After Marianne and I watched My Fair Lady together, during which time she fell asleep, I discussed the history of the movie with her and promised I would publish this essay that I had written about the play. I love Shaw.
David Christopher (0634180)
ENGL 437A
Prof. S.M. Rabillard
4 April 2007
Elements of Form Challenging Romantic Conventions in Pygmalion
In his play, Pygmalion, George Bernard Shaw calls into question traditional views of propriety and aristocratic hypocrisy. The viewer/reader is invited to take part in an intellectually elitist perspective of the world that allows for sympathy, and perhaps even reverence, for the otherwise pompous, arrogant and abusive Higgins. Although Higgins carries these characteristics unremittingly to the play’s close, he remains appealing in ways that are paternal, academic, intellectual, and most importantly, romantic. The romantic sense given to the reader/viewer seems counter-intuitive in light of the overbearing nature of Higgins. Shaw challenges traditional notions of propriety and romance by manipulating elements of form such as act structure and allusion, setting, and rhetorical dialogue to subvert the audience’s romantic expectations, leave the plot tantalizingly unresolved, and allow for a character such as Higgins to remain an appealing romantic prospect for Eliza.
Shaw sets up the expectation of a romantic resolution for Eliza in two ways. The most obvious element of form that Shaw uses is the five-act structure. The lack of resolution is striking. In that length of drama, one would expect issues to have had enough space to be resolved by the author. In this way, Shaw not only highlights the five-act structure but invites the viewer to draw comparisons against other plays with five acts that are more traditionally resolute. Immediately reminiscent is the romantic comedy genre established by Shakespeare. It is not uncharacteristic of Shaw to challenge Shakespeare or invite comparisons to his work as is demonstrated by his farcical yet intellectual puppet play, Shakes versus Shav. Typically, the Shakespearean dramatic comedy completes a full five acts in which one or more marriages of young romantic lovers is facilitated and expected or actually performed after the removal of an elderly blocking agent which challenges the romance. Shakespeare’s romantic works focus heavily on the delight in courting rituals with a ‘happily-ever-after’ feeling to the imminent marriages in the denouement. A modern example of this established convention occurs in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest in which two comic young couples are destined to achieve their nuptials once the misgivings of the elderly Lady Bracknell are removed. Shaw is obvious in his use of five Acts and even more obvious in that his romantic plot is unresolved. As such, he is boldly contradicting Shakespearean romantic notions within Shakespeare’s own recognizable five act structure.
The second element of form that Shaw uses to establish romantic expectations is in allusion to Shakespearean works. While the title of the play distracts the viewer/reader into thematic comparisons with the classical myth of the same name, similarities to Shakespearean works in the content of the drama are overlooked. The tenor of the relationship between Eliza and Higgins is highly reminiscent of Kate and Petruchio in Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Like Shakespeare, Shaw uses a form of stichomythia in which Higgins and Eliza banter. For example, in Act II they chase each other with words in opposing lines:
“Higgins: [. . .] Well!!! [. . .] What do you expect me to say to you?
The Flower Girl: Well, if you was a gentleman, you might ask me to sit down, I think. Don’t I tell you I’m bringing you business?
Higgins: Pickering: shall we ask this baggage to sit down, or shall we throw her out of the window?
The flower girl: [. . .] Ah-ah-oh-ow-ow-ow-oo! [. . .] I won’t be called baggage (Shaw 300). Their bold interaction from beginning to end creates a romantic tension similar to that found in The Taming of the Shrew. In Act II, Higgins instructs her to live with him and immediately has her stripped down and washed. The sexual symbolism is clear as intimated by Doolittle when he brings his daughter’s luggage and says “She said she didn’t want no clothes. What was I to think from that, Governor? I ask you as a parent what was I to think?” (Shaw 312). Higgins’ abusive training of Eliza is also similar to Petruchio’s ‘taming’ of Kate. Shaw is again drawing on popular conventions of romantic tension to establish the possibility of a romantic resolution between Higgins and Eliza. Within this antagonistic framework, Shaw challenges romantic notions of courtship.
Shaw uses another element of form to establish an egalitarian perspective of the battle of the sexes between Higgins and Eliza: setting. As Acts change, he oscillates the setting between Higgins’ laboratory (in his home) and his mother’s drawing room (at her flat). Symbolically, these two settings represent patriarchal and matriarchal power. In his home, Higgins is boorish and overbearing in his treatment of Eliza. His mother, however, is not intimidated by him and maintains very matriarchal control of her space. In Act V, for example, she says to her son, “If you promise to behave yourself, Henry, I’ll ask her to come down. If not, go home; for you have taken up quite enough of my time” (Shaw 340). In this matriarchal space, Eliza is empowered and able to counter Higgins in his demeanour. At one point in Act V, Eliza declares “[s]o you are a motor bus: all bounce and no consideration for anyone. But I can do without you: dont think I cant” (Shaw 346). A weakness in Higgins’ masculine power is intimated which mitigates his boorish behaviour and is only one of several characteristics that make him romantically appealing.
Higgins is intelligent, educated, passionate about his profession, honest and paternal. These are all traditional romantically appealing qualities. He is ingenuous and egalitarian in his depiction of relationships. In Act II he says, “I find that the moment I let a woman make friends with me, she becomes jealous, exacting, suspicious, and a damned nuisance. I find that the moment I let myself make friends with a woman, I become selfish and tyrannical” (Shaw 307). To the end, he is also genuinely void of hypocrisy. In Act V, he states his perspective to Eliza:
“Higgins: And I treat a duchess as if she were a flower-girl.
Liza: I see [. . .] The same to everybody.
Higgins: Just so.
Liza: Like father.
Higgins: [Grinning, a little taken down.] Without accepting the comparison at all points, Eliza, it’s quite true that your father is not a snob [. . .] The great secret, Eliza, is not having bad manners or good manners or any other particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all” ( Shaw 345-6). Higgins is also intellectually appealing in much of his rationale. Furthermore, showing a delightful knack for rhetoric, Higgins is established as honest in the name of Eliza’s virtue. When Pickering intimates “that no advantage is to be taken of her” sexually, Higgins dryly responds with “What! That thing! Sacred, I assure you” (Shaw 308). Higgins’ position against romantic considerations both establishes his integrity and establishes a conventional expectation for this opinion to be altered.
Furthermore, by removing a sexual motivation, Higgins takes on a paternal role in Eliza’s education. The romantic intimation of a potential partner being paternalistic is conventionally Freudian1. Her real father has already suggested an abusive pattern in his paternity towards her when he says “I never brought her up at all, except to give her a lick of a strap now and again” (Shaw 316). In Act II, however, the egalitarian perspective is again reinforced as it is notable that Eliza solicits the tutelage of Higgins. Although Higgins appears abusive in his treatment of Eliza, it is all in the name of improving her in the only way he sees possible.
Eliza’s education, in conjunction with the established romantic tension creates a dual climax in the plot. The social climax is achieved with her success at the “garden party” discussed at the beginning of Act IV. Shaw marginalizes this climax by having it occur offstage and between Acts. He immediately begins to subvert expectations in the denouement following this climax. According to conventions in fairy-tales such as Cinderella, Eliza’s social success would be synonymous with the romantic assurance of her lover. However, the romantic plot is unresolved. In Act V, Shaw heightens the expectation that the vehement bachelor has realized love when Higgins states to Eliza, “You never asked yourself, I suppose, whether I could do without you” (Shaw 346). At the point of the romantic climax, when it feels as though Eliza must choose between Freddy and Higgins, the dramatic text ends. The unresolved ending not only contrasts with conventional Shakespearean endings but also contradicts the resolution of the romantic tension established between Eliza and Higgins as well as the resolution of the clear marital candidacy established in Freddy. The emotionally calming effect and expectation of the traditional comic happy-ending is abruptly subverted and Higgins is left as a tantalizing unresolved potential romantic prospect.
Shaw uses the unresolved romantic plot to advance his notion of romantic egalitarianism. Higgins won’t choose for Eliza. In his unremitting honesty and inability to be hypocritical, he states “If you come back I shall treat you just as I always treated you. I cant change my nature; and I don’t intend to change my manners” (Shaw 345). He leaves the choice of her romantic future entirely up to her. In a jealous tirade he asks, “You find me cold, unfeeling, selfish, dont you? Very well: be off with you to the sort of people you like. Marry some sentimental hog or other with lots of money, and a thick pair of lips to kiss you with and a thick pair of boots to kick you with. If you cant appreciate what youve got, youd better get what you can appreciate” (Shaw 349). Eliza is left empowered to pursue whatever course she desires, protected by the matriarchal setting in which the dramatic text ends, at Higgins’ mother’s flat. Shaw does not eliminate any possibility from Eliza’s future but leaves the audience wondering if she would be better off with an honest man who is above the hypocrisy of aristocratic society or with an aristocratic romantic fool such as Freddy.
Shaw invites the audience to consider a realistic perspective on true companionate marriage, and a strong desire for more banter between Eliza and Higgins.
Using broad characteristics of form, Shaw draws comparisons with conventional Shakespearean forms and subverts audience expectations. By doing so, Shaw challenges traditional and conventional notions of propriety and romance in favour of a doctrine of ingenuous honesty, intellectual companionability, and the reality of unresolved romantic considerations. After all, in reality, most romantic tribulations are not neatly tied up in five ‘well-made’ acts of life.
Notes
1See Freud’s work entitled The Interpretation of Dreams. Chapter 5. Material and Sources of Dreams [The Oedipus Complex]
Works Cited
Shaw, George Bernard. "Pygmalion." George Bernard Shaw’s Plays, Sandie Byrne, ed.
W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.: New York, 2002. pp. 286 - 360.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Melodrama
I have often been accused of being "so melodramatic" that I thought I would do a little research to try and understand the perjorative definition assigned to the term.
Webster's dictionary defines melodrama as "a work (as a movie or a play) characterized by extravagant theatricality and by the predominance of plot and physical action over characaterization". However, it also offers a second definition which is "the genre of dramatic literature constituted by such works". The term 'genre' inherently suggests an identifiable set of parameters to which works of literature can be ascribed. Dr. Eric Trumbull, in his Introduction to Theatre course at Northern Virginia Community College writes that melodrama "[c]omes from "music drama" [in which] music was used to increase emotions or to signify characters (Trumbull). In her lectures at the University of Victoria, Dr. Alanna Lindgren agrees that the genre started as 'melodrame' with Jean-Jacques Roosseau's Pygmalion in which music was used to underscore the text (Lindgren). She also suggests that the genre emerged as a form of musical dumb-show to bypass certain theatrical licensing laws which banned spoken word (Lindgren). Using music as a way of heightening emotional responses is, therefore, a point of departure for a definition of the genre. However, it is clear that the definition evolved to include more than mere emotional music.
Dr. Anthony Vickery, also lecturing at the University of Victoria, outlines several characteristics of the mature theatrical genre. He states that melodrama "depended on visual excitement and the thrill of the moment rather than literary excellence" (Vickery). He also suggests that the genre was most popular with an emerging dominant working class who were partial to a dream-world inhabited by dream-people with dream-justice in which the 'good guy' always wins (Vickery). Vickery includes in his definition a stratified world of good against evil where the basic hero is generally stupid but courageous and faces a villain who is irrationally pre-disposed to effecting the hero's demise, regardless of the consequences to himself. Generally, the villain is male and uses a meek and compromised heroine lover of the hero as the vehicle for his evil plots. Vickery suggests that the heroine is the heart of the melodrama and often motivates the villain in his jealousy of the hero to possess her. Vickery also makes reference to the use of the elderly or young children to heighten emotional responses in their victimization by the villain. He outlines a plot structure in which the heroine, as well as children or elderly are in near constant peril. Dr. Lindgren, touting Beecher-Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin as a paradigmatic example of melodrama, extends the definition of the genre to include what she calls 'pictorial' in which on-stage scenes create an emotional aesthetic, like the finale tableau of the play. For example, the stage direction to close the play reads, "Gorgeous clouds, tinted with sunlight. EVA, robed in white, is discovered on the back of a milk-white dove, with expanded wings, as if just soaring upward. Her hands are extended in benediction over ST. CLARE and UNCLE TOM who are kneeling and gazing up to her. Expressive music. Slow curtain" (Wise 65). Lindgren re-iterates the use of emotionally emphatic music, and includes the use of "high-tech special effects" which Trumbull specifies to include "fires, explosions, drownings, earthquakes" (Trumbull). The musical origin is pivotal, but in its evolution, many academic characteristics are evident.
See you in hell.
Shakes.
Webster's dictionary defines melodrama as "a work (as a movie or a play) characterized by extravagant theatricality and by the predominance of plot and physical action over characaterization". However, it also offers a second definition which is "the genre of dramatic literature constituted by such works". The term 'genre' inherently suggests an identifiable set of parameters to which works of literature can be ascribed. Dr. Eric Trumbull, in his Introduction to Theatre course at Northern Virginia Community College writes that melodrama "[c]omes from "music drama" [in which] music was used to increase emotions or to signify characters (Trumbull). In her lectures at the University of Victoria, Dr. Alanna Lindgren agrees that the genre started as 'melodrame' with Jean-Jacques Roosseau's Pygmalion in which music was used to underscore the text (Lindgren). She also suggests that the genre emerged as a form of musical dumb-show to bypass certain theatrical licensing laws which banned spoken word (Lindgren). Using music as a way of heightening emotional responses is, therefore, a point of departure for a definition of the genre. However, it is clear that the definition evolved to include more than mere emotional music.
Dr. Anthony Vickery, also lecturing at the University of Victoria, outlines several characteristics of the mature theatrical genre. He states that melodrama "depended on visual excitement and the thrill of the moment rather than literary excellence" (Vickery). He also suggests that the genre was most popular with an emerging dominant working class who were partial to a dream-world inhabited by dream-people with dream-justice in which the 'good guy' always wins (Vickery). Vickery includes in his definition a stratified world of good against evil where the basic hero is generally stupid but courageous and faces a villain who is irrationally pre-disposed to effecting the hero's demise, regardless of the consequences to himself. Generally, the villain is male and uses a meek and compromised heroine lover of the hero as the vehicle for his evil plots. Vickery suggests that the heroine is the heart of the melodrama and often motivates the villain in his jealousy of the hero to possess her. Vickery also makes reference to the use of the elderly or young children to heighten emotional responses in their victimization by the villain. He outlines a plot structure in which the heroine, as well as children or elderly are in near constant peril. Dr. Lindgren, touting Beecher-Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin as a paradigmatic example of melodrama, extends the definition of the genre to include what she calls 'pictorial' in which on-stage scenes create an emotional aesthetic, like the finale tableau of the play. For example, the stage direction to close the play reads, "Gorgeous clouds, tinted with sunlight. EVA, robed in white, is discovered on the back of a milk-white dove, with expanded wings, as if just soaring upward. Her hands are extended in benediction over ST. CLARE and UNCLE TOM who are kneeling and gazing up to her. Expressive music. Slow curtain" (Wise 65). Lindgren re-iterates the use of emotionally emphatic music, and includes the use of "high-tech special effects" which Trumbull specifies to include "fires, explosions, drownings, earthquakes" (Trumbull). The musical origin is pivotal, but in its evolution, many academic characteristics are evident.
See you in hell.
Shakes.
The Importance of Staging a Scene
David Christopher
ENG 437A
Prof. S. M. Rabillard
16 Feb. 2007
Assignment #1 – Staging a Scene: Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest
In his play, The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde has presented material that is simultaneously very light-hearted in its satire, and yet rich in its social critique. As such a two-tiered piece of work, Wilde has simply and brilliantly combined conventions of theatre and comedy to create a piece that superficially appears quite simplistic but is, in actuality, quite rich in its social commentary. The surface simplicity is further evidence of the genius of the work as Wilde has managed to weave a sharp satire of the upper classes into an otherwise brief and light-hearted presentation.
What is important, in staging a scene, is to present a setting that remains light and enjoyable, while providing hints as to the social commentary that will be presented. It is paramount not to interrupt the lightness of the material by exposing the underlying theme as too serious or brutal. In contrast to the emotionally gut-wrenching works of Ibsen, in which his oppressive settings are reflective of the realistic emotional dramas that he will explore, it would seem that Wilde is holding true to notions suggested by Synge in his introduction to The Playboy of the Western World: “On the stage one must have reality, and one must have joy, and that is why the intellectual modern drama has failed, and people have grown sick of the false joy of the musical comedy, that has been given them in place in the rich joy found only in what is superb and wild in reality (Synge 96). In this sense, it would be reasonable to say that the primary motive of the play is humour, both verbal and situational, complemented and accented by the use of established convention. The satire within the comedy against the petty behaviour of the upper classes must be considered only secondary. That is to say that it can only be accessed if it does not compromise the levity of its surface presentation.
The setting and presentation must therefore encompass several aspects that are important to the integrity of the work. It must be light and humorous while making use of conventional images to marry with the comedic conventions within the play such as mistaken identity, lost infants, love-at-first-sight, and coincidence. On the secondary level, it must provide evidence of a critique or satire of upper class behaviour that does not overshadow the comic appearance. There must be physical and verbal evidence of a society that is conventionally recognizable as upper class, but also as ridiculous.
With these macro-objectives in mind, let us explore the micro-dynamics in the staging of an early scene in which Jack and Algernon are providing an implicit exposition of the nature of their relationship. The scene begins on line 39 of the first act when Algernon first addresses Jack and runs until line 279. Algernon taunts Jack with his cigarette case, having become aware of Jack’s ‘other’ identity, and Algernon makes light of marriage in the face of Jack’s desire to marry Algernon’s cousin, Gwendolen.
We see in Algernon characteristics that are clearly indicative of satire against his aristocratic social libertinism. He has been dismissive with his servant and been clear that his views on marriage are less than conservative. Nevertheless, he remains protagonistic and seems to serve the main purpose of contrasting against Jack and motivating both coincidence and mischance.
Although Jack is the evident protagonist, as the main conflict of marriage circles around him, it is clear that Algernon is also an important element in the comedy and critique. In fact, one might suggest that Jack is a cliché ‘straight man’ to Algernon’s comedic verbal banter. Algernon assumes an almost arrogant air of superiority over Jack in their initial conversation which allows the audience to enjoy the comedy and levity of his verbal banter against Jack’s nervous desire to keep a secret and win the hand of Gwendolen. Algernon, in this scene, is in a position of complete ease. Not only is it his own home, but he has no secret to keep and he has no desire to engage in marriage. Jack is, of course, concerned on both these counts.
The two-tiered nature of the comedy and social satire could be symbolized by a two-tiered stage. An indoor balcony crossing the entire stage left to right, but only half-way downstage would act as a metaphor for the two-tiered nature of the drama and for the imagined superiority Algernon has over Jack. As Algernon sends Lane for the pivotal cigarette case, he could move upstairs to continue his conversation with Jack below. As such, we have a physical representation of superiority in which Algernon can manipulate Jack like a puppeteer from above. It might even be plausible to have Algernon taunt Jack with the cigarette case by dangling it on a string further emphasizing the image of Jack as a puppet at the end of Jack’s string.
In order to represent the convention of a clearly aristocratic social environment, the décor of the house would have to be obvious. An array of extravagant artworks on the wall would be evidential and provide an opportunity for the paintings to reflect the nature of the drama. Various other works of art should be obviously scattered about as well. The couches should be of the highest antique quality, even though they will be used with comfort, and they should be large in number, crowding almost every inch of the three walls of the box set on the main floor. The large number of couches symbolizes an excess in extravagance and laziness that one might expect from Algernon. Each side, both upper and lower, should have large glass doors allowing free access from servants on one side, and aristocratic visitors on the other. The servants and aristocratic characters should never enter from the same side. The reflective nature of the glass would create a mirror effect of expansiveness typical of the frivolously large living spaces of the well-to-do classes.
The paintings on the upper floor should be entirely comic satire of upper class society. In the middle is a painting of a marriage scene of two wealthy individuals whose marriage has famously failed, such as Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor for modern audiences. This painting hints at the convention of marriage and romance in the play and the satire against them. It also symbolizes the attack on the petty sensibility that wealth and title are the only reasonable grounds for decent marriage. As a backdrop to Algernon on the second floor, it would underscore his lines about marriage that he doesn’t “see anything romantic in proposing [ . . .] Then the excitement is all over” and that “if ever [he] get[s] married, [he]’ll certainly try to forget the fact” (although technically, he has not gone upstairs yet) (Wilde 255). He later implies a lack of fidelity between married partners, especially when married to someone as serious as Jack, when he suggests that Jack’s wife will want a “bunbury” alias (Wilde 261). The painting adds comic authenticity to his trivialization of Jack’s desire to marry Gwendolen.
On either side, are twin paintings that are caricature-like portraits of Algernon and Jack. Although a portrait of Jack might seem odd in Algernon’s house, it would not be such a prevalent stage piece as to be distractingly out of place. As the play deals with conventions and the ridiculous, there is no need to be particularly discrete with the physical presentation. Furthermore, the ‘twin’ portraits hint at the brotherly relationship between them that is yet to be revealed. They are both formally and identically dressed in the portraits, except that Algernon should carry an air of self-importance while Jack appears more modest. The portrait of Jack has a stereotypically comic moustache drawn on it, suggesting subtext that Algernon is actually intimidated by Jack with a need to ridicule him and suggesting his natural frivolity and libertinism with such expenses as a painted portrait.
The comic backdrop is perfect for the location from which the casually comedic Algernon will play his baiting game with Jack about his secret identity. As a complement, Algernon’s attire should be stereotypically aristocratic, but with a ridiculous and flambouyant edge. He wears a traditional navy blue silk suit with a ridiculous pink scarf tucked into the front coming right up under his chin so that it appears to be supporting his head.
By contrast, on the main floor, where our straight man resides, are paintings that are more traditional although not austere: classically famous pieces that represent extravagance. A copy of the Mona Lisa and a copy of Whistler’s Mother are immediately recognizable. In this instance, the Mona Lisa is symbolic of the beauty in Gwendolen to which Jack is a captive, and Whistler’s Mother of the oppressive disdain her mother (Lady Bracknell) will harbour against Jack for his apparent lack of social station. Both of these paintings are behind Jack as he is the one subject to them. Furthermore, these first floor paintings are on the back wall under the balcony and, therefore, shadowed a little, suggesting that the surface comedy above is to be brought more into the light than the less important underlying serious social commentary.
The more serious tenor of the first floor setting underscores the play’s demonstration that Jack is “the most earnest looking person that [Algernon] ever saw in his life” (Wilde 257). Jack will be dressed in the same attire as Algernon, without the ridiculous scarf. In this way, Algernon has made Jack ridiculous only in the painting, but has made himself ridiculous by his own fashion choice.
In terms of physicality, Algernon’s character should be hyper-comfortable with extravagant sweeping motions of his arms in a ridiculous and condescending histrionic fashion. Jack should be more stiff and nervous. The differences in their physical movement will create a light-hearted tension representative of the lover with something to lose and the libertine with nothing to. The effect on the audience will be to sympathize with Jack and anticipate both an increase in his conflict to achieve an unlikely marriage, and eventually to turn the power structure against Algernon. This presentation will also avoid villainizing Algernon too severely into someone we wish to see undergo tragedy, but merely comic coincidence.
The staging of the scene is corrupt with dichotomy. In fact, Algernon and Jack will later become such perfect twin fools that they actually have mutual lines in their respective romances. The dichotomy of comedy against serious theme, however, is the primary dichotomy. Its representation is encompassed with all available aspects of conventional semiotics. Setting, twinned paintings, extravagant couches, twinned and contrasted outfits, the use of height and puppetry images, and histrionics all work together to accentuate and assist in the audience’s participation in brilliant conventional comedy and lighter social commentary.
Works Cited
Synge, J. M. The Playboy of the Western World and Other Plays. Oxford University
Press, 1998.
Wilde, Oscar. The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays. Oxford University Press, 1998.
ENG 437A
Prof. S. M. Rabillard
16 Feb. 2007
Assignment #1 – Staging a Scene: Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest
In his play, The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde has presented material that is simultaneously very light-hearted in its satire, and yet rich in its social critique. As such a two-tiered piece of work, Wilde has simply and brilliantly combined conventions of theatre and comedy to create a piece that superficially appears quite simplistic but is, in actuality, quite rich in its social commentary. The surface simplicity is further evidence of the genius of the work as Wilde has managed to weave a sharp satire of the upper classes into an otherwise brief and light-hearted presentation.
What is important, in staging a scene, is to present a setting that remains light and enjoyable, while providing hints as to the social commentary that will be presented. It is paramount not to interrupt the lightness of the material by exposing the underlying theme as too serious or brutal. In contrast to the emotionally gut-wrenching works of Ibsen, in which his oppressive settings are reflective of the realistic emotional dramas that he will explore, it would seem that Wilde is holding true to notions suggested by Synge in his introduction to The Playboy of the Western World: “On the stage one must have reality, and one must have joy, and that is why the intellectual modern drama has failed, and people have grown sick of the false joy of the musical comedy, that has been given them in place in the rich joy found only in what is superb and wild in reality (Synge 96). In this sense, it would be reasonable to say that the primary motive of the play is humour, both verbal and situational, complemented and accented by the use of established convention. The satire within the comedy against the petty behaviour of the upper classes must be considered only secondary. That is to say that it can only be accessed if it does not compromise the levity of its surface presentation.
The setting and presentation must therefore encompass several aspects that are important to the integrity of the work. It must be light and humorous while making use of conventional images to marry with the comedic conventions within the play such as mistaken identity, lost infants, love-at-first-sight, and coincidence. On the secondary level, it must provide evidence of a critique or satire of upper class behaviour that does not overshadow the comic appearance. There must be physical and verbal evidence of a society that is conventionally recognizable as upper class, but also as ridiculous.
With these macro-objectives in mind, let us explore the micro-dynamics in the staging of an early scene in which Jack and Algernon are providing an implicit exposition of the nature of their relationship. The scene begins on line 39 of the first act when Algernon first addresses Jack and runs until line 279. Algernon taunts Jack with his cigarette case, having become aware of Jack’s ‘other’ identity, and Algernon makes light of marriage in the face of Jack’s desire to marry Algernon’s cousin, Gwendolen.
We see in Algernon characteristics that are clearly indicative of satire against his aristocratic social libertinism. He has been dismissive with his servant and been clear that his views on marriage are less than conservative. Nevertheless, he remains protagonistic and seems to serve the main purpose of contrasting against Jack and motivating both coincidence and mischance.
Although Jack is the evident protagonist, as the main conflict of marriage circles around him, it is clear that Algernon is also an important element in the comedy and critique. In fact, one might suggest that Jack is a cliché ‘straight man’ to Algernon’s comedic verbal banter. Algernon assumes an almost arrogant air of superiority over Jack in their initial conversation which allows the audience to enjoy the comedy and levity of his verbal banter against Jack’s nervous desire to keep a secret and win the hand of Gwendolen. Algernon, in this scene, is in a position of complete ease. Not only is it his own home, but he has no secret to keep and he has no desire to engage in marriage. Jack is, of course, concerned on both these counts.
The two-tiered nature of the comedy and social satire could be symbolized by a two-tiered stage. An indoor balcony crossing the entire stage left to right, but only half-way downstage would act as a metaphor for the two-tiered nature of the drama and for the imagined superiority Algernon has over Jack. As Algernon sends Lane for the pivotal cigarette case, he could move upstairs to continue his conversation with Jack below. As such, we have a physical representation of superiority in which Algernon can manipulate Jack like a puppeteer from above. It might even be plausible to have Algernon taunt Jack with the cigarette case by dangling it on a string further emphasizing the image of Jack as a puppet at the end of Jack’s string.
In order to represent the convention of a clearly aristocratic social environment, the décor of the house would have to be obvious. An array of extravagant artworks on the wall would be evidential and provide an opportunity for the paintings to reflect the nature of the drama. Various other works of art should be obviously scattered about as well. The couches should be of the highest antique quality, even though they will be used with comfort, and they should be large in number, crowding almost every inch of the three walls of the box set on the main floor. The large number of couches symbolizes an excess in extravagance and laziness that one might expect from Algernon. Each side, both upper and lower, should have large glass doors allowing free access from servants on one side, and aristocratic visitors on the other. The servants and aristocratic characters should never enter from the same side. The reflective nature of the glass would create a mirror effect of expansiveness typical of the frivolously large living spaces of the well-to-do classes.
The paintings on the upper floor should be entirely comic satire of upper class society. In the middle is a painting of a marriage scene of two wealthy individuals whose marriage has famously failed, such as Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor for modern audiences. This painting hints at the convention of marriage and romance in the play and the satire against them. It also symbolizes the attack on the petty sensibility that wealth and title are the only reasonable grounds for decent marriage. As a backdrop to Algernon on the second floor, it would underscore his lines about marriage that he doesn’t “see anything romantic in proposing [ . . .] Then the excitement is all over” and that “if ever [he] get[s] married, [he]’ll certainly try to forget the fact” (although technically, he has not gone upstairs yet) (Wilde 255). He later implies a lack of fidelity between married partners, especially when married to someone as serious as Jack, when he suggests that Jack’s wife will want a “bunbury” alias (Wilde 261). The painting adds comic authenticity to his trivialization of Jack’s desire to marry Gwendolen.
On either side, are twin paintings that are caricature-like portraits of Algernon and Jack. Although a portrait of Jack might seem odd in Algernon’s house, it would not be such a prevalent stage piece as to be distractingly out of place. As the play deals with conventions and the ridiculous, there is no need to be particularly discrete with the physical presentation. Furthermore, the ‘twin’ portraits hint at the brotherly relationship between them that is yet to be revealed. They are both formally and identically dressed in the portraits, except that Algernon should carry an air of self-importance while Jack appears more modest. The portrait of Jack has a stereotypically comic moustache drawn on it, suggesting subtext that Algernon is actually intimidated by Jack with a need to ridicule him and suggesting his natural frivolity and libertinism with such expenses as a painted portrait.
The comic backdrop is perfect for the location from which the casually comedic Algernon will play his baiting game with Jack about his secret identity. As a complement, Algernon’s attire should be stereotypically aristocratic, but with a ridiculous and flambouyant edge. He wears a traditional navy blue silk suit with a ridiculous pink scarf tucked into the front coming right up under his chin so that it appears to be supporting his head.
By contrast, on the main floor, where our straight man resides, are paintings that are more traditional although not austere: classically famous pieces that represent extravagance. A copy of the Mona Lisa and a copy of Whistler’s Mother are immediately recognizable. In this instance, the Mona Lisa is symbolic of the beauty in Gwendolen to which Jack is a captive, and Whistler’s Mother of the oppressive disdain her mother (Lady Bracknell) will harbour against Jack for his apparent lack of social station. Both of these paintings are behind Jack as he is the one subject to them. Furthermore, these first floor paintings are on the back wall under the balcony and, therefore, shadowed a little, suggesting that the surface comedy above is to be brought more into the light than the less important underlying serious social commentary.
The more serious tenor of the first floor setting underscores the play’s demonstration that Jack is “the most earnest looking person that [Algernon] ever saw in his life” (Wilde 257). Jack will be dressed in the same attire as Algernon, without the ridiculous scarf. In this way, Algernon has made Jack ridiculous only in the painting, but has made himself ridiculous by his own fashion choice.
In terms of physicality, Algernon’s character should be hyper-comfortable with extravagant sweeping motions of his arms in a ridiculous and condescending histrionic fashion. Jack should be more stiff and nervous. The differences in their physical movement will create a light-hearted tension representative of the lover with something to lose and the libertine with nothing to. The effect on the audience will be to sympathize with Jack and anticipate both an increase in his conflict to achieve an unlikely marriage, and eventually to turn the power structure against Algernon. This presentation will also avoid villainizing Algernon too severely into someone we wish to see undergo tragedy, but merely comic coincidence.
The staging of the scene is corrupt with dichotomy. In fact, Algernon and Jack will later become such perfect twin fools that they actually have mutual lines in their respective romances. The dichotomy of comedy against serious theme, however, is the primary dichotomy. Its representation is encompassed with all available aspects of conventional semiotics. Setting, twinned paintings, extravagant couches, twinned and contrasted outfits, the use of height and puppetry images, and histrionics all work together to accentuate and assist in the audience’s participation in brilliant conventional comedy and lighter social commentary.
Works Cited
Synge, J. M. The Playboy of the Western World and Other Plays. Oxford University
Press, 1998.
Wilde, Oscar. The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays. Oxford University Press, 1998.
Full Circle
They say that history repeats itself. Furthermore, it seems that a theatrical personality is an inescapable thing.
Sir Ken Robinson, in his 2006 TED Lecture tells us that we educate people out of their creativity, "progressively from the waist up, and then we focus on their heads, and slightly to one side". Quoting Picasso, he says that "all children are born artists. The problem is to remain an artist as we grow up". I had been indoctrinated to respect the PhD and to view my acting talent as futile, hopeless, and, like so many historical philosophies have posited, that it was worthy of derision and disrespectable. I viewed 'art' as pathetic and risible. I moved emotionally towards what I deemed loftier academic pursuits. But in 2001 something happened that began the completion of a journey started decades earlier. The closure of a circle that I only now begin to see in its full light . . .
As a child, I lived with my three adoptive siblings and two adoptive parents in a beautiful little home in a suburb of Ottawa called Nepean. I only mention adoptive as a matter of historical fact for in my young mind they were, and still are, as much my family as to any other child or to any other adult looking back on their life. The house will always fondly be remembered as 21 Meadowbank Drive and in its unfinished basement, I and my childhood friends would find many adventures building forts in my father's wood stock piles (he is a highly skilled amateur carpenter), or, as it happens, staging little plays that we would compose and present to all of the parents in the neighbourhood who were willing to come and watch their children show-off. I couldn't have been more than eight-years-old and unfortunately, distant memory has lost any hope of retelling the subject or plot line of any of our brief 'artistic' pieces forever. Budding childhood starlets who are worthy of mention include Geordie King, Charles Foster, Dale Faye and, of course, Blair and Ross Mackenzie. Ross remains in my life today, Blair has passed on long ago, and the others I could not tell hide nor hair of in the passage of time. One memory that does remain is of one occasion when Geordie's or Blair's parents perhaps (I think Ross was in it) had joined my own for a 'production'. All of the adrenaline, embarrassment, excitement, and stage fright that goes along with my acting career today was as present then as it is now. It was exhilarating. During the show, however, my brother's punching bag, which was hung in the 'stage' area we had selected was swung a little too vigorously and caught one of my fingers between its momentum and the corner of our metal furnace. It tore my finger nail clear off, which is a pain I am sadly yet to forget, and the screaming and wailing that ensued brought that particular little presentation to a definitive end. Later, our dramatic pursuits would evolve into the staging of haunted houses for which we charged admission. My mother made us donate all the proceeds to charity though, save a little that we kept to buy much deserved ice cream for the 'cast'. Another noteworthy list of names emerges including Blair and Ross Mackenzie, Todd Kowalik, Darren Mundt, Derek Saunders, Brad something-or-other, Mark Senyshin, and others, I'm sure . . . most of whom are also lost in time now. Although I maintained an artistic penchant for literature in Junior High School and High School, in both writing and a discovered love for Shakespeare, any hope of acting had been shaken from me as a foolish pipe-dream by the naysayers and relegated to a lowly artistic position in my heart. Business pursuits and higher education held a much stronger appeal, . . . or so I thought.
Once during a session with a psychotherapist named Don, an eccentric, older, gruff man with great wisdom but little foresight, he told me to be honest with myself and to inspect who I truly was. He rhetorically asked if I read The Wall Street Journal in my leisure, or even the business section of the local newspaper. Sadly the answer was no, and the revelation was both crushing and liberating. I barely made it out of my first degree in Economics but later I would pursue a degree in English Literature, and later still . . . Well, I am getting ahead of myself.
In 2001, I was looking to go and see some local Shakespearean theatre. I made several calls from the dj booth at the club for which I was (and am still) working. Ultimately I was directed to a little company called Theatre Inconnu which I called asking for ticket sale information. I ended up talking to the company owner, named Clayton Jevne, who was also the owner of the now defunct Victoria Shakespeare Festival. He laughed, saying that my December phone call was a bit too early for their exclusively summer performances. For some reason, though, he was prompted to engage me in conversation and after learning about my past, and incidentally hearing me do announcements for the club while we were on the phone, he somehow managed to convince me to come down and audition. I didn't take it very seriously but a strange mixture of whimsy and newly discovered passion prompted me to do so. And I got a part! It was minor, but my budding talent had become all too apparent to myself and the director, a woman named Wendy Merk. She openly solicited me to take a leading role in the following year's production of The Tempest for kids which I also helped her edit. My soul had been released, and so had my marriage, which crumbled under the pressure of infant children and my absence to rehearse and perform, amongst other reasons. My calling had been finally discovered, but only too late. After the dissolution of Jevne's Festival, I would become a founding member of the Victoria Shakespeare Society saving it from financial ruin on two fundraiser occasions by verbally auctioning off assets for an event that was otherwise far in the red. My performances for the VSS, as it gained in professional strength and renown, were always met with highly positive local fanfare culminating in my opus performance of Iachimo in Barb Poggemiller's vision of Cymbeline. Today I have even more local fanfare under my belt for nearly a decade's worth of stage performances and I am entering into a Master's Degree in theatre history. I was directed into that academic position by two theatre history profs who were openly astounded by my performance in their classes and an English prof who noted that my academic essays were more of a theatrical brand than analytical. It seems my association with acting and theatre has come full circle from its near loss in younger years and that 'history' has repeated itself as well as becoming part of my imminent future. I will act again. I will get my MA. My checklist is renewed. I am not done yet.
See you in hell,
Shakes.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Skipping Stones and Spots of Time
Once I was hosting a University lecture with a very large group of first year students on the topic of William Wordsworth's epic poem, The Prelude. The poem itself is some 400 pages long but filled with some of the greatest empathetically engaging text in poetic history. After a timely length of highly lacking interaction on the part of the students, I was slowly getting the sense that I was lecturing into a vacuum. "Better to keep silent and be thought the fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt", so the proverb goes. The poor brave soul that finally breached the silence was the one who showed his ignorance and removed the doubt. After nearly an hour of class, he put up his hand and quite candidly asked, "If this is just the prelude, how long is the poem?"
In the poem Wordsworth refers to "spots of time". Although my memory of the interpretation offered by my second year prof when I was under Wordsworth's posthumous tutelage is vague at best, my own interpretation is probably similar. Wordsworth refers to childhood memories that are triggered by a scent or an image or some abstract combination of sensory inputs that is just right to travel the memory back in time to a moment, an emotion, an elusive spot of time that registered in our childish minds for some reason that may have been entirely beyond our cognitive realization at the time. In the revisitation, via sensory memory, our adult mind is "repaired" in some way, the world is categorized in childhood terms and put back in order. Wordsworth was not just waxing romantic poetic drivel. It's happened to me. It's happened to everyone I should imagine. And when it does, it's absolutely magical. One of those authentic 'stop and smell the roses' moments that genuinely slows time and is worth it, to the astute observer, to try and live in it for as long as the moment will last.
The other day I had just such a moment. I was not actually returned to a childhood memory, but the emotion was just as strong. I'm not sure what triggered it, but I think it was an attempt to skip a flat stone offered to me by Blair into the choppy ocean surf at Willow's Beach. It was a brief image of stones interrupting fast moving water on a sparkling sunny day filled with the laughter of children. And suddenly there I was . . . at the Sooke Potholes. That is the nickname given to a particularly beautiful rocky and weaving little river park area in the township of Sooke, just outside of Victoria. It variously offers enough depth to rock jump in places, enough placidity to swim in others, and enough shallow areas for children to wade and be idle and capture little water creatures with a net. The day had been filled with just such activities. All the kids joined myself, Dad and Anita for a day excursion to the Potholes. Eventually we found a nice, relatively secluded place to have a picnic lunch. The lazy day was glimmering and gorgeous. Dad got up and selected from the rocky shore an ideal skipping stone. Now Dad is an expert stone skipper and he managed to skim it across the surface with several light bounces almost all the way to the other side of the river. In fact, this calm, narrow stretch of the river was a perfect width for just such a contest. Not to be outdone, I stood up and rose to the challenge with almost equal near success. The next half-hour turned into a full-fledged male ego/skill contest with Dad parading for his wife and I for my girlfriend respectively. The kids got involved by cheering us along and either harvesting stones for their chosen champion or joining in the efforts and attempts to skip. Dad and I taught Rory, Blair and Milo how to select good flat stones and give with a whirl. Although the girls feigned disinterest, we could tell they were impressed. We left later that day with sore arms and big smiles.
Often when I am melancholy, . . . which is often, I head down to the nearest ocean access and reflect while I skip stones into the surf. I like brooding and I like melancholy solitude and often seek it when life has become too . . . well, too life. Merely selecting a stone from a sea of beached geologic choices is a pensive activity which seems to slow time and gives one pause to reflect, or to avoid thought altogether. The serenity achieved getting lost in the rock hunt is worth the time itself. Even as melodramatic as I am accused of being, I have earned my tragic right to melancholy only too well and have enough to last this lifetime and many others. I hope better for my kids. I fear not. Alas, however, as much as I cannot escape my sadness, I have learned that I cannot escape the more buoyant parts of what I am either. Every time I go to skip stones now, I am foiled in my melancholy as my spot of time, at the Sooke potholes, with Dad, invariably creeps into my mind, and similarly creeps a smile across my face . . . even if I don't want one. A teary smile in a spot of time: inescapable and wonderful. Have you ever tried skipping stones? You should.
See you in hell,
Shakes.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Moonlight Sonata
I knew not what to do. Should I try to impress her? Should I take her to a fancy restaurant and dazzle her with verbal wit and perfectly rehearsed charm? Should I just take her home and walk away before it´s too late? Should I give up and stop caring? My mother once told me that if I didn´t change my behaviour, I would grow up to be boorish and brash and disgusting enough to be one of those men who spit in public. I always wanted to be elegant, haute-couture, respected, revered. I long ago tried to convince myself to stop hating who I really was, to forgive myself, to stop apologizing for who I was, and to always try, at least try, to be true to myself. Should I just get a bottle of wine, skip the glasses, and take her down to the oceanfront to listen to waves and get drunk?
And in that moment, something changed. I had always had strong feelings for her, but something about the warm summer twilight, the watchful eye of the hanging moon, passing the bottle of wine, the front seat of her van, the lullabye of the ocean surf, . . . and her voice, was absolutely intoxicating. Lost in the glistening liquid pools of her teary, beautiful eyes, I was overcome. In my emotion and anxiety I talked too much. I always do. She didn't seem to mind. I knew the night would end all too soon and that I would lose her again, maybe forever. I wanted to hold on to her and never let her go. I restrained myself. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and then we parted. But when I kissed her goodbye, . . . when her soft lips pressed against mine and I tasted her mouth, . . . it was perfect, and I felt a passion I have not felt in what seems like an eternity.
The baby was born in October, and though I wanted to name her Artemis, it was too obvious and she deserved something more subtle. So I named her after the night wind. The love I have for her, like the gift given me by her mother, will last long past my own mortality. It will be as constant and haunting as the moon, in my heart, and through eternity.
And in that moment, something changed. I had always had strong feelings for her, but something about the warm summer twilight, the watchful eye of the hanging moon, passing the bottle of wine, the front seat of her van, the lullabye of the ocean surf, . . . and her voice, was absolutely intoxicating. Lost in the glistening liquid pools of her teary, beautiful eyes, I was overcome. In my emotion and anxiety I talked too much. I always do. She didn't seem to mind. I knew the night would end all too soon and that I would lose her again, maybe forever. I wanted to hold on to her and never let her go. I restrained myself. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and then we parted. But when I kissed her goodbye, . . . when her soft lips pressed against mine and I tasted her mouth, . . . it was perfect, and I felt a passion I have not felt in what seems like an eternity.
The baby was born in October, and though I wanted to name her Artemis, it was too obvious and she deserved something more subtle. So I named her after the night wind. The love I have for her, like the gift given me by her mother, will last long past my own mortality. It will be as constant and haunting as the moon, in my heart, and through eternity.
The Trouble With Pickle Jars
I'm not sure if the boy has picked up Marianne's habit of inadvertent destruction, but Rory has developed what appears to be a Freudian weakness with Pickle jars.
All in about one week, the poor boy has had a litany of accidents involving pickle jars or pickle jar related scenarios. I'm not a big believer in fate, unsuccessful life notwithstanding, but there seems to be more than coincidence going on here. Although he insists it is naught but mere coincidence, I think that the higher powers that be, or Rory himself, are trying to send me some sort of message. What that message can be, for the life of me, I have no idea.
The whole family took to a balmy evening excursion to an oceanside park called Saxe Point. It was a park I had visited in the first weeks I came to Victoria complete with rolling hills, war ruins, and oceanic vistas. Since then, I had searched for it in vain many times and especially on one of Dad's visits but never found it, and much to my chagrin, had never found it again. I was beginning to give it up as having been a figment of my imagination, when Marianne expertly (or almost expertly) navigated us into it one evening for a family picnic. I was delighted to finally be reunited with the place and made a point of logging its location firmly into memory. Rory and Megan covertly made off with one of the large, unopened pickle jars to snack in isolated brooding-teen style even though I had insisted that all the food remain at the picnic table. When he returned, he looked a little more guilty than I would have expected for such a minor crime, which prompted me to inspect the jar a little more closely. Upon doing so, I suppose Rory saw the inspective misgiving in my auspicious eye and came clean. He admitted that after opening the jar, he had knocked it over spilling most of its contents on to the grass of the field. He further admitted that he replaced the pickles to the jar and filled up the missing brine with sea water and the "pickling weeds" with field grass. I gave him the requisite fatherly 'I-told-you-so' speech and promptly disposed of the jar.
Our move out of family housing came swiftly and unexpectedly. After the decison to move out had been made, Marianne was lucky enough to find a near dream home of the right size and price range within days. Had it not been for the muscle and perseverence of the boy, the move would not have been a success. In fact, Rory and I managed to move everything that our large family owned, including ridiculously large and heavy items of furniture that neither he nor I expected to be able to lift in the slightest without assistance, with nothing more than multiple trips in our family mini-van. Marianne commented that Rory was a 'moving machine'. The vague reference to the Terminator movie series prompted me to post the following tongue-in-cheek status on facebook: "David C. Outnumbered by furniture in both mass and volume; no weapons but a single older van; an impossible time-frame; an angry wife - when there seems no hope left at all - David Christopher must look to the machines to save him. Rory Christopher IS the FURNITURATOR. The future (of moving to a new home) is inevitable." Rory was amused by that and the entire move was largely uneventful in terms of damage . . . save one poor jar that fell out of a food box quickly stuffed with fridge items. It was the only casualty to speak of. It was, (you guessed it), a large, full, unopened jar of pickles. It dropped from one of the last boxes Rory was carrying from the house on to the curb under the van and shattered. I don't know what these pickles were made with, but Rory and I were certainly glad that the incident came near the end of the day's moving because the dill stench that scathed our poor nostrils and I'm sure offended many of the residents of the street was nothing shy of atrocious. We drove away quickly with little sympathy for those left behind.
Sometimes when the whole family is in the van and wanting for a snack, and we have yet some stops to make, we pick up a jar of pickles at the grocery store and give everyone in the van something to crunch and munch. It has proven a family favourite as eccentric as it may sound. Rory and I often dip into the jar more than once. On this recent occasion he insisted on holding the newly opened jar on his lap for easy access to more snacking. I warned him that his luck with pickle jars of late had been less than encouraging and that he had best put them down beside me where I could keep them upright. He was adamant, however, to keep them close to himself and in his care. Of course, the jar leaked, and did so all over his lap. The boy emerged from the van looking like he had peed his pants and smelling like a pickle factory.
Upon fully moving in to our new home, we finally managed to unpack well enough to access the refrigerator. We were all hungry, especially Rory. In his hasty rummaging to grab something from the back of the fridge, he managed to knock over a jar of pickles that one of the younger kids had failed to seal very well. Interestingly, not one of the many other jars on the same shelf toppled - only the pickles. The jar was on the top shelf and the pickled brine that sloshed from it managed to cover and, of course, ruin almost all of the few food items that had made the trip and remained even remotely edible.
I have prohibited Rory from going near any pickle jars indefinitely.
See you in hell,
Shakes.
All in about one week, the poor boy has had a litany of accidents involving pickle jars or pickle jar related scenarios. I'm not a big believer in fate, unsuccessful life notwithstanding, but there seems to be more than coincidence going on here. Although he insists it is naught but mere coincidence, I think that the higher powers that be, or Rory himself, are trying to send me some sort of message. What that message can be, for the life of me, I have no idea.
The whole family took to a balmy evening excursion to an oceanside park called Saxe Point. It was a park I had visited in the first weeks I came to Victoria complete with rolling hills, war ruins, and oceanic vistas. Since then, I had searched for it in vain many times and especially on one of Dad's visits but never found it, and much to my chagrin, had never found it again. I was beginning to give it up as having been a figment of my imagination, when Marianne expertly (or almost expertly) navigated us into it one evening for a family picnic. I was delighted to finally be reunited with the place and made a point of logging its location firmly into memory. Rory and Megan covertly made off with one of the large, unopened pickle jars to snack in isolated brooding-teen style even though I had insisted that all the food remain at the picnic table. When he returned, he looked a little more guilty than I would have expected for such a minor crime, which prompted me to inspect the jar a little more closely. Upon doing so, I suppose Rory saw the inspective misgiving in my auspicious eye and came clean. He admitted that after opening the jar, he had knocked it over spilling most of its contents on to the grass of the field. He further admitted that he replaced the pickles to the jar and filled up the missing brine with sea water and the "pickling weeds" with field grass. I gave him the requisite fatherly 'I-told-you-so' speech and promptly disposed of the jar.
Our move out of family housing came swiftly and unexpectedly. After the decison to move out had been made, Marianne was lucky enough to find a near dream home of the right size and price range within days. Had it not been for the muscle and perseverence of the boy, the move would not have been a success. In fact, Rory and I managed to move everything that our large family owned, including ridiculously large and heavy items of furniture that neither he nor I expected to be able to lift in the slightest without assistance, with nothing more than multiple trips in our family mini-van. Marianne commented that Rory was a 'moving machine'. The vague reference to the Terminator movie series prompted me to post the following tongue-in-cheek status on facebook: "David C. Outnumbered by furniture in both mass and volume; no weapons but a single older van; an impossible time-frame; an angry wife - when there seems no hope left at all - David Christopher must look to the machines to save him. Rory Christopher IS the FURNITURATOR. The future (of moving to a new home) is inevitable." Rory was amused by that and the entire move was largely uneventful in terms of damage . . . save one poor jar that fell out of a food box quickly stuffed with fridge items. It was the only casualty to speak of. It was, (you guessed it), a large, full, unopened jar of pickles. It dropped from one of the last boxes Rory was carrying from the house on to the curb under the van and shattered. I don't know what these pickles were made with, but Rory and I were certainly glad that the incident came near the end of the day's moving because the dill stench that scathed our poor nostrils and I'm sure offended many of the residents of the street was nothing shy of atrocious. We drove away quickly with little sympathy for those left behind.
Sometimes when the whole family is in the van and wanting for a snack, and we have yet some stops to make, we pick up a jar of pickles at the grocery store and give everyone in the van something to crunch and munch. It has proven a family favourite as eccentric as it may sound. Rory and I often dip into the jar more than once. On this recent occasion he insisted on holding the newly opened jar on his lap for easy access to more snacking. I warned him that his luck with pickle jars of late had been less than encouraging and that he had best put them down beside me where I could keep them upright. He was adamant, however, to keep them close to himself and in his care. Of course, the jar leaked, and did so all over his lap. The boy emerged from the van looking like he had peed his pants and smelling like a pickle factory.
Upon fully moving in to our new home, we finally managed to unpack well enough to access the refrigerator. We were all hungry, especially Rory. In his hasty rummaging to grab something from the back of the fridge, he managed to knock over a jar of pickles that one of the younger kids had failed to seal very well. Interestingly, not one of the many other jars on the same shelf toppled - only the pickles. The jar was on the top shelf and the pickled brine that sloshed from it managed to cover and, of course, ruin almost all of the few food items that had made the trip and remained even remotely edible.
I have prohibited Rory from going near any pickle jars indefinitely.
See you in hell,
Shakes.
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