Weebly



Shakespeare's Fools

by: Eric Rasmussen, Ian DeJong

Eric Rasmussen and Ian DeJong consider the actors who first played Shakespeare's fools, and their influence on the way that, over the course of the playwright's career, his fools move from physical comedy to verbal humor and, finally, to melancholy and cynicism.

Among the many curiosities crammed into odd corners of The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark is Hamlet’s idiosyncratic sense of how stage clowns ought to behave. In his conversation with the players in Act 3, Scene 2, Hamlet explains what bad clowning looks like, and why it ought to be avoided:

...let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them; for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the meantime some necessary question of the play be then to be considered. That’s villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. (3.2.38–39)

Today, we might find it puzzling that someone would speak so vehemently about such a seemingly trivial matter. Who cares how the clown acts? So what if a fool is foolish? He’s a minor character, and he’s supposed to be funny. What does a bit of extra foolery matter?

The answer, of course, lies in changing cultural expectations. While we might think little of the buffoonery of a Nick Bottom or the witticisms of a Feste, Shakespeare, his contemporaries in the early modern professional theatre, and especially his audiences, valued clowning highly – and scrutinized it carefully in its many onstage manifestations.

Behind the Bumbling

Scholars of Shakespearean performance history return to those lines of Hamlet with some regularity. Some believe that Shakespeare wrote them with a specific person in mind: Will Kemp, who had played the clown roles in the 1590s for the Lord Chamberlain’s Men (with whom Shakespeare was associated). Kemp was well known as a physical comic, with preternatural strength and dexterity. Thanks to his performance of such roles as Nick Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Falstaff in Henry IV, Part 1 and 2, and The Merry Wives of Windsor, Kemp became a household name in London during the 1590s. His importance to the Lord Chamberlain’s Men kept pace with his popularity; when the Globe Theatre was built out of the timbers of the old Theatre in Shoreditch, Kemp was one of the six charter shareholders. Then, for reasons we don't know, he sold his share in the Globe and left the Lord Chamberlain’s Men – a turn of events that may have prompted Hamlet’s anger at fools who were too ‘ambitious’. After he left, Kemp turned to public performance beyond the theatre; his most famous stunt, a morris dance from London to Norwich, got enough attention that he wrote a pamphlet about it.

Kemp was not the first celebrity clown, however; that distinction belongs to Richard Tarleton. Active in the 1570s and 1580s, Tarleton became known as the finest clown of his generation. Indeed, he was one of the stars raided to form the Queen’s Men, one of the premier acting troupes of the 1580s. So famous were Tarleton’s ‘infinite jest’ and ‘most excellent fancy’ (to borrow Hamlet’s paean to Yorick, 5.1.185) that in 1600 – 12 years after his death – a volume entitled Tarlton’s Jests was published. Though he almost certainly never clowned in a Shakespeare play, his influence reverberates throughout the gallery of Shakespeare’s clown-characters.

London audiences chose Kemp as Tarleton’s motley successor. But Tarleton himself thought more highly of Robert Armin, who would eventually replace Kemp in the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. Armin’s approach to clowning was very different from Kemp’s; by all accounts, he had a lovely singing voice and a talent for verbal comedy. Whereas Kemp had tumbled and bumbled about the stage as Bottom or Falstaff, Armin’s talents lay in a more intellectual direction. Shakespeare must have seen this fairly early in Armin’s residency, because around the turn of the 17th century, we see a remarkable evolution in the clowning that occurs in his work – a transition from pure clown to court fool.

In the first roles that Shakespeare created for Will Kemp, the clown was routinely subject to pratfalls, misfortunes and humiliations. Physical comedy was paramount: Bottom shows up wearing asses’ ears, and we laugh at his expense.

Toward the middle of Shakespeare’s career, however, his clowns took on a different cast, relying less upon physical comedy and more upon wordplay and other verbal humour. Characters such as Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing, Costard in Love’s Labour’s Lost, and perhaps Pompey in Measure for Measure are still laughable, not just comical; but whereas the early clowns often have a moment of realisation in which their failures are laid out for them (and the entire theatre) to see, middle-period clowns frequently carry straight on in their foolery, never knowing that the whole world laughs at them. Dogberry and his mates of the Watch are perfect examples of this sort of blinkered doggedness. Their speech is filled with malapropisms: ‘dissembly’ for ‘assembly’, ‘redemption’ for ‘condemnation’, ‘suspect’ for ‘respect’ and so on. We laugh at their blundering, but we laugh even more because they never recognize their blunders.

Of course, Shakespeare – that incessant innovator – could not leave his clowns static for long. Around the turn of the 17th century, beginning with Touchstone in As You Like It and developing through Twelfth Night’s Feste and King Lear’s Fool, Shakespeare’s clowns change yet again. No longer the pratfalling bumblers of the early period, nor the ridiculous punsters of the middle period, Shakespeare’s late clowns are rather more melancholy than their stage ancestors. Feste provides an excellent example of the late fool. He is not without his jests and his gibes – to Olivia’s ‘What’s a drunken man like?’ Feste responds, ‘Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him’ (1.5.130–33). But underneath and through his whimsy runs a current of world-weariness and cynicism. When Orsino offers to pay him for singing, Feste declines: ‘I take pleasure in singing, sir.’ ‘I'll pay thy pleasure then,’ says Orsino, but Feste disrupts the gentle mental fencing with a bitter thrust: ‘pleasure will be paid, one time or another’ (2.4.68–71). Throughout the play, Feste balances the sort of clowning audiences would expect with bitter commentary upon the world of (and beyond) the play.

If Feste’s clowning is a triumph of balance, King Lear’s Fool moves decisively to the more melancholy disposition towards which Shakespeare’s clowns were inexorably trending. Like Feste, Lear’s Fool has moments of humor, but he directs most of his energy towards condemnations of corruption and political misjudgment. Combining the pessimism of Feste with the outright misanthropy of Thersites from Troilus and Cressida, Lear’s Fool offers a clear-sighted diagnosis of Lear’s diseased court, even as he demonstrates his touching loyalty to his king. For this, it seems, his punishment is death: ‘And my poor fool is hanged’ (5.3.306), Lear laments. King Lear’s Fool is the only clown to die during his play’s action. Clearly, these late clowns – Feste, Touchstone, Lear’s Fool – were not written to prompt jeering mockery (as were the bumblers) or giddy laughter. Rather, they prompt a meditative and even chastened response.

After Armin took over Kemp’s spot in the Chamberlain’s Men, the clown roles in Shakespeare’s plays began to include songs. It has been speculated that Armin’s fine singing voice prompted this shift, in part; but singing also serves the important dramatic role of breaking up tension. Kemp’s tumbling may have served a similar purpose; after his departure, Armin’s songs frequently commented obliquely on the action onstage, putting distance between viewer and narrative, reminding audiences that the events onstage were really no more than men and boys speaking with tongues other than their own.

Although Kemp and Armin’s styles of clowning were fundamentally different, they represented the two sides of the traditional role of the court jester. ‘Jester’ was an office in the medieval court, much like the other courtly offices such as chamberlain, steward and constable. Employed to amuse their noble masters, jesters did so through a variety of antics, sometimes physical (Kemp’s style) and sometimes verbal (Armin’s). Jesters were expected to speak foolishly, glibly, and with multiple layers of satirical or ironic meaning, frequently using puns, proverbs, or just nonsense to make their jests. Jesters thus had remarkable freedom to speak truth to power. In part, because they were often considered to be touched by supernatural forces, jesters were given far more rein to mock their masters than other more ‘normal’ but less privileged courtiers. King Lear’s Fool is perhaps the purest court jester in Shakespeare’s plays: glib, madcap, clever and insightful, he speaks bitter truth to his master the King, especially in those moments when Lear does not wish to hear that truth.

In the end, the audiences in early modern playhouses paid their penny-and-up to be entertained. And so, to a considerable extent, the companies catered to the audiences’ tastes. But it is also true that theatre professionals sometimes worked to change those tastes. In the matter of clowning, as in so many others, Shakespeare never contented himself with the status quo.

Shakespearean fools: Their modern equivalents

By Denise Winterman BBC News Magazine 1 April 2012

Shakespeare loved a fool and not just on 1 April. He used them in most of his well-known plays, but who would their equivalents be today?

It was never about bright clothes, eccentric hats and slippers with bells on them. Shakespeare's fools were the stand-ups of their day and liked to expose the vain, mock the pompous and deliver a few home truths - however uncomfortable that might be for those on the receiving end.

"Shakespearean fools, like stand-ups today, had a license to say almost anything," says Dr Oliver Double, who teaches drama at the University of Kent and specializes in comedy. "It was an exalted position."

He doesn't use just one type of fool, he uses different characters for different jobs.

There are the knowing, wise fools. Professionals, they are employed by royalty and nobility to entertain. They are smarter than those in positions of authority and used by Shakespeare to mock them, reveal the truth of a situation and provide social commentary.

Then there are the natural fools, who simply lack any grey matter and common sense. As well as providing some slapstick, they are also used to inadvertently reveal some home truths.

"They [the fools] are these strange characters that show up and make witty observations and very often become very central to the action," says Dr Jacquelyn Bessell, a lecturer at the University of Birmingham's Shakespeare Institute.

"They do share a sort of capacity to stir things up, to say things that other characters in their social bracket couldn't possibly get away with saying. In that respect, they're a really useful vehicle driving your moral and argumentative point home if you're a dramatist. They deflate pompous, socially superior characters. They're able to criticise kings."

So smart and articulate or stupid and foolish, who are the closest modern equivalents of Shakespeare's fools and comic characters?

Homer Simpson - Dogberry (Much Ado About Nothing)

[pic]

Role: Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing is one of Shakespeare's unwitting fools, but one who ultimately comes good. A figure of comic incompetence, he is a clownish policeman who mangles nearly every word he says and botches nearly everything he does. Despite all of this he inadvertently uncovers a villainous plan and saves the day. Incompetent he may be, but ultimately he is the play's real hero. "Characters like Dogberry are humorous and silly, but what they say and do often has a telling significance," says Kiernan Ryan, professor of English Language and Literature at the University of London. "While the characters might not realise this themselves, Shakespeare designs it so the audience doesn't miss the point."

Modern-day equivalent: Homer Simpson, from Fox Broadcasting's The Simpsons, is greedy, lazy, opportunistic and largely incompetent as a husband, father, friend and employee. Despite his shortcomings and failings he often comes good as well, but in his own amoral way - like taking daughter Lisa to see an exhibition she is devastated to have missed, but doing it by breaking into the museum after hours.

Why: Dogberry and Homer are both incompetents. The policeman fumbles his job the same way Homer has fumbled his way though life, marriage and parenthood for years. But they are both fools who eventually do good, without quite knowing how they did it. Both characters are used to provide moments of insight without being aware of it themselves. And just as Dogberry is one of the Bard's most-loved fools, Homer is one of television's most-loved idiots.

Miranda (Hart) - Bottom (A Midsummer Night's Dream)

[pic]

Role: In A Midsummer Night's Dream Bottom is silly and bossy, but ultimately very lovable. He makes a fool of himself, but his idiocy is almost endearingly innocent and never malicious. In the play his head is transformed into a donkey's and a spell is cast upon Titania which causes her to fall in love with him. "The Queen of the Fairies falling in love with an ass is the ultimate symbol of comic topsy-turveydom," says Dr. Stephen Purcell, who teaches English and Comparative Literary Studies at Warwick University.

Modern-day equivalent: In her sitcom Miranda is likeable, but always stumbling into awkward and often hopeless situations. She usually ends up looking like a fool as she tries to extract herself, and small mistakes end up growing into comic disasters.

Why: Blustering and silly, both Bottom and Miranda end up in all sorts of comic confusion. What they also have in common is that neither has a dark or morally ambiguous side, they are just immensely likeable. "The role of Bottom also involves physical comedy and Miranda Hart is a brilliant physical clown," says the University of Kent's Double.

Frank Gallagher - Falstaff (The Merry Wives of Windsor)

[pic]

Well, if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers, I would repent Sir John Falstaff, The Merry Wives of Windsor

Role: Not strictly a fool, Sir John Falstaff is one of Shakespeare's comic characters - but one of ill-repute. He is likeable, humorous and witty, and revels in the pleasures of the flesh, but doesn't think too hard about the consequences. Falstaff - who appears in both The Merry Wives of Windsor and Henry IV (Part I and II)- also has a darker side and is a drunkard who lies, cheats and exploits people.

Modern-day equivalent: An unemployed drunk, Frank Gallagher in Channel 4's Shameless spends most of his time in the pub or trying to get money to go to the pub. Irresponsible and rude, he usually leaves a trail of destruction and insults people wherever he goes. He is the father of countless children by several mothers. But while he usually shirks responsibility for them, he does loves them and they love him. He has been known to step up when it matters most.

Why: Both are classic loveable rogues. They are deeply flawed but their wit and moments of kindness mean they are still loved by those around them, despite some truly appalling behavior. They are also prone to some drunken philosophizing. Frank is even fond of quoting Shakespeare during an alcohol-fueled rant. "Many of Falstaff's qualities can be detected in Frank Gallagher, but the main difference is that he is not nearly as eloquent or as witty as Falstaff," says Warwick University's Purcell.

Frankie Boyle - Trinculo (The Tempest)

[pic]

Role: The king's jester in The Tempest, Trinculo is a comical character and a professional fool. It means he is funny but also smart and clever verbally, playing around with words. Also, while a lot of Shakespeare's fools have redeeming features, Trinculo is downright bad. In the play he plots with Caliban and Stephano to kill Prospero.

Modern-day equivalent: Arguably one of the most controversial comics around, Frankie Boyle often provokes outrage. Last year he was censured by Ofcom after it received 500 complaints about one of his jokes. But he is also popular, appearing on television and headlining his own tour. He says he is simply "telling it like it is". There is definitely no sugar-coating going on.

Why: Trinculo and Boyle aren't too worried about being nice or who likes them. They pretty much do what they want. The difference between them is Trinculo gets repeatedly outwitted in The Tempest.

Ian Hislop - King Lear's fool (King Lear)

[pic]

Have more than thou showest, speak less than thou knowest, Ride more than thou goest...King's Lear's fool

Role: The fool in King Lear is far removed from Shakespeare's unwittingly wise ones. A professional fool, he is clever and sharp - a social commentator and a satirist. Being the king's fool he gets away with talking to Lear in the way no-one else would, and takes full advantage.

Modern-day equivalent: Editor of the satirical magazine Private Eye, Ian Hislop has made a career of taking on and mocking authority. In his work as a journalist and commentator in print and on television, he demonstrates a healthy skepticism towards people in positions of power.

Why: Hislop and Lear share a verbal dexterity and a talent for words. Both are satirical, political and poke fun at those in power. One difference is that King Lear's fool often speaks in riddles and in a roundabout way that Lear cannot always pin down his meaning. Hislop's meaning is usually very clear.

Russell Brand - Feste (Twelfth Night)

[pic]

Role: Feste in Twelfth Night is part of the household of Countess Olivia, her licensed fool. He is frivolous and naughty, but extremely eloquent. "He is a clever satirist and describes himself as a 'corrupter of words'," says Purcell. "He is quite the opposite of clowns like Dogberry and Bottom, who are merely foolish." But he also has a darker side that occasionally emerges.

Modern-day equivalent: Russell Brand is idiosyncratic, with very distinct mannerisms and use of language. His speech is excessively articulated and flowery and he plays around with tone. "He's almost created his own language," says Double. He also dresses like a modern-day dandy, all tight trousers and flowing scarves. But he has his demons and is a former drug addict.

Why: Both Feste and Brand are slightly bohemian and very imaginative with the way they play with words. Feste sums it up well in his first scene when he says: "Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit." But despite their playful and outwardly frivolous nature, they can be brooding.

................
................

In order to avoid copyright disputes, this page is only a partial summary.

Google Online Preview   Download