Ah Prospero. You are my favorite character in all of Shakespeare! The masterful conjurings, the lonely exile, the fierce revenge still raging after twelve years away from the lost Dukedom of Milan, the Other embodied in ethereality and earthiness, the willingness in the end to forgive and forego—there are so many parts of his story that have resonance for me. Many have described Prospero as a primal symbol for the solitary (and often solipsistic) artist, and others see him as a particularly personal stand in for Shakespeare himself (it was the last play he wrote before returning to Stratford upon Avon, and he died just two years later). It is a poetic fantasy, and one that asks for us to step out of the world that we know and to enter into a phantasm of sprites, monsters, magic and manipulated nature.
I wrote those words seven years ago after having seen The Tempest at American Repertory Theater. That production, co-directed by Aaron Posner and Teller (the quiet one from the Penn & Teller magic duo,) was a blend of two visions. For Posner The Tempest is a play about family. These motley island inhabitants–Prospero, Miranda, Ariel and Caliban–make up an odd but not unfamiliar version of the dysfunctional family.
For Teller it is about the magic, the thing he loves most in life. All manner of high jinx was on display in that production: dustbowl carney shows, classical magic tricks, the rough and tumble earthy music of Tom Waits played by rough and tumble earthy musicians, physical performers and Pilobolus-inspired acrobatism. But as Teller points out, Prospero eventually forgoes his conjuring powers, the very thing that is so essential to his being. And why? Out of love for his daughter Miranda. Which brings all the theatrics right back to Posner’s family theme.
Being a play with so many dimensions to explore, the Tempest perpetually tempts. Julie Taymor made a film of The Tempest, which, in a provocative act of revisionism, transforms Prospero into Prospera (played by Helen Mirren.) With that one recasting decision, Taymor’s film becomes a story of gender politics, relationship dynamics and sovereignty.
Steven Maler’s version of The Tempest–performing most nights on the Boston Common until August 8–is not in search of a highfalutin revisionist frame. Instead he has assembled a production that feels sized and tuned to this particular moment in time. Whipsawed as we have been by collapsing societal norms, rolling invasions of morphing microbes, social isolation and a relentless barrage of alternative versions of reality, we are not in a collective place that finds easy alignment with or sympathy for a Prospero who is power-obsessed, revenge-addled and controlling. John Douglas Thompson’s portrayal of the magus is a battled scarred warrior who has now come to the end of his engagement. He has suffered injustice, he has indulged in his rage and anger, he has exercised a slew of revenge fantasies. But now it is time to move on. Thompson, velvet voiced and so at home with Shakespearean cadence and phrasing, creates a Prospero who is powerful but also pragmatic. He has considered his circumstances carefully and is now ready to swap out formidable powers for connection, compassion and forgiveness. You can’t have both, so he abnegates the “rough magic” of his supernatural gifts. His magician’s staff is broken, his books are relinquished, the spell casting will cease. This production, edited with an eye to making it amenable to an outdoor audience seated on the grass, is mostly a story of Prospero’s poignant adieu: Leaving a life of hubris and embracing the humble, the human, the vulnerable.
The production feels jewel-like and intimate. The stage, contained and compact, is filled with sand and ringed with a fringed back curtain made of hanging cords. We are on an island after all, and the set speaks to a setting that is small and sparse.
The darker elements in The Tempest have been downplayed. Rather than pernicious intruders, the arrivestes from the shipwreck are endearingly harmless and offer playful comedic relief. Ariel, portrayed by ballet dancer John Lam, is a pint sized, endearing sprite who appears to be perpetually airborne. Lam’s Ariel is a light-filled coconspirator rather than the recalcitrant some have portrayed. He is however, like his more earth bound counterpart Caliban, eager to bring this protracted island enchantment tour of duty to an end. Nora Eschenheimer‘s Miranda is refreshingly modern. No standard issue helpless ingénue, she is sturdy, passionate, and heir to her father’s intensity, She also makes it clear that she is more than ready for the real life awaiting her in Naples. In this, Prospero’s final performance as a sorcerer and conjurer, we see him and his small troupe all making their way to the exit. This gig is over. Time to move on.
In the epilogue, Prospero speaks words that feel particularly prescient: “Now my charms are all o’erthrown, And what strength I have ’s mine own, Which is most faint.” Personal powers, once so seductive, have run their course. Prospero now chooses a radical acceptance of the truth, one he cannot mastermind and control. As Maler’s The Tempest came to an end, it felt instructional: a beautifully conceived theatrical demonstration of how to move forward from where we are to where we need to be. In other words, the perfect play for the summer of 2021.
My favourite Shakespear play, inspired – perhaps – by my favourite Elizabethan magus, Doctor John Dee 😉
I adore it too. Another overlap!