Most great plays begin with a simple conceit born of two famous words etched in a question: what if? What if a college professor and his wife had a secret fantasy son whose life they have melded over several bitter years until the game got out of hand? What if a decent white lawyer in the South defended an unjustly-accused black man? What if a morally upright man defended his religious convictions and defied his King's wishes for a divorce? All of those examples had men at their center, so Cody Daigle has asked this “what if?” question: what if Judith Shakespeare, William's sister, albeit a fictitious one, had written The Tempest, and not William? With this simple question, Daigle has crafted William and Judith, a marvel of a play filled with three delights: a great play, a great cast, and a great director.
The time is 1609-1610, London, and William's sister Judith has arrived at William's doorstep in London, penniless but determined not to be married off in an arranged manner as chosen by her father, even though such arrangements were commonplace in that age. Though disowned by her father, Judith is determined to make a life of her own unfettered by men, though she must impose momentarily upon her brother. William has troubles of his own, however, from two directions. A recent case of writer's block is threatening his career, and his wife Anne has traveled from Stratford to visit her husband to express concerns over their daughter's impending marriage to Thomas Quiney. Though written with the help of John Fletcher, Shakespeare's two most recent plays hardly live up to his demanding standards, but the great Bard finds a solution in the “what if?” scenario mentioned above. It's a fascinating idea, first proposed by Virginia Woolf, and taken to incredible heights by Cody Daigle.
The true genius of a “what if?” situation is that it can completely ignore reality. In actuality, William had no sister named Judith, though he did have one named Joan about the same age as Judith and who outlived him by three decades. William's daughter Judith, hereafter called Jude, was betrothed to Thomas Quiney, but they were not wed until 1616 in the last months of William's life, and his health was failing. Judith, portrayed as a young girl in the production, was actually thirty-one when she married Thomas, a marriage that brought nothing but heartache. The two were excommunicated from the church because Thomas had forgotten to arrange a license to marry during Lent, and Thomas was later charged with “carnal copulation” with Margaret Wheeler, who died giving birth to his son. Truth, as Cody writes, is nothing like the play, and the reality would have made a less interesting one.
I do not jest when I say it's a great play with a great cast and a great director. Alicia Chaisson has a director's touch, placing the actors on stage in a way that both enhances the script and feels utterly natural. No bit of staging feels false, nobody upstages the other—except once, which I will detail later—and every actor, lead or supporting, has at least one great moment. As befits the title, William (Aren Chaisson) and Judith (Sarah Gauthier) form the heart of the play, and the two actors have indelible chemistry. Chaisson is utterly believable as the tormented author nearing the end of his career and his life, but it's Gauthier's Judith that steals your heart. Watching her create this thing of passion, only to have it stolen by, of all people, her beloved brother, was devastating to watch, and Sarah's pained face spoke more than any words could. A delightful Steven Cooper epitomized John Fletcher's boyish eagerness, especially in scenes with Sarah where he asks earnestly where do her words come from? Theatre veteran Duncan Thistlethwaite captures Richard Burbage's overblown actor, and Kate Schneider brings a lovely understated quality to Anne Hathaway. Rounding out the cast was Gerard Ducharme as Thomas Quiney, appropriately slimy and smarmy, and Martha Diaz as Jude, who shines in the role and who inspires Judith to fashion Miranda, a character in The Tempest, on Jude.
The play's the thing, however, and no cast or director would have been assembled without Cody Daigle's words. I have followed his works for some time—I'm still kicking myself for not auditioning for Grand Pré—and this shows what time and experience can do to hone one's art. It was perfectly wonderful when I saw the developmental reading presented earlier this year, and yet he has improved it with a new ending that blends William Shakespeare's last great play with Cody's own. It's a lovely visual not possible in a staged reading, and it was a stroke of genius and a most appropriate ending. Before I forget, I wish to congratulate Duncan Thistlethwaite on another wonderful set of wood paneling in jagged designs, Chad Viator for composing the enchanting incidental score, and Walter Brown for donating the use of so much of his own delightfully-appropriate furniture for the set.
I do have quibbles, minor though they be. Aren Chaisson, a compelling actor who has returned to Louisiana after several years of theatrical experience in New York, sometimes projects as if he were still on that New York stage. It's a bit overwhelming in Theatre 810's intimate atmosphere, but when he tones down, he's charming. Thoroughly delightful in A Midsummer Night's Dream because she slowed her diction and articulated beautifully, Martha Diaz has slightly reverted to speaking too quickly again. I attribute that to exciteness at being in this fine production, but she needs to slow her words again for the audience to fully appreciate her character. The only bit of upstaging comes when Gerard Ducharme approaches Martha during the closing scene. He is playing Ferdinand, the character who falls in love with Miranda, but he stands upstage of her, and we do not see her critical reaction, for in the Shakespeare play, she falls in love with him at a glance. Some of the costumes by Gina Baronne were lovely, especially Judith's with its red as a brilliant color choice, but Anne's costume had dangling threads, Fletcher's vest was too large, and Quiney's coat was oddly bunched in the back. The lighting design, also by Gina Baronne, was flawless, but I would suggest one change. In scene two, Judith reads a letter, while in the last scene William reads one too. When William reads his letter, he is washed with a spotlight, but for Judith, the entire stage seemed lit. For a lovely bit of parallelism, both would benefit from spotlights.
As I write this, I am still haunted by Judith's final words to her brother, and I paraphrase, “As you have erased me, dear brother, so I now erase you.” Though Shakespeare has been dead nearly four centuries, his works and his words live on. I have no idea if Cody Daigle will walk that same path—and I certainly won't be around to know—but wouldn't that be a great “what if?”
---Vincent P. Barras
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