A Forest, Near Athens

Last night I went to see A Midsummer Night's Dream in the arboretum. It's my favorite of the Shakespearean comedies and, as I've written before, once helped me climb out from under a mountain of research that was crushing me. For, behold: the forest outside Athens is a maze, Theseus is in the play, and the lighthearted entanglements of the lovers fit perfectly into my Chapter 4. It brought a badly needed element of fun and fresh air to my dissertation, like the throwing open of a window to a party on the lawn.

Unfortunately, for the people putting on the play, rain showers moved into town this week and look to be staying for a while. After examining the forecast, I decided it was less likely to rain last night than it would be on any other night of the run. So I packed up refreshments, a blanket, binoculars, and my folding chair and headed over on foot through the damp, yellow grass.

The sun dipped below a solid bank of gray on its way down, flaring out suddenly behind me as I crossed the field, soon turning the entire Western sky a flaming orange. In the opening scenes of the play, the dramatic sunset was a counterpoint to the subdued early action, in which Theseus and Hippolyta discuss their impending wedding, Egeus importunes the king to force his daughter to marry the wrong boy, and the lovers make their secret plan. The characters were framed at certain times by the woods behind them, so that even though we were on an open hillside, the presence of an actual forest was very palpable.

I've got to hand it to these people. The costumes, the set, and the staging let the magic of the play shine through. It can be difficult to bring MSND off without veering into slapstick and making it all seem silly instead of funny. I mean, you have fairies flitting around, quarreling, rubbing magic flowers on people's eyes, and turning a man into an ass. It's barely there, like a dewy cobweb, and needs a light touch to keep the whole thing afloat.

The cast had the outdoor setting, fading to black once the sun disappeared, on its side, the dark trees looming in the near distance, insects chirping, and the mild summer air effortlessly conjuring up a sense of place. We were in a midsummer night, those dark trees could be the forest outside Athens, and those insects flying high near the lights, radiance reflecting off their tiny wings, could be little sprites.

Onstage, the floating costumes, fairyland colors, and actors disappearing and reappearing through mysterious openings--sometimes even appearing from the direction of the audience--seemed to be who they told us they were--confused lovers, befuddled aspiring thespians, kings and queens, and mischievous fairies. Titania's bed, cushioned and bedecked just as a fairy queen's bed should be, floated out and disappeared at judicious moments, evoking the dreamlike feeling of a magical summer night.

Naturally, one must be ready to suspend disbelief in these circumstances. If the cast and crew are magicians casting a spell, the audience participates in the enchantment by bringing imagination to bear. For that reason, the play is different for everyone present. For me, there seemed to be something solemn peeking out from behind the trees in the forest near Athens, something unspoken running through and behind the words of the actors, something to do with the mysterious life force represented by the fairies, representatives of nature, who fix things for the lovers in spite of the king and Hermia's father. The play was woven of both light and dark in a way it hadn't ever seemed to be before.

I was sorry when it was over, and I took my time walking home, sidetracking and pausing within a grove of trees, gazing up at the cloudy sky, not wanting to break the spell. Some of it clung to me even as I was brushing my teeth in front of the bathroom mirror a little later. I was reluctant to turn on too many lights, and the shadows in the corners, instead of appearing merely dark, seemed filled with possibilities. Maybe there was some impudent Puck hanging around, ready to sour the milk or knock over a book once I was sleeping. I didn't mind too much. Perhaps another fairy would mop the kitchen floor for me, to even things out. Sometimes the material world needs a little moonshine to keep things lively (often, in fact).

Then, in a twinkling, it was midnight, the witching hour, and time to go to bed.