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Showing posts with label commedia dell'arte. Show all posts
Showing posts with label commedia dell'arte. Show all posts

Sunday, February 1, 2026

Convention and Comedy in Plautus’ Menaechmi

 

Actors wearing comic masks from a frieze in Herculaneum


     The Menaechmi is not only Plautus’ most popular play, it is as well solidly in the mainline of European comedy, adapted as it is from Greek New Comedy and influencing in turn Shakespeare and Moliรจre.  Across the centuries dramatists from various countries have employed some of the same literary devices to generate humor, including conventions that provide distancing by foregrounding the artificiality of the aesthetic object.

     Fundamentally, of course, the very word art asserts that anything so labeled is artificial. The point about every poem, painting, or composition is that it is unnatural, not simply a record of direct experience.  No one moves like a ballet dancer or speaks in verse without the conscious intention of making something beautiful, something which I presume even Oscar Wilde did not do every moment of the day.  Yet works have varying degrees of verisimilitude. Though all art depends on illusion and the “willing suspension of disbelief,” Coleridge’s “poetic faith," still some paintings and some narratives give the impression that they represent reality more or less directly while others make no attempt to mirror everyday life.

     Comedy in particular depends on limiting emotional engagement.  Since we cannot simultaneously mock and empathize with a character, comic drama tends toward the explicitly contrived.  Far more people in silent films slip on banana peels or push a pie in the face of an antagonist than ever do such things in reality.  The acts are silent film conventions, recognizable to viewers as signals to laugh.  The viewer knows that nobody gets hurt; it is all a game.  In the cartoon genre Wile E. Coyote may be smashed flat as a pancake, but he will instantly rise to fight the next round. 

     In the Menaechmi and other comedies of Plautus detachment is built in part through the use of recognizable conventions, including highly unlikely coincidences that would be jarring in a realistic drama.  The circumstance of twins, separated since childhood but eventually reunited is considerably more common in folktale and legend than in reality.  While the classic denouement for comedy is marriage, in the Menaechmi the brothers’ finding each other is an equally joyful expression of love and affirmation.  Surely watching such a spectacle offers viewers an imaginative experience of victory just as tragedy rehearses the spectator’s own defeat and dissolution.  Their memory of their own defeats and suffering, however, as well as the implausibility of the play’s plot reminds them that the play is a fantasy, generating thereby a dialectic suggesting the interdependence of joy and sorrow, yet nonetheless offering a few laughs at the human predicament along the way. 

     Apart from that principal story arc, the plot of Plautus’ comedy depends throughout on the most unbelievable coincidence.  The brothers were apparently not only identical twins; they must in addition have dressed exactly alike to be taken for each other.  The Syracusan just happens to wander by Erotion’s house and Peniculus later happens to encounter him after the dinner.  His decision to feign insanity, while necessary for the plot, is unlikely.  Here and in romances (which are similarly unrealistic) there can only be a happy ending.  In both genres the reader’s sympathetic satisfaction at the story’s conclusion is mitigated by the artificiality of the narrative which suggests that such desirable resolutions are more the stuff of fables than of most human experience.  Thus one relishes the pleasure of victory over circumstance in imagination while conceding that events rarely fall out so neatly in reality.

     Apart from the conventional narrative pattern, Plautus in this play and in all his work makes use of stock characters and formulae.  The doddering father-in-law, for instance, is more ridiculous than pathetic, a figure at whom the audience laughs rather than feeling sympathy.  Messenio the slave is, rather than an example of injustice, a calculating agent, working often in his own interest.  The courtesan Erotium is portrayed more as a manipulator than as a victim. The doctor is perhaps as much quack as healer. 

     These stereotyped characters, like Pantalone, the dottore, and Arlecchino in commedia dell’arte, create emotional distancing while generating comedy by portrayals of these characters as types who act foolishly by nature and lack the audience’s awareness of critical circumstances, in the Menaechmi, that the men are twins.  Though the figures on stage may be unrealistic, they nonetheless arise from common experience. The difficult wife reflects gender rivalry, the tricky parasite and slave suggest the uneasiness of social hierarchy, the dubious doctor anxiety about health, and the calculating courtesan unease about sex for money.  It is a measure of the dehumanization that supports the humor that at the end, when Messenio says the auction of the belongings of the Epidamnian brother may include his wife, it is nothing but a laugh line.

     With the elements in place of an assured positive outcome and a cast of characters who are more reductive types than fully rounded personalities, Plautus is enabled to use the other classic sources of comedy to make his audience laugh.  With this foundation, jokes then emerge through the constant wordplay (which complicates the already impossible task of the translator), the emphasis on appetitive desire, and the revelation of human weakness, but the viewer’s sense of the scene’s unreality is a precondition. 

Sunday, September 1, 2019

Notes on Recent Reading 39 (Aristophanes, Machiavelli, Braddon)



Plutus (Aristophanes)

     An excerpt from this play was included in a 1916 anthology of socialist literature edited by Upton Sinclair, but Aristophanes, like many comic writers, was more a reactionary than a revolutionary. The play does make a strong case for the inequity of the distribution of wealth, but its plot is more a satire of human nature than of any political or economic system.
     Though Chremylos, the poor but honest farmer, complains bitterly that the virtuous tend to have little while scoundrels flourish, the solution he seeks is not that workers receive the fruit as of their labor but rather that they enjoy unearned income just as the upper crust has been doing for years. This casts Chremylos’ reform into the realm of fantasy. Thus the play ends with the unlikely displacement of the Olympians (and Hermes’ acceptance of a menial position in the main character’s household).


Mandragora (Machiavelli)

     This little play owes its energy to the high spirits of commedia dell’arte which like farce has a simple base in the absurd things which humans do when motivated by sex. The fact that such things are as funny today as four hundred years ago is suggested by the play’s frequent revivals. Tom Hanks has played Callimaco and Wallace Shawn did an excellent translation.
     In keeping with convention, the characters are reductive caricatures. I can enjoy Nicia, the elder husband; Lucrezia, the lusty wife mismatched with him; Callimaco, the man on the make, with his trusty sidekick and servant Siro; Ligurio, the sponger; and Fra Timoteo, the unprincipled churchman as much as anyone. Nonetheless, I felt just a bit disappointed when Callimaco’s fancifully elaborate seduction strategy succeeds and the new lovers look forward to further trysts, that is it. The play ends. Sketching the crazy unlikely structure of deception was the dramatic center.
     The cynical portrayal of the avaricious monk has often been considered satire of the Medici regime, and some have even seen Callimaco as a comic form of a Machiavellian Prince who, with his opportunistic use of strength overcomes Lucrezia who is associated with fortune. Such speculation may be left to those to whom politics are more interesting than the bedroom.


Lady Audley’s Secret (Braddon)

     Mary Elizabeth Braddon, a super-productive professional Victorian writer like Trollope, produced “sensation” fiction which brought plot to the fore and themes of tabloid scandal to bourgeois readers, and the narrative turns make this book a page-turner to this day. If description rarely rises above the level of competence and character development is stalled at rudimentary, her work is still entertaining and “popular,” pleasantly digestible on a beach or in an airport terminal. One should not look too closely at such flaws as lapses in continuity – the author sometimes worked on several serials at once – or the acceptance of received ideas typical of literature with mass appeal. If Robert Audley’s pursuit of the truth is portrayed as motivated by Providence and “my lady’s” crimes in the end half-excused due to the revelation of her inherited insanity, this is wholly appropriate considering the author’s intentional focus on action. Real analysis of religion, gender roles, and psychiatric issues need have little place here. Even plausibility is sacrificed: what are the odds that the future Lady Audley would happen into the village of the uncle of her husband’s best friend? Or that Tallboys would have been such a successful prospector? Or that he would have been tossed into the well and then survived? Such questions are not likely to trouble Braddon’s readers.
     Likewise the story suggests a number of potentially significant themes relating to gender (Clara Talboys is a sort of double for her brother George), social class (the servant Phoebe resembles her mistress Lady Audley), madness (is Lady Audley really insane as the doctor concludes after a few moments conversation?), gentility (Lady Audley is so charming, she is not thought to be capable of crime), and bigamy (the author was living with her publisher whose wife was confined to a mental hospital), yet these are all in the end at the service of the plot. Judging from Wilkie’s earlier “sensation” novels and his later tendentious one, this is doubtless fortunate.