The Winter's Tale

I enjoy going to productions of Shakespeare's plays, but there is an element of suspense: will the play survive the well-intentioned but at times feverish creativity of the director? It seems that I rarely see a production that plays it straight, that is set in the time period in which the play takes place and has traditional casting. Instead the director puts their own stamp on the play, and the text groans under the weight of it.

Princeton University's Lewis Center of the Arts presented The Winter's Tale this past weekend and next, directed by Tracy Bersley, who is not a student, but with a cast of students. Walking into the theater it was immediately apparent I was in for something non-traditional, as a collection of chairs hung suspended from the ceiling by ropes. I was further mystified when, perusing the program, I noticed no actor was listed for the part of Autolycus, who is perhaps the most dominant character in the play.

The Winter's Tale was written very late in Shakespeare's career, and accordingly to a man of advanced age (at least for the early seventeenth century) it concerns redemption. The play has a consistent tone of melancholy, even though it is structured as a comedy (most lump it into the category known as "romances", which basically means it defies any categorization). It's as if Shakespeare didn't have the heart anymore to write the tragedies of his youth, and instead allowed his characters to go through a tragic circumstance but then find redemption. The Winter's Tale is almost a rewriting of Othello, but with a decidedly happy ending.

"A sad tale is best for winter," says young Mamillius, son of King Leontes of Sicily. Leontes is married to Hermione, who at the play's start is bursting with baby. They have been host to Polixenes, childhood friend of Leontes, and the King of Bohemia. After nine months of visiting, he is eager to return home. Leontes can not convince him to stay, but Hermione, full of charm, does. This triggers madness in Leontes (one of his attendants refer to "his lunes") which we would today call delusions of paranoia. He is like an Othello who is his own Iago. He is so determined of the betrayal that he assigns his aide, Camillo, to poison Polixenes, but Camillo is wise and instead accompanies Polixenes on a flight to Bohemia.

Hermione, unfortunately, remains behind to feel Leontes' wrath. She is tried for adultery and treason, and even when the Oracle of Delphi clears her name Leontes is unswayed. It is only when his son dies that Leontes come to his senses, but it is too late. Hermione has given birth to a daughter, but Leontes has refused to accept the child as his and has sent yet another aide, Antigonus, to take the babe to leave it somewhere to perish.

Antigonus' wife, Paulina, stays loyal to the queen, and she tells Leontes that she has died of grief. Antigonus takes the child, named Perdita, to the shoreline of Bohemia (of course, Bohemia has no shore. Inside joke or Shakespeare's bad sense of geography?) and leaves the child. He then, in one of the most famous stage directions of all time, "Exits, pursued by a bear." Perdita is found by a shepherd and his son.

This is all just the first half of the play. In the second half the tone switches almost one-hundred-eighty degrees to a pastoral comedy. Perdita is now sixteen years old and in love with Florizel, who is the son of Polixenes. This is also where Autolycus, who is a thief and jester of sorts, intersects into the plot. Eventually the two lovers, who are barred by Polixenes in marrying because of her low birth (little does he know) beat it back to Sicily. Eventually all are reconciled, and Paulina decides it's a good time to show Leontes a statue of his late wife. Leontes finds her strangely life-like, though a bit more aged than she was. When she comes to life, all are overwhelmed with emotion.

That ending is one of the most touching in all of Shakespeare, and should leave an audience dabbing at their eyes. In the Princeton production, though, it is undercut by Bersley's conceit: the play is in the memory of Leontes, and thus the ending is ambiguous. In this manner the play stops rather than ends.

The idea of The Winter's Tale being a memory is not a heinous one, especially since it set up very well. Prominent poet (and chairman of the Lewis Center) Paul Muldoon plays "Old Leontes," and he begins the play by poking around in an attic above the stage, where he will remain throughout, watching and occasionally participating. The time period of the play is mid-twentieth century, with men wearing topcoats and fedoras, and records by Edith Piaf played (the Oracle's pronouncements come via reel-to-reel tape).

All of this is well and good, and Bersley is true to her mission, but at what cost? In addition to the fizzled ending, the loss of Autolycus is huge. During a post-play Q&A with the cast and director, I asked the reasoning behind his dismissal. She answered that because they had chosen to make it Leontes' memory, and he does not ever see Autolycus, he couldn't well remember a character he has never met. This is sound logic, but saps the play of yitality and the pastoral nature that balances the second half with the bleakness of the first. Also, Autolycus plays a pivotal role in the machinations of the reconciliation of the final scene, and so that moment goes by in a blink of an eye, and could give an audience whiplash wondering what just happened.

The performances by students fall in the usual range of competent to approaching excellence. I thought the best performer on stage was Becca Foresman as Paulina, who was the only performer who really could handle the language. Adam Zivkovic, as Leontes, has matinee-idol good looks and occasionally hits on Leontes madness, particularly in his physicality. Kut Akdogan was less successful as Polixenes. Samuel Zetumer was interesting to watch as Camillo, and William Ellerbe, Sara-Ashley Bischoff, and Heather May had some nice moments (May was the shepherd, who has switched sexes in this production, probably due to a lack of males auditioning, which is a situation I'm familiar with in my days of college theater).