Cardenio, or the Second Maiden’s Tragedy
By Justin Hayford
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If Hamilton were ever to dust himself off and come out of the stacks, he might see what really matters about Cardenio: its outrageous theatricality. Whoever wrote this shameless crowd pleaser didn’t have much on his mind beyond sending the audience into a giddy swoon. A high-octane plot machine, the play is rife with seduction, adultery, revenge, murder, corruption, and necrophilia. The playwright even threw in a tormented ghost, though she doesn’t pop up until act four. If you want philosophy, read Hamlet. If you’re looking for the Renaissance equivalent of a Hollywood blockbuster, pick up Cardenio.
Paradoxically, she unlocks these truths through a blatantly artificial staging. Joseph P. Tilford’s sepulchral set forces all the action downstage, where Buckley’s actors begin the play like chess pieces on an oversize board. The unnamed Tyrant marches front and center, his trench-coated henchmen in tow, and announces that he’s usurped the kingdom–a moment with all the grotesque comedy of Al Haig’s attempt to take control after the Reagan assassination attempt. Then the Tyrant banishes the deposed king, Govianus, from the realm, although he’s not allowed to leave until he watches the Tyrant marry Govianus’s wife, who has no name except the Lady. When she refuses, the Tyrant revokes Govianus’s banishment and imprisons him instead–in a comfortable house with the Lady by his side. Brightness was never a prerequisite for a usurping king.
Buckley’s comedy isn’t the least bit cheap or forced. Throughout the text she discovers and exploits moments like this one, when shortsightedness and bad timing turn noble people into fools. In this production, no one has much perspective; everyone is caught up in a whirlwind plot spinning out of control. Nobody gets a break, a tactic that gives the audience ample opportunity to recognize the timeless, clownish misadventure of human existence.
The 75-minute show is thankfully low on acting. Speaking directly to his audience, Norris never manufactures an emotion, never hides behind an invented persona. Structurally the piece seems a bit unfocused, however, as he strings together anecdote after anecdote to no particular end. Although many of his stories are quite funny, particularly those involving disastrous onstage screwups, after 45 minutes or so they become indistinguishable. One hopes Norris might have had more to talk about than blown lines and brilliant improvs after 30 years at his trade.
