shakespeare’s audiences probably wouldn’t be too shocked or surprised by Othello and Desdemona.

The lovers in Othello aren’t the only interracial couple in Shakespeare. Antony and Cleopatra come to mind, as well as Aaron and Tamora in Titus Andronicus. There are even several others this season: The Merchant of Venice’s Lancelet Gobbo has a “Moor” mistress, and Jessica, ethnically Jewish, marries Lorenzo, a Christian; and then there’s the fact that one of Portia’s suitors is a prince of Morocco. And it doesn’t stop at fictional characters. Shakespeare may have been in an interracial relationship of his own; though we don’t know for certain, many scholars believe that the Dark Lady, the subject of a number of beautiful sonnets, was African or Arabic in descent. Is it any wonder that Shakespeare wrote so many interracial couples into his works?

In Elizabethan England, interracial marriages were not uncommon. This might have been because people of color in the Early Modern period were better off than you might assume. This isn’t to say that they didn’t face racism, but we know that black Elizabethans sometimes had decent positions in society, they held property, and they faced fairly equal protection under courts of law (Miranda Kaufman, “Making the Beast with two Backs—Interracial Relationships in Early Modern England,” Literature Compass 12/1 [2015:25]).

Far from being “strange,” “exotic,” or “rare,” there were plenty of people of color in Elizabethan society. Chances are that Shakespeare would have run into them in his everyday life. People of color were commonplace in his day, and as could be expected, they sometimes married white men and women. Charles Gildon, a writer from the mid 1600s, claimed that “Experience tells us there’s nothing more common than matches of this kind, where the whites and the blacks cohabit” (as quoted in Kaufman 2015, 24). This was even more common in Venice, the setting of Othello: according to Dennis Britton, the city “is reported as being a space of inclusion (though surely of a commercial and imperial nature)” (Dennis Britton, “Transformative and Restorative Romance: Re-“turning” Othello and Locating Christian Identity,” in Becoming Christian: Race, Reformation, and Early Modern English Romance [Fordham University Press, 2014]). It makes sense, then, that Shakespeare would set Othello in Venice— a city known for its “melting pot” nature.

The fact that interracial marriages took place, however, didn’t mean that everyone was comfortable with it. We can see this from the very beginning of Othello: after learning that his daughter has eloped with the Moor, Brabantio becomes enraged and sickened, even accusing Othello of sorcery in seducing his daughter: “Damn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; . . . [if she] would ever have, t’incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom of such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight” (Othello 1.2.82–90). Even so, we know that legally, interracial marriages were allowed. After all, the senate does not convict Othello of any wrongdoing when it hears his story. In real life, too, these marriages weren’t prosecuted by the law. Interestingly enough, in cases where a black man and a white woman were caught in a relationship outside of marriage, the punishments were exactly the same as if it were a white man and white woman. It’s clear that the law usually treated interracial relationships as valid as relationships between white men and women.

Though there were undoubtedly racist and hateful attitudes in Shakespeare’s day, the fact remains that interracial couples lived their lives in relative anonymity, unbothered by extreme discrimination and prejudice. For the most part, Elizabethan subjects were accustomed to people of color and their relationships with whites. It’s no wonder, then, that Iago fails to hurt Othello on the basis of his race-—after all, the audience sees that it’s Othello’s heart that makes him who he is, not his skin.

Taking a Closer Look at Huck Finn

By Kathryn Neves

Big River is so entertaining and full of good ol’ American fun and catchy music that you’ll probably dance out of the theatre when you see it this summer. Its harmonicas, guitars, banjos, and swinging dance numbers will have you humming and whistling all summer long. And yet underneath this lighthearted, old fashioned fun lies something much more serious, and much more important. Big River, the musical adaptation of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, will ask you to take another look at one of today’s touchiest subjects—race.

It may be a fun, lighthearted romp, but Big River tackles some serious questions about race, prejudice, and tolerance. And within all of it is one detail that makes most people squirm in their seats. Just like the novel that came before it, Big River makes use of the abhorrent “N-word” a number of times. Granted, it’s not as prevalent in the musical as in the original novel by Mark Twain, but it can still be very uncomfortable to hear such a vile term used in the theatre. After all, no one uses the “N-word” in polite conversation today. It’s unthinkable; it’s an extremely ugly word. And that is why it’s so important to discuss it within the context of history and this musical.

Big River takes place in the 1830s and 40s—decades before slavery was abolished in the United States. Of course, Twain wrote the story nearly twenty years after Abraham Lincoln wrote the Emancipation Proclamation. But even so, Twain drew from his own experiences in writing the book. He was born in 1835, and he would have known all about the culture surrounding slavery and racism. It was a very normal thing for him. So when he wrote The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, he used words and slang that came directly from his own experience.

It’s clear that racism was deeply ingrained in early nineteenth-century America, and in Twain’s novel. Even characters who are good and kind hearted speak of Jim and other slaves as wildly inferior. They, too, use the “N-word.” Uncle Silas says it, the kind woman Huck meets when dressed as a girl says it, and even Huck himself says it. Characters who we naturally want to sympathize with in this play use one of the worst words in the English language. It can be hard for us to fathom. After all, we live in a far different time than Huck and his friends. We have the benefit of many decades of progress; we have learned from heroes like Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks. But Mark Twain and his immortal characters never did.

Many of the characters who use the “N-word” in Big River do it without malice—they have no bad intentions. This does not excuse it; if anything, it only goes to show how deep-set racism was in the 1830s. It was a very common term in everyday usage; they used the word interchangeably with slave. As disgusting as it sounds, the racism and prejudices were hardwired into their brains. Our main character himself is a perfect example.

Despite his good heart and his friendship with Jim, we see Huck engage in acts of racism that we absolutely abhor today. When Huck first sets off with Jim on a raft floating down the Mississippi, he worries about his own soul. Huck honestly believes that he is sinning by helping Jim to escape slavery. While we regard Huck’s action as heroic, Huck thought he was in the wrong. He thought of Jim as someone else’s property, rather than a real friend. Huck’s statement—“All right, I’ll go to hell”— shows just how ingrained racist attitudes were at the time. It’s no wonder he found it so easy to use a word as horrible as the “N-word.”

Through his adventures with Jim, Huck learns what humanity really is. He learns that Jim is as much a person as he is. He learns that a human heart is a human heart, no matter what. Huck’s friendship with Jim grows and deepens as he learns that they are more alike than they are different. In the end, Huck changes. He learns to tolerate and accept others; he takes this lesson to heart and helps Jim to escape from slavery even at the risk of his own safety.

Many of the characters in Big River do and say things that would be absolutely repulsive today. Even so, it’s important for us to understand them and where they came from. Without acknowledging the mistakes of people like Uncle Silas and Huck, we are doomed to repeat them. In the end, we can choose to be like Huck. The only real danger is when we refuse to learn and progress. We all have to change and grow— only then will we ever have the tolerance and friendship that we see at the end of the play with Huck and Jim.

Raised on a Raft

By Kathryn Neves

There’s no better example of a mischievous, carefree boy than Huckleberry Finn. After all, who can forget all of his crazy antics and adventures with Tom Sawyer in Mark Twain’s two famous novels: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn? But in this season’s Utah Shakespeare Festival production of Big River, we get to see young Huck in a different genre and a new light. Big River is a coming of age story; it’s about Huckleberry Finn learning what it means to grow up.

From the very beginning of the story, Huck wants to run away. He’s tired of living in a society that wants to “sivilize” him; he would much rather live wild on his own than spend his days listening to his guardian, the Widow Douglas, or worrying about school. No matter how hard all the adults try to change him, Huck would rather go on being mischievous and wild forever. By the time he runs away from both the widow and his father, he decides he wants to live completely for himself: “I’ll never change for no one, no matter what they say.” And Huck keeps that promise until he meets up with Jim, a runaway slave.

With his Southern folk-wisdom and his fatherly nature, Jim is the first person to really connect with Huck. As the two of them sail along the mighty Mississippi, it’s Jim who teaches Huck all of his important life-lessons: palm-reading, avoiding bad luck, and navigating the raft through stormy waters. More importantly, Jim teaches Huck how to be a good person—and how to be himself.

It’s because of Jim’s example that Huck learns right from wrong. After all, Huck has had almost no family for all of his life; until Jim came along, Huck had no one to raise him. His father was drunk and abusive, and Huck had no one else to take care of him. He didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, even telling Miss Watson that he’d rather go to hell than heaven, just to avoid being around her. It isn’t until Jim and Huck sail together through the southern United States that Huck learns to care for others besides himself: one of the most important lessons anyone can learn. Throughout Big River, it’s Jim who really raises Huck and helps him to become a man. He teaches Huck about compassion—scolding him for his cruel pranks and telling him touching stories about his own children and family stuck in slavery back home. He teaches Huck about important social issues, most importantly slavery. Jim tells Huck all about the horrors of being a slave in the 1840s and helps him to understand the terrible plight of slaves all over the country.

Most importantly, Jim teaches Huck to think for himself. Before his life-changing trip down the beautiful Mississippi river, Huck’s decisions were based on what others had told him— whether based on the Widow Douglas’s teachings or his father’s drunken ramblings, Huck relied on the information of everyone around him. By the end of the play and through Jim’s help, Huck comes to realize that the society around him is wrong; that slavery is wrong. He decides to help Jim escape from slavery, even though he’s been told his entire life that slavery is an acceptable, and even good, thing. “All right, I’ll go to hell!” Huck decides; once and for all, Huck makes the decision to trust his own conscience and compassion for Jim over the rules that “sivilization” has created.

It’s here that Huck really grows up; he learns that he doesn’t need the Widow Douglas or Miss Watson to “sivilize” him. The only “sivilization” that Huck will ever need is on the Mississippi River itself, where he can make his own decisions and become a man in his own right. It’s only when Huck breaks society’s rules once and for all that he really grows up.

Big River is a story about many things; it’s about love, compassion, justice, and good-old-fashioned fun. But more than anything, Big River is the story about a boy growing up. Our last image of young Huck is a young man sailing away along the Mississippi River, off to explore the world and to “sivilize” himself his own way.

The Everyday Comedy

Scenery model by Apollo Mark Weaver

By Kathryn Neves

If there’s one rule to writing, it’s this: write what you know. Ask any writer and they’ll tell you: it’s easiest (and the most fun) to write about your own life, your own culture. And as for the best writer in all of English literature, he definitely followed that rule too. See it for yourself in this season’s The Merry Wives of Windsor. William Shakespeare put references to his times and life into all of his plays, but nowhere is that more obvious than in this zany comedy.

The star of this play is, undoubtedly, Sir John Falstaff— companion to the rowdy Prince Hal, thieving rogue, and womanizer extraordinaire. However, despite Shakespeare firmly placing the character in the early 1400s (in Henry IV Part One, Henry IV Part Two, and Henry V), The Merry Wives of Windsor really doesn’t fit into that century at all. In fact, there are only a couple of references to Prince Hal and King Henry IV; other than that, the play could be set completely in the 1590s, the decade in which it was written (or in the early 1900s, the time period this year’s Festival production will be set in). And even though this annoys some avid historians, it definitely gave the Bard a chance to stuff as much of his own pop culture into this play as he could. For one thing, Shakespeare mentions several books that were written during his own lifetime. The Book of Songs and Sonnets is one, as well as The Book of Riddles. And during the Latin-teaching scene of the play, most of what Sir Hugh teaches is based directly on A Shorte Introduction of Grammar by Lilly and Colet. Besides all that, there’s references to currency that didn’t exist until long after Falstaff should have been dead. References to dances and wines popular in the late 1500s are strewn throughout the play. There’s even a couple of allusions to the song “Greensleeves.” Even though he technically set “Merry Wives” in the 1400s, Shakespeare clearly wanted the play to reflect his own times.

Even more telling, though, about Shakespeare’s own culture are the numerous references to some of his contemporaries. In act 3, scene 1, Sir Hugh quotes, almost verbatim, Christopher Marlowe’s “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love.” And later on in the play, Falstaff directly alludes to a sonnet sequence by Philip Sidney called Astrophil and Stella. Shakespeare was well-read, and his audience likely caught these references quite easily. Marlowe, especially, was extremely popular. It would be almost like Stephen Sondheim referencing Rogers and Hammerstein! Those poetry references were definitely relevant.

And then there’s the setting of the play. Windsor was not Shakespeare’s hometown— he was the Bard of Stratford-upon-Avon, after all. But even so, he was very familiar with Windsor and the surrounding area. It may not have been the most important town in England, but it was still a rather influential place in Elizabethan culture. Windsor was, and is to this day, the sometimes-home of England’s sovereign. It generally houses a large court, and its proximity to London makes it a fairly popular tourist spot. So it’s no wonder that Shakespeare knew the town. It’s definitely the perfect setting for the wacky pranks of Mistresses Ford and Page.

The play’s cultural references and allusions often center around Windsor. There’s one allusion, specifically, that you can track throughout the entire play. Much of the language, setting, and even plot elements focus on the Order of the Garter. This society, still in existence today, was founded in Windsor, and the town was a common meeting place for its members. Shakespeare undoubtedly knew quite a bit about the organization. In fact, in 1597 (around the time this play was written) the Order inducted a new member into its ranks: George Carey, the second Baron Hunsdon, who happened to be the patron of Shakespeare’s acting company. So it makes sense that The Merry Wives of Windsor has allusions to the Order all through its pages. Some people even speculate that the play itself was written in celebration of Lord Hunsdon’s induction. It was a current event that most people in Shakespeare’s circles would have gossiped and speculated about constantly.

Though many of Shakespeare’s plays take place in fantastical lands and ancient times far removed from reality, The Merry Wives of Windsor is more down-to-earth. It’s a play written for Elizabethan audiences. One of the only plays to reflect on Shakespeare’s everyday life so clearly, “Merry Wives” provides a glimpse into the pop-culture that the Bard knew and lived. This play, one of Shakespeare’s most delightful and relatable comedies, gave his audience a chance to feel represented. They could see themselves in Page and Ford, Shallow and Slender. By showing his audiences their own lives back at them, Shakespeare held “as t’were, the mirror up to nature.” The Merry Wives of Windsor really is the essential Elizabethan English Comedy.

The Man, the Myth, the Legend

Falstaff costume design by Bill Black

By Kathryn Neves

The Merry Wives of Windsor has always been a favorite at the Utah Shakespeare Festival. After all, who doesn’t love watching the antics of a ridiculous old man and two clever, witty women? The play is one of the most lighthearted of all of Shakespeare’s comedies, full of silly jokes, tricks, and mischief. At the heart of it all is Sir John Falstaff, perhaps the most famous of all of Shakespeare’s buffoons and definitely one of the most beloved.

Falstaff is interesting in that he is the only character in the Shakespeare canon to appear across genres; rather than being sequestered into the histories of King Henry IV, John Falstaff crosses the bounds and appears in a delightful comedy that barely even references the history that Falstaff is such a big part of. How did Falstaff become such a beloved character? Why would Shakespeare write an entire spin-off featuring this minor character from Henry IV Part One and Henry IV Part Two?

It’s easy to recognize Falstaff in any portrayal; he’s the one with the huge snowy beard, enormous belly, a bottle of sack, and a penchant for cowardice and dishonesty. Still, even with all of his faults, Falstaff has become a well-beloved character for audiences throughout the centuries— perhaps even because of his faults. After all, once we’ve seen the heroic deeds of the royalty and the nobility, it can be a relief to see someone a bit more comedic.

Falstaff is introduced to the world in Henry IV Part One as a companion to the young, unruly Prince Hal; the two spend most of their time carousing in the Boar’s Head tavern. Though we at times see some thoughtfulness from young Prince Hal, Falstaff rarely thinks about more than wine and women. He’s constantly the butt of jokes and the subject of pranks— something we see echoed in The Merry Wives of Windsor, as the entire plot revolves around Mistresses Ford and Page tricking the knight into laundry baskets, disguises, and beatings.

He makes his next appearance in Henry IV Part Two, still the same bumbling rogue that we know and love, but growing more distant from Prince Hal. In fact, the play ends with Falstaff being cast off from the newly crowned king— “I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers; / How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!” (5.5.3640-41). With these cruel words, Falstaff is banished. And when Falstaff dies in Henry V, it’s because of his broken heart: “The king hath run bad humours on the knight, that’s the even of it. . . . His heart is fracted and corroborate” (2.1.121-22, 124).

The Merry Wives of Windsor is like a spin-off from the history plays; it has nothing to do with the real history of England, but was only written for Falstaff to make a reappearance. We know Falstaff was a popular character, and he might have been a favorite of Queen Elizabeth I herself! Multiple sources say that she demanded another play starring Falstaff and requested that Falstaff fall in love. And of course, that is where “Merry Wives” comes in. Though Falstaff isn’t really in love, we get to see his escapades in pursuing the various women of Windsor.

After watching the Henry plays over the last several years and looking ahead to The Merry Wives of Windsor, it would be easy to assume that Falstaff is completely fictional. After all, such a colorful, ridiculous character couldn’t have any basis in reality, could he? Actually, he isn’t all fantasy. It’s pretty widely accepted that the character of John Falstaff was based on the real-life knight and prince’s companion, Sir John Oldcastle. Oldcastle, though most of his life is lost to history, was known as a supporter of Prince Henry and a scandalous rogue famous for his heresy. In the earliest drafts of Henry IV Part One, Falstaff wasn’t called Falstaff at all, but Sir John Oldcastle. However, after several of Oldcastle’s descendants complained of Shakespeare’s negative portrayal, he changed the name of the character to Falstaff— modelled after another historical knight, John Fastolf (who, incidentally, makes an appearance in this season’s Henry VI Part One).

Even though he’s a rogue and a scoundrel, Falstaff is undoubtedly one of the best characters Shakespeare created. He’s ribald, hilarious, and a bit of the Everyman, and he will be a great source of entertainment for playgoers this summer.