I am THE QUEEN!

I have decided to start a blog up once more. I have, at several points, taken a stab at the online-written world, but never with much enduring success. So, I will try yet again to record my thoughts on a, hopefully, daily basis. I will not concern myself with the creation of clever witticisms or with the elegance of the written English language. I will not give two shits about that and will simply record whatever thoughts cross my mind. Exemplified from that poorly written sentence.

I do hope you choose to read it – otherwise, what would be the point? If I did not consider a loving, loyal audience of the utmost importance, then I’d buy a three-ringed leather binder from Papyrus, start every morning with “Dear Diary…,” and call it a day.

And so it goes.

Last week, I saw the Broadway revival of Schiller’s Mary Stuart.

If you are like me, your reaction to that sentence was: Who? What?

I had never heard of Schiller, and my knowledge of Mary, Queen of Scots was rather limited. I knew she was executed at the order of her cousin, Elizabeth I, after 19 years of imprisonment. I also knew that the decision to execute her was much agonized by Elizabeth. Possessing that limited amount of knowledge, I entered the theatre with the slate decidedly blank.

I must say, I thought Mary Stuart to be one of the most remarkable stage productions I have ever seen. The performances across the board were first-rate, particularly Janet McTeer’s eloquent and passionate Mary Stuart and Harriet Walter’s flawed and human Elizabeth. The decision to dress the women in period costume and the men in contemporary suits is effective – it certainly physically distinguishes the women as something entirely different from their male counterparts; something almost ethereally.

I cannot even begin to imagine what it would have felt like to be a woman in 16th century England and Scotland, possessing immense power in a world dominated by men. How extraordinary and frightening it must have all seemed.

As the second act of the show opens, Mary Stuart is released from imprisonment for the afternoon; she is unaware the release is actually an pre-orchestration allowing for a “chance” meeting with Elizabeth I (a meeting that did never took place in history).

The power of the deeply liberating moment is heightened by one of the coolest stage effects I have ever seen: it rains! For ten minutes or so, it actually pours on stage. The effect is not only ridiculously cool to watch, but further strengthens the dramatic climax of the play.

Mary Stuart may be rooted in antiquity, but the play is not a history lesson; it is one man’s interpretation of Britain’s two extraordinary women. Mary Stuart is an exploration into the effects of the shifts and balances of power, and delves into the complicated worlds of female insecurities.

The idea that history is dynamic, a continual shift of theories and interpretations is endlessly fascinating to me. I think the way in which we learn history in school contradicts its essence. History, we learn in school, is a series of indisputable dates and facts. Elizabeth I was queen of England from 1558 to 1603. George Washington was the first President of the United States. And the attack on Pearl Harbor was on December 7, 1941. The aforementioned statements leave little room for debate. But to consider history in such a black-and-white, cut-and-dry sense is to miss the point entirely.

When we tell the story of Mary Stuart and Elizabeth I, we are sifting through the emotions and thoughts of people deceased now for hundreds of years. We will never be able to full understand or appreciate what occurred. How could we possibly consider their tale to be just a conglomeration of dates and facts?

We can read letters from the period to grasp some sense of the motives and feelings of the individuals, but answers to contemporary questions will always be shrouded in mystery. It is the mystery of the stories of our predecessors that fascinates me. And it is this mystery coupled with the top-notch theatrical craftsmanship that make Mary Stuart a must-see of the season.

Tonight, I continue what has been a marathon month of theatre and see the revival of Eugene O’Neill’s Desire Under the Elms.

Until, next time...om chanti, chanti, chanti, namaste.