Kicking Against the Pricks: The Roaring Girl and Arden of Faversham

Two plays in a day. Always a good idea. All day drinking, and double the fun. Not much to dislike there.

The two plays I saw at the RSC in Stratford this Wednesday worked really well together. Both were analyses of women out of sync. Both were based on real people, who flouted convention in Renaissance England. Both productions were imaginatively directed . . . and both were performed by the same hard working troupe.

Following a theatre’s work day like this was enlightening. Putting on plays is hard work, and the troupe worked their socks offs. Everybody from the stage hands, to the lighting and sound crew, put in a long demanding day. As time went on I amazed at the stamina of the performers -  their ability to remember so much material, and deliver it with such verve and wit. From the first words of Geoffrey Freshwater at 1.30, through to the last smiling sentence by Lisa Dillon at 10.45 that evening, the players were in make-up, onstage or waiting in the wings. Some of the actors had highly demanding parts in each play. Keir Charles, for instance, was rarely off stage in both productions.

Had I not seen both plays in the same day, I would have missed this - and the stamina of these remarkable performers. Had I seen only one production, I would have missed the transformation of the theatre, from Arden’s warehouse to London’s cobbled streets. As I sat down to the evening show I literally couldn’t believe I was in the same theatre.

Arden of Faversham centres on a real life scandal, which happened 41 years before the play was published. Arden was a self made business-man who acquired the former lands of Faversham Abbey, which had been dissolved by serial killer Henry VIII. Though legally owned by the Church, much of the pasture had been common to local farmers, and Arden’s enclosure marked the dispossession of the villagers. Arden’s wife, Alice, was rich, spoiled and bored, and embarked upon an affair with a low born local, Mosby. Together they plotted to kill rich hubby to gain control of his wealth. They were, however, rather incautious in their plans, involving Arden’s servants, an aggrieved villager and two memorable London hoodlums, Will and Shakebags.

Yes, Will and Shake-bags. Conventionally the play is listed as anonymous, however, there has long been speculation that it was written by Shakespeare. Others have claimed that it was penned by Thomas Kyd, or Kentish lad Christopher Marlowe. I don’t buy the Bard claim - to me, the writing seems too direct, with little of the thorough soul seeking that marks out the Swan of Avon. Marlowe and Kyd are more likely candidates. Indeed, the somewhat modern plain-speak, reminds me of the text of the Massacre at Paris ("Come. Let's go". Exeunt).

That said . . . Will and Shakebags? For some, this is as clear an allusion to the Bard as Rupert Greene’s denouncement of the upstart Shake-Scene. So, if Shakespeare wrote Arden, how likely is it that he secreted his name into his own play? Mmmm . . . well he was prone to overuse the word Will, wasn’t he? OK, how likely is it that the established superstar Marlowe would take a swipe at the new kid on the block? Shakebags was a common term for a thief at the time, so perhaps the name is not quite the shibboleth conspiracy theorists claim it is. The date of the play, pre 1592 is very early for Shakespeare, and late for Marlowe or Kyd. My money’s on Marlowe . .  or maybe a Marlowe/ Kyd production.

At the psychological/ philosophical level the play concerns material greed and lust. Such themes are embedded in wider social/ economic realities, such as the after-effects of the dissolution of the monasteries, the new commerce and commodification, and the brash nouveau riche - of which Arden and his wife were sour embodiments. The other harsh contextual reality, was the oppression of women. Whereas Alice Arden’s accomplices in the murder received death sentences, the judge reserved the worst punishment for her. Burning. At the time, for a wife to murder her husband shook the foundations of the social order, and doing so was the civil equivalent of regicide. It was, in other words, an unthinkable act . . hence the nationwide scandal when this crime was perpetrated; and the episode was deemed important enough to be included in Holinshed’s Chronicles, the historical source for many plays of the English renaissance. Unlike most of these works, however, Arden of Faversham concerned common people - traders, butchers and thieves - and this marks out the work as historically significant in its own right. Here was a revolutionary play on a shocking episode in recent history.

With these tabloid themes, and a script by Marlowe/Kyd/ Shakespeare, this was a sure fire hit, and indeed the play was performed by Shakespeare’s own troupe, the Chamberlain’s Men in the 1590s - perhaps at The Theatre, Shoreditch.  The themes, and the tight modern script resonate today in an England wracked by social change and the commodification of everything. To reflect this money-obsessed spiritual wasteland, director Polly Findlay set the reptilian parvenus in a chavtown in Kent cum Essex. I think Sittingbourne fits the bill beautifully - so close to (now posh) Faversham, but a microcosm of cultureless new millenium entitlement.

Arden is a cold hearted trader, who thinks only of money and his trophy wife Alice. Ian Redford plays the saturnine businessmen as a hollow man, a hungry ghost, who has everything but is never satisfied. As he is musing about his spouse’s indiscretions, she enters the stage - and what a sight that is. Actress Sharon Small totters into the narrative, and never really leaves it, entrancing with her lack of taste, her shallow lusts and problem-page philosophies on life. She is a mesmerising creature, witty and amusing, in a frothy kind of way, but depressingly vacuous - indeed, the embodiment of modern have-it-all celebrity culture. With her husband drifting off stage, Alice talks dreamily about her boyfriend, Mosby, a bit of rough from the wrong end of town. Then in he strides, the uber-chav - cocky, stupid and cultureless, and brilliantly played by Keir Charles - the first of two huge roles he played that day. What a charismatic performer - I feel like I know Mosby, in the same way as I knew, and avoided, Dogsy in the school yard.

Other superb performances stood out. Jay Simpson played the thief Will Black as a thin skinned assassin. Christopher Middleton portrayed the poisoner Clarke as a disgusting sexual predator, eliciting repulsed reactions from the audience. Not the kind of person one would like to encounter - even at a distance. Lizzie Hopley played an aggrieved villager who pursues the dismissive Arden about his appropriation of her land, eventually delivering a memorable curse, that momentarily pierces Arden’s thick skin. Hopley played two memorable parts that day, and they couldn’t have been more different - as you shall see.

On the whole, then, this was a highly creative and powerful performance of a play that speaks volumes to us today. As wealth becomes the only measure of success, and morality, education and spirituality are marginalised or lampooned, the reptiles of Faversham are in the ascendent. This play warns us all, that we should be worried.

Lots to think about there, then - and I did so during a couple of pints before the next play, The Roaring Girl. I returned and entered the transformed theatre, amazing at the industry of the stage hands. Very impressive!

The Roaring Girl was written a couple of decades after Arden, but it too was based on real events. The focus of the play is Moll Cutpurse, actually Mary Frith (1584 – 26 July 1659) who became famous for dressing like a man, publically smoking tobacco and hanging out with street ruffians. She was done on several occasions for minor transgressions, but later, turned into an informant and unlikely celebrity. A very interesting figure amidst Jacobean London, she became the subject of public interest and gained the attention of the entertainments industry. In 1610 John Day wrote The Madde Pranckes of Mery Mall of the Bankside. Unfortunately, this play is lost in the midst of time, but isn’t it amazing that an eccentric 26 year old woman was having major plays written about her in the midst of Jacobean witch hunting?

Thomas Middleton and Thomas Decker were a little late off the mark producing their own play, The Roaring Girl, a year later in 1611. They were obviously fans of the gender bending reprobate, but unlike Day, who dramatised her life, they weaved her into an urban rom com. Incidentally, Thomas Dekker wrote the heartbreaking The Witch of Edmonton a decade later in 1621. He was obviously fascinated by, and sympathetic to, rebellious women such as Mary.

The Roaring Girl  was highly unusual in that it focused on an existing person who was defying convention.  What would the modern equivalents be? Joe Orton writing a play about Quentin Crisp in the 1960s? Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell?

The plot is complex and ludicrous. Sir Alexander Wengrave is dissatisfied with his son’s choice of a bride, because of her lack of an adequate dowry. The emotionally intelligent Sebastian thus hatches a plot to make his father suspect him of having an affair with the infamous Moll Cutpurse. He calculates that papa would be so horrified by this, that he would change his mind and welcome his marriage to the respectable Mary Fitzallard (superbly played by Faye Castelow). So far so simple, except that the narrative then splits into several subplots about marital intrigue among Sebastian’s acquaintances, most notably that involving Mrs Gallipot and the spivvy Laxton; and Mrs Openwork and Goshawk, who whispers that her hubbie has been keeping a whore.

At the centre of this domestic maelstrom is Moll, who dominates, manipulates, mentors and massages the various personalities.  She is quite quite wonderful. At the start of the play, the lights go up to reveal her, slouching cockily on a chair, lustily drawing on a cigarette and surveying the audience with confident, mocking eye. Lisa Dillon’s portrayal of Moll is fresh and energetic. She is in charge. She is the focus, and that’s the way she likes it.  Whereas the original Moll was damned for transgressing gender boundaries, Lisa Dillon transcends them - her Moll, is above all, true to herself. Like everyone else in the audience, I fell in love with this self-actualised being, and towards the end she lasered me with an amused look, took my hand and kissed it. “Thank you, darling” she said, retreating, mockingly mopping her brow. I almost swooned.

She mocked, carped, plotted and flirted. She sang, played electric guitar, acoustic bass, climbed the stage and danced. How could anybody else get a look in?

Surprisingly, perhaps, they did. Although Moll dominated, this was a tight ensemble performance and other characters were brought to life brilliantly. The other scene-stealer of the night was Lizzie Hopley’s portrayal of Mistress Gallipot. You may remember, that Hopley earlier played the decent, timid Mrs Reede, who placed a curse on Arden. Her portrayal of Mistress Gallipot couldn’t have been more different - knowing, flirtatious, mischievous, she toyed with her lines, sparking off and involving the audience. It was a thrilling performance.

Many of her lines concerned her beau, Laxton, played by Keir Charles - who thereby played two major cads in one day. Both were a joy to behold, slightly different in personality, but as manipulative and shallow as each other. Timothy Speyer was terrific as the aggrieved but understanding husband, Mr Gallipot - a very likeable character. Indeed, one of the differences between this play and Arden was that here in London there were streams of goodness, charity, and benign humour - while leafy Faversham resembled a crocodile pit.

Another fine performance was put in by Tony Jayawardena as the slandered Mr Openwork, who loved his wife, and beamed good will throughout. The contrast between this role and that of the brutal Shakebag couldn’t have been greater. Ian Bonar also put in an amazing double shift, with sharply different characters. Likewise, Ken Nwosu did double time in eye catching fashion, stepping in at the last minute to take on the role of the aggrieved Gull.

Of course, as all rom coms do, the couple get married and live happily ever after. At the end, we are left with Mol, who reflects on the events, and announces the appearance of the real Mary Frith on stage at the theatre in the near future. No doubt Mary would have been in the audience at the original play, and may have stood up at this point to receive the applause of the audience. That I would love to have seen.

Leaving the theatre I slipped into a pub to catch the tail end of the Argentina-Holland game. At the table in front of me, I spotted Peter M. Smith, who had played the cross-dressing Bawd in the Shakespeare Institute’s fine production of Pericles last year.  What a wonderful place Stratford is.

Later, as I cleaned my teeth and reflected upon the day’s events. I looked down to my hand. Kissed by Moll Cutpurse. The soap sat by the sink, begging a question.

The Witch of Edmonton, by William Rowley, Thomas Dekker and John Ford. RADA, London

The Witch of Edmonton was written in 1621 in the later years of King James' reign. Since an early trip to Denmark had sparked an interest in the dark side, James became obsessed with witchcraft, writing a whole book, Daemologie, on the topic in 1597.

With such royal encouragement, it is no coincidence that James' reign festered with witch hunts and accusations of devil worship - in Scotland in particular. In his early fervour in the 1590s, James himself had personally attended the trial and punishments of many unfortunate, marginal women. Understandably, then, this climate of moral panic by royal appointment had an influence upon the theatre of the time; most notably in Shakespeare's Macbeth, which was obviously written with the regal patron in mind. The Witch of Edmonton, is perhaps the most notable other Jacobean drama of the genre; however, it takes a more ambiguous moral line on Britain's weird sisters than the Scottish play.

The Witch of Edmonton is about a real case in London in early 1621 - the year the play was written. The character at the centre of the the narrative was a real woman, Elizabeth Sawyer, who was accused of consorting with the devil, and putting spells on the good people of Edmonton - a small sheep rearing town, eight miles from the City. An Anglican minister, Henry Goodcole, visited the desperate woman in Newgate Prison during the time of her interrogations, and wrote a popular pamphlet on the episode, The wonderfull discouerie of ELIZABETH SAWYER a Witch, late of Edmonton, her conuiction and condemnation and Death. Together with the relation of the Diuels (or devils). The poor destitute was executed on 19 April in Newgate Prison - one of hundreds of women tortured and executed during James' rule.

The play was a collaboration by three notable figures in Jacobean theatre, who would all have rubbed shoulders with Shakespeare on a regular basis. William Rowley was a larger than life actor, famous for his clowns. As a playwright he wrote many comedic parts for himself, collaborating with others, notably John Fletcher (Shakespeare's protege, and writing partner on Henry VIII, Two Noble Kinsmen, and the lost play, Cardenio). This networking of creatives lay at the heart of the cultural high point that was the Elizabethan/ Jacobean golden age. As now with American television comedies, accomplished individual scriptwriters would come together to pen brilliant, incisive shows.

Thomas Dekker was the oldest and most established of the collaborators. As with many at the heart of London theatre at the time, he had an eventful life. He once spectacularly fell out with Ben Jonson, to the point where they were mocking each other in their scripts. In 1599, he produced what became his most famous play, The Shoemaker's Holiday. He was, however, a perennial profligate, and struggled with debt throughout his life. From 1612, at the height of his powers and fame, he spent seven years in prison for a debt offence (owing forty shillings to the father of John Webster, author of Duchess of Malfi). Emerging with white hair, he was quickly back to work, and wrote this play a couple of years after his release.

The youngest of the trio, John Ford came from a typical background for a playwright at the time - Oxbridge, then an early training in Law (in this case at the Middle Temple). Ford was a brilliant writer who produced plays that explored the dark side of life, most notably in 'Tis a Pity She's a Whore - which has a rather comedic title to the modern ear, but is actually a bleak examination of incest.

The Witch of Edmonton itself weaves two narratives together. The first is the story of the demonisation of an old eccentric woman, Elizabeth Sawyer by the people of Edmonton. The play highlights how the odd casual insult to a marginal woman back then, could quickly escalate to a full blown alarum about demonic possession. The fact that the script is based upon real events makes the victimisation of Elizabeth harrowing to watch.

Key to the whole narrative is the point where the despondent and desperate woman ultimately appeals to the devil to take revenge on her tormentors. A demonic black dog duly appears, which demands her soul for his help. Throughout much British history, black dogs were considered malicious - and used as a potent symbol of evil. A particularly infamous spectre at the time was the Newgate black dog, a spirit that appeared near the notorious prison there. Indeed, Newgate Prison was the place where Sawyer was tried and executed.

The black dog is the link between the two narratives. In the second plot, a young couple have just got married in secret because of the threat of being exposed. The young man, however, is obliged to return to his father's house, and is coerced into a second marriage by his father. Tormented by his duplicity, the bigamist is touched by the demon dog, and murders his new bride. He also is hanged at the prison. Two routes to the same fate. One cause of both - the evil "black dog".

RADA is a wonderful modern space, with three public stages - and three plays were running concurrently when I attended. The bar was therefore packed with lively, chatting theatre types. Luvvie central. As I waited for the call, Jonathan Pryce sat down next to me.

The theatre was intimate but airy, with a deep stage. The director, Philip Franks and designer, Adrian Linford, took full advantage of the stage space, and used the depth well - transforming it from a rubbish tip, to a shop, to a bar, to a prison, with swift positioning of props.

This being RADA, the cast were wonderful, without exception. However, certain performances did stand out. In the opening scenes, Tom Hanson played the dissolute Sir Arthur Clarington with engaging mischief and dark wit. Phoebe Pryce played the vulnerable, wronged, Susan Carter with a deep sensitivity - and marked her rapid descent from vivacious girl to murder victim with a skilful tragic lightness. I think she would be perfect in the role of Rosalind, or Lady Macbeth.

For me, however, the star of the show was Eliza Butterworth, who played the witch. Her portrayal of a downtrodden, defiant woman at the edge of society - and sanity - was chilling and heartbreaking. There was a tone of brutalised disappointment in her voice; a fragility in her defiance, that was very moving and real. Bravo to Eliza Butterworth - indeed bravo to all the cast, and the set designers for putting on such an entertaining and stirring performance.

As I walked out of RADA through the echoing streets of Bloomsbury, I reflected on the cruelty of British society throughout much of its history. If one had a tic, or epilepsy, or Parkinson's or Tourette's in the sixteenth century, one faced taboo, prejudice and continuous threat of insult or panic. If one was a bit vague, or odd, or different - particularly as a woman - then one was vulnerable, with little protection from the state; which - as we have seen - was often the main mover in these kinds of zealous alarums.

Outside the Tavistock Hotel, I was passed by three laughing student types - one with a nose stud and purple streaks in her hair; all linking arms. How much better things are today.