· 25 January 2016 ·
[The satire in Twelfth Night that almost nobody gets]
If music be the food of love, play on
opening line, Twelfth Night, or What You Will
Synopsis of Twelfth Night, with lossy compression:
Shipwreck separates twins. Countess loves girl twin posing as boy, who loves lovelorn duke, who loves countess. Countess’s drunken uncle’s foppish friend loves countess. Countess’s maid, drunken uncle, and fool fool sanctimonious steward with forged love letter. Steward’s besotted behaviour concerns countess. Steward, immured, is mocked by fool’s mock minister. Girl twin posing as boy hints of love to lovelorn duke; duke continues crush on countess. Foppish friend fights girl twin posing as boy. Countess confuses confused boy twin for girl twin posing as boy. They marry. Girl twin posing as boy arrives with duke. Consternation, revelation, reunion. Duke, no longer lovelorn, now loves girl twin now not posing as boy. They will marry. Drunken uncle has married maid. Foppish friend and sanctimonious steward depart. Fool sings.
Over the last four hundred years, a lot of people have laughed a lot at Twelfth Night. Not to be immodest about it, it’s good and it’s funny. I’m glad they’ve enjoyed it.
But Twelfth Night isn’t only a romantic comedy about separated siblings and simpering servants, with bendable gender added to titillate.
Remember that back in my day women’s roles were played
by men, so Viola/Cesario was not Imogen Stubbs in a
false moustache,but a boy playing a girl playing a boy,
in love with another boy. No wonder the Puritans hated
the theatre. (Some things never change.)
Ever since its first publication in 1623’s First Folio, nearly everyone who has seen Twelfth Night has seen it as if it were on a bootlegged DVD, with only a single audio track in the default language, and no bonus features. It’s entertaining to watch, but there’s not much depth to the experience.
What few people know, and fewer acknowledge, is that a commentary track exists for this play, an alternate set of subtitles, a historical metaphorical .SRT file.
Anyone who knows what was going on at Elizabeth’s court back around the ’80s (that’s the 1580s), and who knows enough about me to approach Twelfth Night through my eyes, can comprehend an additional layer of caricature in the play’s characters. If you understand the history and accept my authorship, it’s so easy to see and enjoy.
A different illustration of dual-layered content can be seen in The Simpsons, the animated television series set in Springfield, Oregon. Children, who process only the show’s base level, see the antics of a cheeky boy named Bart getting into all sorts of hot water at school and at home. The cartoon works perfectly well that way. But their parents, at least the bright ones, with a more mature knowledge of what’s in the world, enjoy the higher bandwidth of a multiplexed signal. The additional frequency is stuffed full of cultural and topical zings and arrows, and paying close attention rewards the astute viewer with a dense dose of brilliant wit. I simply adore The Simpsons. It’s so smart, so funny, and so fast.
It’s impossible to pick one quintessential episode from the
27-year multitude. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
here’s the 4:53 Academy Award-nominated 2012 short film,
The Longest Daycare. It’s not typical, but it’s pantomimed,
poignant, and perfect.
I’m not going to hand you a spreadsheet with Twelfth Night’s characters in column A and their courtier counterparts in column B. If you don’t already know them, it’s up to you to dis-cover them for yourself, now that you know what to look for. (A few hints follow below, though.) Take heart – homework like this is a lot easier than it used to be.
Twelfth Night wasn’t written for the groundlings at the Globe, nor for modern moviegoers whose lives are cultural and temporal centuries from the people being parodied. My original, intended audiences knew the court because they were the court. There were red faces in the front row when self-awareness dawned. I enjoyed that immensely.
Since I was a courtier also, it was easy for me to turn the likes of Hatton (sheep-biter indeed), that puppy Sidney, my termagant sister and her sot of a husband, and even Bess herself, into the food of satire, to play on.
And if you as a viewer of Twelfth Night don’t understand that, or worse, choose to close your eyes to it because it interferes with your incorrect conception of who and what Shakespeare was, then you’re missing most of the fun.
VERO NIHIL VERIUS