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You know what's funny? Even though I speak french fluently, I always want to pronounce the title of this play as "Box" instead of "Beau". As my late great grandma would've said, "don't tell me why!"
So I'm back after a week that was iffy in the productivity department but definitely good in the "getting out of my house and socializing" department. I apologise, folks, I haven't perused the blogs over the past week, but I will definitely be reading and commenting in the days to come. I didn't want to read them before I made my blog post because I would get intimidated and then be rendered incapable of producing independent thoughts on the play. I'm weird like that.
In the same way that The Fair Penitent was a nice change because it was a tragedy, I must admit that it was refreshing to go back to a good ol' comedy. Marriage plots and hijinx, and hardly a hint of suicide! It also felt long after the breeze of a read that was TFM, but the interweaving plots were fun and engaging. I admit, I liked Archer. He was such a preposterous servant - I knew from the second he came on that he was putting it on, as the saying is. (Yes, I've decided that I'm stealing Bonniface's verbal tic. I like verbal tics, so long as they're not too intrusive, especially if I'm watching a play. I think they go a long way toward making a character "pop".)
What I was particularly interested in, though, is the divorce plot, definitely an interesting twist so far. From what we've read, divorce only seems to happen when someone gets cuckolded. Farquhar doesn't pull many punches in his depiction of a rotten husband. Sullen practically oozes onto the stage whenever he comes around, and Mrs. Sullen comes across as a woman utterly a class above her husband.
Which (to digress for a minute) brings out another issue in this play - the "city people vs country bumpkin" theme, which Aimwell and Archer factor into as well. Lady Bountiful and Dorinda come across as a bit dim but well-intentioned and witty enough to keep up with Mrs. Sullen. Aimwell and Archer outsmart most everybody eventually, and Sir Charles sweeps in from the city at the end of the play, in order to save the day. In that group, then, there's the general feeling that "country folk" = "innocent/sheltered", contrasted withi "city folk" = "witty/worldly". Interestingly, in the other group (the denizens of the inn) the Count and the priest - who should arguably be more "cultured" - are portrayed as fools among Bonniface's more crafty crowd. Aimwell and Archer manage to outwit and overpower them when the groups clash, of course. Guess you just can't beat good breeding.
Anyway, back to the marriage thing. As much as they complained about each other, I extremely enjoyed any conversation Mr and Mrs Sullen had. My favourite was the one from Act V:
Tthe introduction for this section talks about how radical a divorce based on "irreconcilable differences" would have rocked the early 18th century world. From what we've read, I can believe it. One thing that hasn't changed, though, is the lack of female agency involved in this divorce. Mrs. Sullen spends the better part of her lines complaining, but, like a good wife and respectable lady, she's unwilling to sacrifice her (or her lousy husband's) honour for a pithy thing like "happiness". Obviously there are practical reasons for this - getting caught would lead to all kinds of hell. But even taking that into account, for all the complaining she does, not one single action that she takes in this play factors into the eventual divorce.
So who handles it all? Why, her brother and her husband, of course. They have a nice chat about it. And what about her dowry and documents and the like? Gibbet and Archer were the only ones to handle it - and when they hand it over to someone, that "someone" is Sir Charles.
Not that I'm, y'know, surprised or anything. Women do the talking, men do the acting. All is right in the world, apparently. (Did that come out sounding bitter? :-D)
Number of plays read: 8
Ladies-dressed-as-boys: 5 (Yeah, so my essay is going to have something to do with disguise, particularly transvestitism as a means for female agency. So I can live with the current lack of breeches roles.)
So I'm back after a week that was iffy in the productivity department but definitely good in the "getting out of my house and socializing" department. I apologise, folks, I haven't perused the blogs over the past week, but I will definitely be reading and commenting in the days to come. I didn't want to read them before I made my blog post because I would get intimidated and then be rendered incapable of producing independent thoughts on the play. I'm weird like that.
In the same way that The Fair Penitent was a nice change because it was a tragedy, I must admit that it was refreshing to go back to a good ol' comedy. Marriage plots and hijinx, and hardly a hint of suicide! It also felt long after the breeze of a read that was TFM, but the interweaving plots were fun and engaging. I admit, I liked Archer. He was such a preposterous servant - I knew from the second he came on that he was putting it on, as the saying is. (Yes, I've decided that I'm stealing Bonniface's verbal tic. I like verbal tics, so long as they're not too intrusive, especially if I'm watching a play. I think they go a long way toward making a character "pop".)
What I was particularly interested in, though, is the divorce plot, definitely an interesting twist so far. From what we've read, divorce only seems to happen when someone gets cuckolded. Farquhar doesn't pull many punches in his depiction of a rotten husband. Sullen practically oozes onto the stage whenever he comes around, and Mrs. Sullen comes across as a woman utterly a class above her husband.
Which (to digress for a minute) brings out another issue in this play - the "city people vs country bumpkin" theme, which Aimwell and Archer factor into as well. Lady Bountiful and Dorinda come across as a bit dim but well-intentioned and witty enough to keep up with Mrs. Sullen. Aimwell and Archer outsmart most everybody eventually, and Sir Charles sweeps in from the city at the end of the play, in order to save the day. In that group, then, there's the general feeling that "country folk" = "innocent/sheltered", contrasted withi "city folk" = "witty/worldly". Interestingly, in the other group (the denizens of the inn) the Count and the priest - who should arguably be more "cultured" - are portrayed as fools among Bonniface's more crafty crowd. Aimwell and Archer manage to outwit and overpower them when the groups clash, of course. Guess you just can't beat good breeding.
Anyway, back to the marriage thing. As much as they complained about each other, I extremely enjoyed any conversation Mr and Mrs Sullen had. My favourite was the one from Act V:
MRS. SULLEN.I laughed out loud, really I did.
Spouse.
SULLEN.
Rib. (V.iv 225-226)
Tthe introduction for this section talks about how radical a divorce based on "irreconcilable differences" would have rocked the early 18th century world. From what we've read, I can believe it. One thing that hasn't changed, though, is the lack of female agency involved in this divorce. Mrs. Sullen spends the better part of her lines complaining, but, like a good wife and respectable lady, she's unwilling to sacrifice her (or her lousy husband's) honour for a pithy thing like "happiness". Obviously there are practical reasons for this - getting caught would lead to all kinds of hell. But even taking that into account, for all the complaining she does, not one single action that she takes in this play factors into the eventual divorce.
So who handles it all? Why, her brother and her husband, of course. They have a nice chat about it. And what about her dowry and documents and the like? Gibbet and Archer were the only ones to handle it - and when they hand it over to someone, that "someone" is Sir Charles.
Not that I'm, y'know, surprised or anything. Women do the talking, men do the acting. All is right in the world, apparently. (Did that come out sounding bitter? :-D)
Number of plays read: 8
Ladies-dressed-as-boys: 5 (Yeah, so my essay is going to have something to do with disguise, particularly transvestitism as a means for female agency. So I can live with the current lack of breeches roles.)
