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Character 6:
Imogen
Synopsis Imogen, the daughter of
the British king Cymbeline, goes
against her father's wishes and
marries a lowborn gentleman,
Posthumus, instead of his oafish
stepson, Cloten. Cloten is the
son of Cymbeline's new Queen, a
villainous woman who has made
the king her puppet. Cymbeline
sends Posthumus into exile in
Italy, where he encounters a
smooth-‐tongued Italian named Iachimo.
Iachimo argues that all women
are naturally unchaste, and he
makes a wager with Posthumus
that he will be able to
seduce Imogen. He goes to the
British court and, failing in
his initial attempt to convince
the princess to sleep with him,
resorts to trickery: He hides
in a large chest and has
it sent to her room; that
night he slips out, observes
her sleeping, and steals a
bracelet that Posthumus once gave
to her.
Cloten, meanwhile, continues to pursue
Imogen, but she rebuffs him
harshly. He becomes furious and
vows revenge, while she worries
over the loss of her bracelet.
In the meantime, Iachimo has
returned to Italy, and, displaying
the stolen bracelet and an
intimate knowledge of the details
of Imogen's bedchamber, convinces
Posthumus that he won the bet.
Posthumus, furious at being betrayed
by his wife, sends a letter
to Britain ordering his servant,
Pisanio, to murder Imogen. But
Pisanio believes in Imogen's
innocence, and he convinces her
to disguise herself as a boy
and go search for her husband,
while he reports to Posthumus
that he has killed her.
Imogen, however, soon becomes lost
in the wilds of Wales, and
she comes upon a cave where
Belarius, an unjustly banished
nobleman, lives with his two
sons, Guiderius and Arviragus. In
fact, the two young men are
not his sons but Cymbeline's;
Belarius has kidnapped them to
avenge his banishment, though they
themselves are ignorant of their
true parentage. They welcome Imogen,
who is still dressed as a
boy. Meanwhile, Cloten appears,
having come in pursuit of
Imogen; he fights a duel with
Guiderius, who kills him. Imogen,
feeling ill, drinks a potion
the queen has given her.
Although the queen told her it
was medicinal, the queen herself
believed it to be a poison.
However, the draught merely induces
a deep sleep that resembles
death. Belarius and his adoptive
sons come upon Imogen and,
heart-‐broken, lay her body beside
that of the slain Cloten.
Awaking after they
Play: Cymbeline
Author:
William Shakespeare
Web Links:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsferFwh5Og
http://videos.helenmirrenarchives.org/view/71/cymbeline-‐film-‐scene-‐02/
www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi4033195545/
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PetIVcwSIoM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFfACZhp8o0
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have left the scene, she mistakes
the body of Cloten for that
of Posthumus, and she sinks
into despair. A Roman army has
invaded Britain, seeking the
restoration of a certain tribute
Britain has ceased to pay. (A
"tribute" here is a payment
given to one nation by another
in return for a promise of
non-‐aggression.) The disguised Imogen
hires herself out to them as
a page.
Posthumus and Iachimo are traveling
with the Roman army, but
Posthumus switches to the garb
of a British peasant and fights
valiantly for Britain. Indeed, in
his combat he actively seeks
death: He believes his servant
to have carried out his orders
and killed Imogen, and he
regrets his actions. The Romans
are defeated, thanks to the
intervention of Belarius, Guiderius,
and Arviragus, and Posthumus, still
trying to punish himself, switches
back to Roman garb and allows
himself to be taken prisoner.
That night, the god Jupiter
promises the spirits of Posthumus's
dead ancestors that he will
care for their descendant. The
next day, Cymbeline calls the
prisoners before him, and the
confusion is sorted out. Posthumus
and Imogen are reunited, and
they forgive a contrite Iachimo,
who confesses his deception. The
identity of Guiderius and Arviragus
is revealed, Belarius is forgiven,
and the Queen dies, leaving the
king free of her evil
influence. As a final gesture,
Cymbeline frees the Roman prisoners
and even agrees to resume
paying the tribute.
Source:
http://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/cymbeline/summary.html
www.anoisewithin.org
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The playwright
William Shakespeare was born in
Stratford-‐upon-‐Avon, allegedly on April
23, 1564. Church records from
Holy Trinity Church indicate that
he was baptized there on April
26, 1564. Young William was
born of John Shakespeare, a
glover and leather merchant, and
Mary Arden, a landed local
heiress. William, according to the
church register, was the third
of eight children in the
Shakespeare household—three of whom
died in childhood. John Shakespeare
had a remarkable run of success
as a merchant, alderman, and
high bailiff of Stratford, during
William's early childhood. His
fortunes declined, however, in the
late 1570s.
There is great conjecture about
Shakespeare's childhood years, especially
regarding his education. Scholars
surmise that Shakespeare attended the
grammar school in Stratford. While
there are no records extant to
prove this claim, Shakespeare's
knowledge of Latin and Classical
Greek would tend to support
this theory. In addition,
Shakespeare's first biographer, Nicholas
Rowe, wrote that John Shakespeare
had placed William "for some
time in a free school." John
Shakespeare, as a Stratford official,
would have been granted a
waiver of tuition for his son.
As the records do not exist,
we do not know how long
William may have attended the
school, but the literary quality
of his works suggests a solid
educational foundation. What is
certain is that William Shakespeare
never proceeded to university
schooling, which has contributed to
the debate about the authorship
of his works.
The next documented event in
Shakespeare's life is his marriage
to Anne Hathaway on November
28, 1582. William was 18 at
the time, and Anne was 26—and
pregnant. Their first daughter,
Susanna, was born on May 26,
1583. The couple later had
twins, Hamnet and Judith, born
February 2, 1585 and christened
at Holy Trinity. Hamnet died in
childhood at the age of 11,
on August 11, 1596.
For the seven years following the
birth of his twins, William
Shakespeare disappears from all
records, finally turning up again
in London some time in 1592.
This period, known as the "Lost
Years," has sparked as much
controversy about Shakespeare's life
as any period. Rowe notes that
young Shakespeare was quite fond
of poaching, and may have had
to flee Stratford after an
incident with Sir Thomas Lucy,
whose deer and rabbits he
allegedly poached. There is also
rumor of Shakespeare working as
an assistant schoolmaster in
Lancashire for a time, though
this is circumstantial at best.
It is estimated that Shakespeare
arrived in London around 1588
and began to establish himself
as an actor and playwright.
Evidently Shakespeare garnered some
envy early on, as related by
the critical attack of Robert
Greene, a London playwright, in
1592: "...an upstart crow, beautified
with our feathers, that with
his Tiger's heart wrapped in a
player's hide, supposes he is
as well able to bombast out
a blank verse as the best
of you: and being an absolute
Johannes fac totum, is in his
own conceit the only Shake-‐scene
in a country."
Greene's bombast notwithstanding, Shakespeare
must have shown considerable promise.
By 1594, he was not only
acting and writing for the Lord
Chamberlain's Men (called the King's
Men after the ascension of
James I in 1603), but was
a managing partner in the
operation as well. With Will
Kempe, a master comedian, and
Richard Burbage, a leading tragic
actor of the day, the Lord
Chamberlain's Men became a favorite
London troupe, patronized by royalty
and made popular by the
theatre-‐going public.
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Shakespeare's accomplishments are apparent
when studied against other
playwrights of this age. His
company was the most successful
in London in his day. He
had plays published and sold in
octavo editions, or "penny-‐copies"
to the more literate of his
audiences. Never before had a
playwright enjoyed sufficient acclaim
to see his works published and
sold as popular literature in
the midst of his career. In
addition, Shakespeare's ownership share
in both the theatrical company
and the Globe itself made him
as much an entrepeneur as
artist. While Shakespeare might not
be accounted wealthy by London
standards, his success allowed him
to purchase New House and
retire in comfort to Stratford
in 1611.
William Shakespeare wrote his will
in 1611, bequeathing his properties
to his daughter Susanna (married
in 1607 to Dr. John Hall).
To his surviving daughter Judith,
he left £300, and to his
wife Anne left "my second best
bed." William Shakespeare allegedly
died on his birthday, April 23,
1616. This is probably more of
a romantic myth than reality,
but Shakespeare was interred at
Holy Trinity in Stratford on
April 25. In 1623, two working
companions of Shakespeare from the
Lord Chamberlain's Men, John Heminges
and Henry Condell, printed the
First Folio edition of his
collected plays, of which half
were previously unpublished.
William Shakespeare's legacy is a
body of work that will never
again be equaled in Western
civilization. His words have endured
for 400 years, and still reach
across the centuries as powerfully
as ever. Even in death, he
leaves a final piece of verse
as his epitaph:
Good friend, for Jesus' sake
forbeare To dig the dust
enclosed here. Blessed be the
man that spares these stones,
And cursed be he that moves
my bones.
Source: http://www.bardweb.net/man.html
Source: www.anoisewithin.org
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Character study Imogen, like Juliet,
conveys to our mind the
impression of extreme simplicity in
the midst of the most wonderful
complexity. To conceive her aright,
we must take some peculiar tint
from many characters, and so
mingle them that, like the
combination of hues in a
sunbeam, the effect shall be as
one to the eye. We must
imagine something of the romantic
enthusiasm of Juliet, of the
truth and constancy of Helen,
of the dignified purity of
Isabel, of the tender sweetness
of Viola, of the self-‐possession
and intellect of Portia —
combined together so equally and
so harmoniously that we can
scarcely say that one quality
predominates over the other. But
Imogen is less imaginative than
Juliet, less spirited and
intellectual than Portia, less
serious than Helen and Isabel;
her dignity is not so imposing
as that of Hermione — it
stands more on the defensive;
her submission, though unbounded, is
not so passive as that of
Desdemona; and thus, while she
resembles each of these characters
individually, she stands wholly
distinct from all.
It is true that the conjugal
tenderness of Imogen is at once
the chief subject of the drama
and the pervading charm of her
character; but it is not true,
I think, that she is merely
interesting from her tenderness and
constancy to her husband. We
are so completely let into the
essence of Imogen's nature that
we feel as if we had
known and loved her before she
was married to Posthumus, and
that her conjugal virtues are a
charm super-‐added, like the colour
laid upon a beautiful groundwork.
Neither does it appear to me
that Posthumus is unworthy of
Imogen, or only interesting on
Imogen's account. His character, like
those of all the other persons
of the drama, is kept
subordinate to hers; but this
could not be otherwise, for she
is the proper subject — the
heroine of the poem. Everything
is done to ennoble Posthumus
and justify her love for him;
and though we certainly approve
him more for her sake than
for his own, we are early
prepared to view him with
Imogen's eyes, and not only
excuse, but sympathize in her
admiration. . . .
One thing more must be
particularly remarked, because it
serves to individualize the character
from the beginning to the end
of the poem. We are constantly
sensible that Imogen, besides being
a tender and devoted woman, is
a princess and a beauty, at
the same time that she is
ever superior to her position
and her external charms. There
is, for instance, a certain
airy majesty of deportment — a
spirit of accustomed command breaking
out every now and then —
the dignity, without the assumption,
of rank and royal birth, which
is apparent in the scene with
Cloten and elsewhere; and we
have not only a general
impression that Imogen, like other
heroines, is beautiful, but the
peculiar style and character of
her beauty are placed before
us. We have an image of
the most luxuriant loveliness,
combined with exceeding delicacy,
and even fragility of person;
of the most refined elegance
and the most exquisite modesty.
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The Antecedents of Imogen.
As in Cleopatra and Cressida we
had woman determined solely by
her sex, so in Imogen we
have an embodiment of the
highest possible characteristics of
womanhood — untainted health of
soul, unshaken fortitude, constancy
that withstands all trials,
inexhaustible forbearance, unclouded
intelligence, love that never wavers,
and unquenchable radiance of spirit.
She, like Marina, is cast into
the snake-‐pit of the world.
She is slandered, and not, like
Desdemona, at second or third
hand, but by the very man
who boasts of her favours and
supports his boast with seemingly
incontrovertible proofs. Like Cordelia,
she is misjudged; but whereas
Cordelia is merely driven from
her father's presence along with
the man of her choice, Imogen
is doomed to death by her
cruelly-‐deceived husband, whom alone
she adores; and through it all
she preserves her love for him
unweakened and unchanged.
Strange — very strange! In Imogen
we find the fullest, deepest
love that Shakespeare has ever
placed in a woman's breast, and
that although Cymbeline follows close
upon plays which were filled to
the brim with contempt for
womankind. He believed, then, in
such love, so impassioned, so
immovable, so humble — believed
in it now? He had, then,
observed or encountered such a
love — encountered it at this
point of his life?
Even a poet has scant enough
opportunities of observing love. Love
is a rare thing, much rarer
than the world pretends, and
when it exists, it is apt
to be sparing of words. Did
he simply fall back on his
own experiences, his own inward
sensations, his knowledge of his
own heart, and, transposing his
feelings from the major to the
minor key, place them on a
woman's lips? Or did he love
at this moment, and was he
himself thus beloved at the end
of the fifth decade of his
life? The probability is, doubtless,
that he wrote from some quite
fresh experience, though it does
not follow that the experience
was actually his own. It is
not often that women love men
of his mental habit and stature
with such intensity of passion.
The rule will always be that
a Moliere shall find himself
cast aside for some Comte de
Guiche, a Shakespeare for some
Earl of Pembroke. Thus we
cannot with any certainty conclude
that he himself was the object
of the passion which had
revived his faith in a woman's
power of complete and unconditional
absorption in love for one man,
and for him alone. In the
first place, had the experience
been his own, he would scarcely
left London so soon. Yet the
probability is that be must
just about this time have
gained some clear and personal
insight into an ideal love. In
the public sphere, too, it is
not unlikely that Arabella Stuart's
undaunted passion for Lord William
Seymour, so cruelly punished by
King James, may have afforded
the model for Imogen's devotion
to Posthumus in defiance of the
will of King Cymbeline.
Source:
http://www.shakespeare-‐online.com/plays/characters/imogenbio.html
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Context Cymbeline is one of
Shakespeare's final plays. Composed
and performed around 1609-‐10,
probably on the indoor Blackfriars
stage rather than at the more
famous Globe, it joins Pericles,
The Winter's Tale, and The
Tempest in the list of
genre-‐defying later plays that are
usually referred to as romances
or tragicomedies. The happy ending
of each of these productions
distinguishes them from earlier
histories and tragedies, but each
play emphasizes the danger and
power of evil in the world,
and death, while never victorious
in the end, looms as an
ever-‐present force in the stories.
Indeed, the plot of Cymbeline
bears a striking resemblance at
various points to a number of
the great tragedies: the
Imogen-‐Cymbeline relationship suggests
Lear and Cordelia in King Lear,
while Iachimo plays a role
similar to that of Iago in
Othello, and the sleeping potion
taken by Imogen reminds us of
a similar device in Romeo and
Juliet. In Cymbeline, however,
disaster may threaten but it
never strikes: Only the wicked
characters die, and the end of
the play treats us to a
joyous reconciliation.
There is no obvious source for
Cymbeline. The titular king and
his sons Guiderius and Arviragus
are quasi-‐historical figures; Cymbeline,
according to a dubious source
available during Shakespeare's time,
ruled in Britain around the
time of Christ. (The same
source was used for the title
character in King Lear, another
play set in pre-‐Christian Britain.)
The Iachimo plot, in which a
seduction is attempted on a
virtuous wife, may have its
roots in the celebrated Decameron,
a collection of stories by the
Renaissance author Boccaccio. And the
scenes in the Welsh wilderness,
especially Imogen's death-‐like slumber,
bear a striking resemblance to
fairy tales like "Snow White."
The bulk of the plot and
most of the characters, however,
can be attributed directly to
Shakespeare's imagination; such pure
originality was rare for the
playwright, who adored lifting and
reworking plots from other authors,
writing in dialogue with older
stories.
Source:
http://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/cymbeline/context.html
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Theatrical style Cymbeline is a
difficult play to classify on
any level. It is at once
a tragedy, comedy, tragi-‐comedy,
comi-‐tragedy, romance; a sort of
mishmash of style, character,
setting, story, and history that
even the most noted of modern
scholars hesitate to label. Cymbeline
is generally thought of as a
romance. What exactly is meant
by the term romance, specifically
in relation to Shakespeare?
Stanley Wells provides a useful
description: If the literary genre
of romance can be defined –
or described – it is not
by formal characteristics. Rather
perhaps is it a matter of
certain recurrent motifs, and also
of a recognizable attitude toward
the subject matter. Romancers
delight in the marvelous; quite
often this involves the supernatural;
generally the characters are larger
than life size. All is
unrealistic; the logic of cause
and effect is ignored, and
chance and fortune governs all
… Shakespearean romance frequently
includes the separation and
disruption of families, followed by
their eventual reunion and
reconciliation; scenes of apparent
resurrection; the love of a
virtuous young hero and heroine;
and the recovery of lost royal
children.
Cymbeline certainly contains all of
the elements needed to set it
firmly within these sentiments. Many
scholars, however, prefer to view
the play as part of
Shakespeare’s histories. He had
already dramatized much of England’s
recent past, stretching back to
the 12th century with King
John, and into pre-‐Roman legend
with King Lear. With Cymbeline
he again looked to Britain’s
ancient past, connecting it with
Julius Caesar’s Rome and solidifying
Britain’s independence and prestige
by staging their victory over
the Roman army. Just as
his previous histories had referenced
Queen Elizabeth’s reign in ways
that flattered or frightened her,
Cymbeline’s setting can be seen
as an allusion to King James,
who liked to link himself both
pictorially and ideologically with
Rome and Roman emperors. The
only certain label is that of
‘later’ play, as Cymbeline dates
to roughly 1609—three years before
Shakespeare’s retirement to Stratford
and seven years before his
death. Most scholars believe
that Cymbeline was written before
The Winter’s Tale, Pericles, and
The Tempest.
In the Norton Shakespeare, Jean
E. Howard identifies a common,
elemental thread—beyond canonical
proximity—which links the four plays
together: an emphasis on “the
miraculous transformation of suffering
to joy.” She continues:
Verging on tragedy, they all
nonetheless win through to
bittersweet conclusions in which
shattered families are reconstituted
and plot complexities untangled—but
always at a cost. Mistakes
have consequences in these plays.
Sons die; years are lost
in exile and wandering; women
suffer from unjust slander.
If, in the end, good fortune
returns to the sufferers, it
does not cancel their former
pain but provides a miraculous
contrast to it. Although listed
as a tragedy in the First
Folio, modern critics often classify
Cymbeline as a romance.
Harold Bloom disagrees. He writes,
“Though we classify Cymbeline with
the other ‘late romances,’ it
does not share much with The
Winter’s Tale and The Tempest,
let alone with Pericles.” But
Bloom also asserts that “mature
Shakespeare almost always is beyond
genre.”3 Whether it is a
romance, a history, a tragedy,
or even “beyond genre,” Cymbeline
is ultimately an adventurous,
imaginative, fantastical tale of
love, betrayal, jealousy, idealism,
death and rebirth, family separated
and reunited. It is also,
as the directors of Fiasco
Theater’s Cymbeline have written, “a
restless plot [that] keeps us
wanting to know what happens
next.
Source:
www.tfana.org/wp-‐content/uploads/.../Cymbeline-‐360-‐Viewfinder1.pdf
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Though once held in very high
regard, Cymbeline lost favour with
critics in the 18th century.
The most famous comments were
made by Samuel Johnson:
This play has many just
sentiments, some natural dialogues,
and some pleasing scenes, but
they are obtained at the
expense of much incongruity. To
remark the folly of the
fiction, the absurdity of the
conduct, the confusion of the
names and manners of different
times, and the impossibility of
the events in any system of
life, were to waste criticism
upon unresisting imbecility, upon
faults too evident for detection,
and too gross for aggravation.
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cymbeline
Source:
https://twitter.com/bbciplayerglbl/status/456717517151432706
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Interpretations of the character
The Bard on the Beach production
of Cymbeline is an odd and
convoluted tale told with style
and panache.
Although Cymbeline is a strange
tale filled with beheadings and
creepy scenes, it is always
engagingly staged and completely
compelling.One of his last plays,
Cymbeline is considered one of
Shakespeare’s ‘problem’ plays because
it defies being labeled a
comedy, a tragedy or a history.
The plot is rather complicated
as many of its twists are
based on coincidence or withheld
information, but even with its
complications there are some
brilliant moments of comedy and
equally moving moments of drama.
In Cymbeline, the titular King has
banished Postumus, the husband of
his daughter Imogen, for no
apparent reason. We also discover
that Imogen has two brothers
who disappeared when they were
babies, and the King’s new wife
has been dabbling in poisons
and politics in the hopes of
making her selfish and arrogant
son Cloten the new King.
Meanwhile, soldiers from Rome are
contemplating an attack on England
and in another subplot that
really kicks things into high-‐gear,
an Italian nobleman makes a bet
that he can prove to Postumus
that his wife is not as
pure as he thinks.
Director Anita Rochon has come up
with a fun and stylish concept.
Using just seven actors, she
employs story theatre elements that
include fast wardrobe changes to
allow them each play up to
three characters, and then adds
a sexy and sleek vibe to
it all.
Rochon successfully pulls straightforward
and honest comedic performances from
her cast, allowing the simple
line readings to burst with
comic potential. That same
straightforward and honest approach
is also used in the more
dramatic moments, with beautifully
moving results.
The entire cast meets Rochon’s
vision, giving their making their
characters heartfelt, high-‐stakes, and
a playful sense of comedy.
Rachel Cairns embodies such a
resourceful princess with a strong
will and a big heart. Whether
she is spurning the dullard
Cloten or crumpling under the
weight of grief, she was always
very real and genuine.
Anton Lipovetsky is simply astonishing.
While he has proven himself a
great actor in past roles, here
his subtle vocal and physical
shifts from character to character
are daring, but ultimately successful
choices. Although at first it
is difficult to identify each
of his characters, as the play
goes on you begin to notice
the changes in facial tension
between characters.
Rounding out this brilliant and
talented ensemble in this touching
tale about reuniting with family
and with love are Anousha
Alamian, Shawn Macdonald, Gerry
Mackay, Benjamin Elliot and Bob
Fraser.
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Mara Gottler’s costumes are gorgeous,
with variations on fencing outfits
that include small flourishes of
emerald coloured vests and skirts
for the King and Queen, leather
vests for the Noblemen and red
sashes for the soldiers.
Although Cymbeline is a strange
tale filled with beheadings and
creepy scenes, it is always
engagingly staged and completely
compelling. And while the last
20 minutes filled with crazy
revelations and denouncements, it is
so wild and so weird that
it still very entertaining, despite
their improbabilities.
Entertaining and slick, Cymbeline is
a great opportunity to round
out your Shakespeare experience this
year at Bard on the Beach.
You will not only see a
brilliant fun and moving play,
you’ll also appreciate why it
is not performed more often.
Source:
http://vancouverpresents.com/theatre/theatre-‐review-‐cymbeline-‐thoroughly-‐enjoyable-‐romp/
Alfreds's approach imposes visual unity
on a play that Dr Johnson
accused of "unresisting imbecility"
-‐ a play that yokes together
Britain and Rome, Holinshed and
Boccaccio, classical antiquity and
the Renaissance. But his method
also allows for lightning
transitions: when the scene shifts
from Cymbeline's British court, a
gong is struck, an actor
announces "Rome", and we're there
in two seconds. When Shakespeare
demands that "Jupiter descends in
thunder and lightning", an actor
simply advances downstage, flings his
arms skywards, and we accept
his godliness.
This method unifies a kaleidoscopically
restless play. The only problem
is that, in a company where
all actors are supposedly equal,
some are more equal than
others. Mark Rylance -‐ playing
Cloten, Posthumus and a physician
-‐ demonstrates a transformative
energy that dominates proceedings in
a way we've scarcely seen since
the heyday of Donald Wolfit.
His Cloten, with gaping mouth
and prognathous jaw, is a
masterly study of vengeful idiocy.
His Posthumus turns into a
crazed Leontes. Even his doctor,
by the simple device of turning
to the audience to say of
Cymbeline's wicked queen, "I do
not like her", brings the house
down. Wonderful to watch, but
Rylance might usefully curb his
exuberant inventiveness -‐ symbolised
by Cloten scratching his genetalia
when referring to his stepfather's
"testiness" -‐ in the interests
of company style.
At its best, the production
achieves a resonant clarity. John
Ramm's Iachimo, indecently straddling
the sleeping Imogen, makes us
believe in the trunk through
which he has entered her
bedroom. Sprightly, cartwheeling Jane
Arnfield only has to say "Enter
Imogen, dressed as a man" for
us to accept it. And if
the multiple revelations of the
final act lead to escalating
hysteria, it's more a comment
on the Globe's self-‐consciously
jolly audience than on the
production -‐ although I question
the robust humour of spectators
who roar when Posthumus sends
the disguised Imogen skidding
violently across the stage. But
at least Alfreds shows us that
the Globe can work if you
treat it as an empty space
in which to tell an intriguing
story.
Source:
http://www.theguardian.com/stage/2001/jul/12/theatre.artsfeatures2
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Images of Imogen
showcase.arts.uci.edu
www.amyhutchins.net
www.theatermania.com
www.shakespeareteacher.com