How King John Would Have Preferred to Die, If He Hadn't Been Poisoned by the Crown: The Rude Mechs Fix King John
Kathryn Rebecca Van Winkle, University of Texas at Austin
Abstract
Upon announcing the 2013 premiere of Fixing King John at The Off Center, playwright Kirk Lynn and his Austin, Texas theatre company, the Rude Mechs, pledged to make "Shakespeare's least produced works 'useful' again" (Rude Mechs 2013). Now rarely staged, King John was once regarded as far more "useful." The conflict between authenticity and the impulse to "fix" King John through adaptation is central to its production history. In Fixing King John, Lynn adapts the original's language structure, gender representation, and language; while in production, the company transformed the relationship of the performers to their characters and the text through improvisation and autobiographical comment. While appropriating the discourse of "authenticity," the Rude Mechs made King John "useful again" for their contemporary Austin spectators.
In 2013, the Rude Mechs, an ensemble-based Austin theater collective, inaugurated their "Fixing Shakespeare" series, which promises to "make William Shakespeare's least produced works useful again," with a production of Fixing King John (Rude Mechs 2013). Playwright Kirk Lynn developed the script by "translating" several lines of Shakespeare's King John into contemporary English each day. Then he combined subplots and characters, reducing the cast from twenty-two to ten. Lynn recalls editing "with no loyalty to the original, simply trying to tell a good story in rich language, and to expose some genuine emotion of mine about self-regard and repentance" (Rude Mechs 2013). The first line of Shakespeare's original, King John's address to the French ambassador,
| Now, say, Chatillion, what would France with us? (1.1.1) |
| What the fuck? France? Fuck France. What do you want? Wait. Kneel first and say it again (Lynn 2013, 2). |
| Fixing King John pre-production still with Lowell Bartholomee as King Philip and E. Jason Liebrecht as King John. Photo credit: Bret Brookshire. |
A Brief History of King John Adaptation
King John was once regarded as far more "useful" than it is today, and the conflict between authenticity and the impulse to "fix" King John through adaptation is central to its production history. King John enjoyed some popularity in the eighteenth century, and was among the most popular Shakespeare plays in both England and the United States throughout the nineteenth century, before losing ground in the twentieth.1 Authenticity was a major selling point of the February 1737 Covent Garden performance of King John. The "Shakespeare Ladies Club," founded in 1736, successfully "persuade[d] London's theatrical managers to give Shakespeare a greater share in their repertoires," supporting productions of long-neglected plays including Cymbeline, Measure for Measure, and King John (Avery 1956, 153). Billed "as written by Shakespear" and produced "at the Desire of several ladies of Quality," the production was understood as a retort to Colley Cibber's adaptation, Papal Tyranny in the Reign of King John (Avery 1956, 154). Cibber, "mocked for his arrogance in believing that he could improve on Shakespeare's original," withdrew the script in the middle of rehearsals (Cousin 1994, 4-5). Cibber later produced the adaptation in 1745, as the allied menaces of French invasion and Jacobite rebellion threatened a return to a Catholic monarchy in England. Garrick performed a rival version at Drury Lane Theatre, giving London theater-goers a choice between Shakespeare's original and a new adaptation in which Cibber sought to "fix" what he saw as an alarming ambivalence towards the debate over papal vs. royal authority (Cousin 1994, 5-6). Cibber's script and production were not well-received, however. The most lasting legacy of Cibber's adaptation is probably its role in inspiring Henry Fielding's hit 1737 play The Historical Register for the Year 1736. Fielding satirized the Cibber affair, with a narrator figure approving of Cibber's presumption on the grounds that "as Shakespeare is already good enough for people of taste, he must be altered to the palates of those who have none; and if you will grant that, who can be properer to alter him for the worse?" (quoted in Cousin 1994, 5).
Producers continued to "fix" King John in the nineteenth century, cutting lines and scenes in order to shore up John's claim to the throne, represented in Shakespeare's original as no better than his rival's. In 1803 and 1804, London again saw major productions of an adapted and an original King John, both "capitalis[ing] on the current atmosphere of public danger"—in this case, the Napoleonic wars (Cousin 1994, 12). Spectators' tastes in the nineteenth century for moments of high drama and pathos, and for virtuosic performances of impassioned rhetoric, were well served by King John's episodic nature. For Charles Kemble's 1823 Covent Garden revival, the antiquarian James Robinson Planché's innovative research into the garb of the thirteenth century inspired a "new era" of spectacular productions designed with "what was taken for historical accuracy of costumes, often called the archaeology of staging" (Beaurline 1990, 15). In the context of King John's production history, these "archaeological" productions mark a crucial confluence of "authenticity" and adapting the production to the times: promoting design as an aspect of originalism and accuracy, while "fixing" the prevailing tendency to costume Shakespearean history plays in a haphazard manner. They informed a popular sense of the past as distinct from but contiguous with the present, contributing to the formation of a romantic conception of English national identity.
Beerbohm Tree's 1899 revival at Her Majesty's Theatre bookends the era of sumptuous archaeological costume drama. This "swan-song for the grand old way" adapted the script to conform to received notions of King John's historical significance by inserting "a dumb-show of The Granting of the Magna Carta" (Beaurline 1990, 4-6). Tree filmed three excerpts from the production, the first Shakespearean performances ever captured on film (Shaw and Rusche, 2019). At least one fragment, featuring Tree playing John's death scene in Act 5, scene 6, remains extant (Richmond, 2016). During World War II, the play's availability as a paean to patriotism and unity recommended it to London producers and audiences (Cousin 1994, 48). Beaurline argues that politically motivated revivals drew in spectators who were quite surprised when they "discovered that it is an engaging drama" (Beaurline 1990, 7). Still, King John's association with spectacle and nationalist pageantry contributed to its increasingly marginal status as tastes changed over the twentieth century.
King John's production history, defined as much by extensive adaptation as by its waxing and waning popularity, makes King John a particularly appropriate choice to inaugurate a series of adaptations of lesser-known Shakespeare plays. The Rude Mechs trace their own lineage out of Shakespeare: the company was founded in 1995 by alums of Shakespeare at Winedale, an intensive summer program offered by The University of Texas at Austin's Department of English. Winedale students spend a summer in a converted barn in the Texas hill country, performing Shakespeare plays in repertory productions that give primacy to language and meter over spectacle. In a tribute to the influence of Shakespeare at Winedale on Austin theater, Lynn writes, "it is a ludicrous proposal that Shakespeare either can or should be performed by kids in a hick town in Texas at the height of the summer's battering heat. The spirit of that proposal lives on in the Rude Mechs' hope that the American avant-garde theater can and should have [a] home in Austin, Texas" (Lynn 2004).
The "Fixing Shakespeare" series is more rebellion than tribute, substituting an impudent, even "rude" spirit of experimentation for Winedale's characteristic reverence for Shakespeare's language. The title is a deliberate provocation—to "fix" presumes something is broken. Is King John broken? Perhaps. Its protagonist is opaque and unappealing, its plot lacks coherence (particularly in the second half), and the play fails the demands of many contemporary performers and spectators. For example, the few women characters vanish from the story in the final two acts. The play stands at a great distance from contemporary spectators, as it concerns complicated issues of legitimate succession, civil war, and conflict between the English monarchy and the Catholic Church. A spectator expecting a play about King John to feature Robin Hood or the Magna Carta will be disappointed. As Emrys Jones argues, "of all Shakespeare's early plays this is the one that has receded furthest from us, so that a special effort is needed to recover it" (Jones 1977, 235).
The play does feature compelling characters, however. Faulconbridge, the illegitimate son of Richard the Lionheart, also known as the Bastard, is beloved for his humor and honor. The role of Constance, Arthur's mother, is challenging, encompassing enormous ambition, rage, cunning, and sorrow. Her speech beginning "grief fills the room up of my absent child" is as deeply felt and evocative as any mourning-piece in the canon (3.4.93-105). King John's themes—legitimacy, dispossession, power, "self-regard and repentance"—offered playwright Kirk Lynn scope to "tell a good story."
Lynn writes that Fixing King John was inspired by listening to The White Stripes' cover of Robert Johnson's "Stop Breaking Down," and remembering poet Charles Simic's "list of all the things a writer might be trying to do in a work of art":
"attack borne out of respect" premiered November 7, 2013 in the Austin warehouse theater The Off Center and ran through November 24 (Rude Mechs 2013). Lynn's text "attacked" the original language, structure, characters, and gender representation, making King John "useful again" for his company, who contributed production design, direction, and performances.The text distinguishes Fixing King John as an adaptation—a writer's project—rather than a "reimagining" or interpretation—a director's project. Lynn's text is blunt and rhythmic, reminiscent of blank verse but composed of modern, often vulgar, vocabulary. Critic Phillip John of Arts and Culture Texas suggests "the vulgarity of the language did not in any way inhibit moments of utter beauty":
Fixing King John supports an argument that to adapt Shakespeare is to profane a sacred text. But as Lynn argues, "Shakespeare was nothing if not committed to cursing and smut" (Rude Mechs 2013). Far from being an act of illegitimate desecration, the performance of profanity is necessary for the Rudes to fulfill their audacious promise: "In some ways, we're offering you a more authentic experience of what a new Shakespeare play might be like than an actual Shakespeare play. In other ways, not so much" (Rude Mechs 2013). Lynn updates Shakespeare's curses to jolt a twenty-first-century audience into a mode of uncertainty and discovery, perhaps one verging closer, "in some ways," to an Elizabethan spectator's experience of a new play.| Fixing King John pre-production still with Robert Faires as The Bastard, Robert S. Fisher as Dauphin, and E. Jason Liebrecht as King John. Photo credit: Bret Brookshire |
Fixing King John in Production
Fixing King John shares an interest in spontaneous interaction between actor and audience with most original-practices theater. Beyond Lynn's adaptation, the Rude Mechs collaborated to make King John "useful again" by taking care of their audience. The simplicity of the production design and the house-party vibe, complete with a keg of free beer and abundant red solo cups, contributed to an atmosphere of welcome and accessibility. Towers of platforms and ladders—recycled from the Rudes' recent recreation of Dionysus in 69—surrounded the playing area. As spectators, we climbed and perched on and under different levels of scaffolding, while the actors performed in the round and amidst the audience. John recalls Robert S. Fisher as the Dauphin "marching about throughout the crowd . . . interrogating audience members as to their national allegiance, England or France" (John 2013). Costume designer Olivia Warner outfitted the cast in street clothes and symbols. The Dauphin (here pronounced "Dolphin") accessorized his jeans and turquoise plaid shirt ensemble with a sword and dangling feather earrings, while E. Jason Liebrecht as King John wore football pads over a white tank top, and a crown fashioned from a metal-studded belt and golden wire.
| Caption: Pre-production still, full cast (excepting Florinda Bryant as Elinor, not pictured). Top row: Adriene Mishler as Blanch, Tom Green as The Bishop, Lowell Bartholomee as King Philip, Barbara Chisholm as Constance, and Jeffrey Mills as Arfur. Bottom row: Jay Byrd as Pembroke, Robert Faires as The Bastard, Robert S. Fisher as Dauphin, and E. Jason Liebrecht as King John. Photo credit: Bret Brookshire. |
The simple production design also foregrounded the story, which Lynn and the Rudes made accessible for an audience hazy on Plantagenet history through judicious condensation of subplots and characters. Shakespeare's twenty-two roles become ten. The Bastard's brother is combined with Cardinal Pandulph as "the Bishop," a mash-up that streamlines domestic and foreign policies of villainy. In this "bastardization" of King John, Faulconbridge, here called only "Bastard," takes an even larger role in the proceedings. Lynn's adaptation merges the characters of the Bastard and Hubert de Burgh, so that it is the honorable Bastard who must reckon with his liege's rash suggestion that he "take care" of young Prince Arthur ("Arfur").
Most notable is the transformation of the Citizen of Angiers into a central, ultimately triumphant secondary protagonist. In Shakespeare's play, the armies of England and France threaten the walled town of Angiers with siege and devastation until a Citizen suggests an alliance of marriage between King John's niece Blanch and the Dauphin of France. Blanch is wholly subject to her patriarchal society: her response to the Dauphin's marriage proposal is "My uncle's will in this respect is mine" (2.1.510). On her wedding day, France and England nevertheless go to war, and with the following lament, Blanch vanishes from the play:
"We thought it might be better both ways not to let you know where Blanch is at. The French might try to snipe her with an arrow and you Brits might be more careful with your catapult if you don't know which part of the city not to smash to save her bones" (Lynn 2013, 17). After suggesting the marriage plot, the Citizen reveals himself to be Blanch in disguise.By borrowing a familiar trope from Shakespeare's comedies, Lynn creates a new Shakespearean heroine, witty, willful, and ruthless: a Portia in a fever-dream history play. Blanch, played by Adriene Mishler, seduces the Dauphin into premarital sex. After her new husband's death in battle, Blanch conspires with the Bishop against John. She convinces King John to crown himself again. He places the crown on his head, but it is poisoned. In the Shakespeare play, John is poisoned by a nameless monk. The Bastard survives, swears fealty to John's son Henry, and ends the play with a solemn hymn to national unity:
King John "useful" to historical theater-makers whenever England was threatened by foreign powers and civil unrest. For a twenty-first-century American audience, the Rudes made Fixing King John useful partially through an examination of gender roles and power. Blanch is pregnant, and her child will be heir to both France and England. A dying John asks, "How do you know your baby's a boy?"Despite the possibility of a lasting peace, Lynn's ending is more chilling than Shakespeare's appeal to English unity. John ends the play in a mood of renunciation: "fuck being King of England. I wasn't even good at being king of myself. I never did anything the way I wanted to. Not one fucking thing" (Lynn 2013, 81). Blanch offers John a spoonful of golden honey from his kitchens, food for more self-recrimination: "To have it this whole time and never taste it 'til now—Jesus. I fucked my life up so bad. Give me a little more. Wait. Listen" (Lynn 2013, 82). "Listen," says King John, who rarely listened in life, and dies.
These are the final lines of the script, but the actor playing John continued speaking. After each death, the script calls for that character to say "as honestly as is available to her, how she would have preferred dying, if not of a heart attack in the palace" or "in an arbitrary act of folly" or "stabbed by this traitor" or "poisoned by the crown" (Lynn 2013, 55). For these moments, the performers stepped out of character and proposed their own ideal deaths, calmly and thoughtfully. Elizabeth Cobbe of The Austin Chronicle writes that "even with the raucous fun of most of the play, these times when the actors are able to say something honest and unadorned are what make Fixing King John the sort of show that sticks with you, days later" (Cobbe 2013). For John, this device of "hypothetical deaths tie the work to the present moment. The Bastard would have rather died on his porch in south Austin listening to jazz and smooching his wife. Arfur would have traded a hot tub and beer for his 'arbitrary folly'" (John 2013). The Austin American-Statesman's Cate Blouke describes these as "some of the loveliest moments . . . seemingly minor flourish[es] that nevertheless remind us of the grim realities of war" (Blouke 2013). The performances in Fixing King John echoed Lynn's "translation" of the original verse into a contemporary idiom.
The text of King John was "useful" for the acting styles popular on British and American stages in the nineteenth century, but became less and less useful for twentieth-century performers. Cousin argues that the turn to naturalism disadvantaged actors cast to deliver "highly complex, rhetorical speeches" that "invite expression in a heightened, declamatory style of performance which a modern susceptibility finds artificial and unconvincing" (Cousin 1994, 18). By providing an opportunity for improvisation and autobiography to intervene into the "translated" Shakespeare, the Rudes' production makes Fixing King John "useful" for the performance styles prized by their own twenty-first-century, ensemble-based company.
Do recognition and awards indicate a play is useful? Fixing King John won several awards for production, direction, original script and performances from the Austin Critics Table and B. Iden Payne Awards. With the 2013 production, the Rude Mechs simultaneously overthrew tradition and inherited a venerable legacy of "fixing" King John for present purposes. Scholars and classically trained actors might miss Shakespeare's verse and complex insight into Tudor politics refracted through a Plantagenet lens. But King John knows how to answer a challenge to his legitimacy: "Let's do it. Fuck you. No big deal" (Lynn 2013, 33).
Notes
| 1. | The following discussion of production history owes much to Geraldine Cousin's Shakespeare in Performance: King John (1994). |
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