Showing posts with label Alexandre Dumas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alexandre Dumas. Show all posts

Friday, May 12, 2017

The Red Sphinx by Alexandre Dumas

The Red Sphinx by Alexandre Dumas
Edited and translated by Lawrence Ellsworth
Pegasus Books, 2017
Hardcover, 832 pages

What is clear and undeniable in this painting is that it depicts a man of mind and intelligence, and nothing more. Here is neither heart nor spirit—fortunately for France. In the vacuum of the monarchy between Henry IV and Louis XIV, with a king so weak and diffident and a Court so turbulent and dissolute, among princes so greedy and faithless, to bring order out of chaos required a brain above all.

God created this terrible automaton [Cardinal Richelieu], placed by Providence exactly between Louis XI and Robespierre, in order to crush the great nobles, as Louis XI had crushed his "grand vassals," and as Robespierre would crush the aristocrats. From time to time, like red-stained comets, there appear these machines of history, these great harvesters that advance of their own accord, cropping the field of state, remorseless, relentless, stopping only when their work of scything is done.

So Richelieu would have appeared to you on that evening of December 5, 1628, when, aware of the hatred that surrounded him, he was nonetheless intent on the great projects he contemplated: exterminating heresy in France, driving the Spanish from Milan, and expelling Austria from Tuscany. He it is who appears before you in his study, trying to speak without betraying himself, to see without revealing, that impenetrable minister whom the great historian called the Red Sphinx. (103-4)

Two weeks ago, as I'm waking up from anesthesia after surgery, I find myself babbling on about the Thirty Years War. To feed into whatever loopy mania I'm having at the time, the anesthesiologist says he is a history buff. We talked for a while...what about, I have no recollection. I vaguely remember mentioning that he might want to check out The Red Sphinx, which was most likely the proximate cause of my Thirty Years War fixation. Who knows? Certainly not me, although if so, it clearly stuck with me through other states of consciousness.

This book is being touted as a sequel to The Three Musketeers, a claim I find a little misleading but I won't get too hung up on definitions. The description of the book as "a new translation of the forgotten sequel to Dumas’s The Three Musketeers, continuing the dramatic tale of Cardinal Richelieu and his implacable enemies" gets us closer to its contents.

Alexandre Dumas began writing La Comte de Moret late in his career, failing to finish it before his death in 1870. It had been serialized in 1865-66, but the paper Dumas was writing it for went bankrupt. Since much of the book is about Cardinal Richelieu, over time it came to be known as The Red Sphinx. The bulk of the novel shows Cardinal Richelieu conducting the affairs of state and navigating the political intrigue of the French palace. Translator Lawrence Ellsworth appends to the unfinished end a novella originally published by Dumas as The Dove in 1850. Maybe it's not quite the perfect ending Ellsworth claims, but it does continue and provide a satisfactory ending to one of the storylines of The Red Sphinx.

The action picks up a few weeks after the end of The Three Musketeers, but throughout the book the musketeers are never mentioned, while Monsieur de Tréville garners one mention. Dumas begins by looking at the maneuverings and conspiracies regarding love and politics in the upper crust of French society. Along with eminent people, Dumas weaves in little-known historical figures, fitting them into the story to his advantage. The cast of characters, in appearance and reference, is substantial. Fortunately, Ellsworth includes a valuable guide to the more important characters in the story (fictional, historical, and in-between) as well as online supplementary notes and comments. In addition to narration, Dumas includes real and fictional historical documents such as memoirs, diaries, and histories of the period to lend an authoritative air to the novel.

After setting the stage through secondary characters, Dumas begins to focus on Cardinal Richelieu and his network of intelligence gathering. The Cardinal's dual goals center on retaining power while guiding France through a tumultuous period as it is led by a weak king. Because his enemies are just as ruthless as he is, Richelieu knows if something happens to Louis XIII he won't be alive at the end of that day. But Richelieu remains cool and analytical, usually staying several steps ahead of his foes. Dumas has added complexity and an appreciation of the Cardinal well beyond that of TTM. Dumas also delves quite a bit into Louis XIII and his weak, vacillating nature.

Even though the plot meanders, the various episodes consistently hang onto the general framework for most of the novel. Dumas shows Queen Anne and the Queen Mother Marie de Medici scheming with others in Europe to depose Louis in favor of his younger brother Gaston, duke of Orléans. At the same time Richelieu attempts to counter their moves, he also carries out an investigation of the assassination of Henri IV (Louis XIII's father). Despite the serious sounding nature, there is still plenty of humor consistent with that of TTM, whether through characters' comments or Dumas' pointed asides and aphorisms.

The last third of the novel proper focuses on the War of Mantuan Succession in Italy, a side show in The Thirty Years War. (Readers of Umberto Eco's The Island of the Day Before will recognize the siege of Casale.) The attention also begins to shift, away from the Cardinal and toward Comte de Moret, Louis XIII's illegitimate half-brother, his role in the war and his love for Isabelle de Lautrec. As mentioned earlier, Dumas didn't finish The Red Sphinx so Ellsworth adds the novella The Dove, composed of letters sent between Moret and Lautrec, as its ending. The Dove is flowery and sentimental, not at all from the same vein as The Red Sphinx, but it does draw part of the preceding novel to a close.

It isn't necessary to have read TTM to enjoy The Red Sphinx. It isn't Dumas at his sharpest—at times it feels like he's trying to wring more life from the successful franchise—but there are still plenty of good moments in with the clunky ones. I would hazard to say if you read TTM and enjoyed the second half of it (focusing on d'Artagnan's seduction of Milady de Winter and her revenge), then this will appeal to you. Recommended.

Links:
An introduction to the novel by the translator, Lawrence Ellsworth

Supplementary notes and comments by Ellsworth

An interview with Ellsworth, including a helpful breakdown on the many musketeer novels and why the titles can be confusing, plus details on his intention to translate all of them

War of Mantuan Succession

Quotes from the book:

  • A parenthetical explanation by Dumas:
    (Our readers may find this chapter a bit long and dry, but our respect for the facts of history leads us to reproduce every detail of this great meeting in the Luxembourg that decided on the war in Italy, including all the speeches of the two cardinals. Our claim is that a historical novel should entertain both those readers who know the history it’s based upon, and those who are learning about it from what we write.) (364)

  • And the king took his leave, even more pale, tired, and dazed than the day before, but with a better idea of how hard it is to be a great minister, and how easy to be a mediocre king. (438)

  • After Cardinal Richelieu moves out of his house, Louis and his fool (l’Angley) drink his wines:
    Louis: “Since I have some money…”
    l’Angley: “You have money?
    “Yes, my child.”
    “Word of honor?”
    “Faith of a gentleman! And plenty of it.”
    “In that case, see here,” said l’Angley, caressing the bottle once again, “use it to buy more of this wine, my son. Invest it in the 1629 vintage!” (443)

  • About the cardinal:
    “We are sorry to have to reveal this petty weakness in such a great minister, but we are his historian, not his apologist.” (472)



Portrait of Cardinal Richelieu by Philippe de Champaigne
(1640)
Picture source

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Catching up

I apologize for the unplanned silence. I haven't really felt like reading or posting lately, so maybe a break was what was needed. Since I haven't read much I'll post on what I've recently watched, which was infinitely better.

Trevor at The Mookse and the Gripes has a great review of Inside Llewyn Davis, the latest Coen brothers movie now available for viewing at home. I would say I'm one of the few moderate fans of the Coen brothers…some of their works I love, some I'm not so wild about…and this one was a winner for me. The "WTF is that supposed to mean" symbolism that the Coens include in their movies is still there but seems dialed down quite a bit, letting the story naturally unfold. It also includes some of the most rounded characters they've ever presented, even if they are on the screen for a few seconds. Like Trevor I watched the film again soon after finishing it to pick up on things I missed the first time. Read Trevor's review. It's a movie I'm sure I'll watch again soon.

I had been meaning to watch Jean Renoir's The Rules of the Game and was finally able to do so. While it's now considered a masterpiece, I found it much darker than any review I've read. The plot is simple—a week-long retreat at a country estate provides plenty of opportunities for tangled relationships of French society's upper crust (and of their servants) to play out to a disastrous end. Renoir liked to say it mirrored the "moral callousness" of the time, but I don't think that's quite right, as reflected by the title. Most of the characters are only callous toward anything that is outside their code of ethics. It's OK to cheat on your wife as long as you follow certain rules, for example. But there is a double-edged sword at play here. While simultaneously criticizing the mores of the time and showing his characters sympathetically, Renoir seems to reinforce the importance of what *should* underlie the rules. For example, the estate gamekeeper Schumacher demonstrates a cartoonish view of honor that reveals no underlying basis other than his feeling that he has been offended. How he reacts to the offense demonstrates he doesn't understand why she should feel that way. He's adrift and the two options reflected in other situations is a nihilistic approach, not caring about what happens, and the exaggerated responses he delivers. It's a brutal reflection of society at the time and I now understand the violent reaction at its release—no one likes seeing such an ugly reflection in the mirror. Very highly recommended. Watch it and you'll see the basis for many other films. I'm looking forward to going back and rediscovering some of the influences on the movie, such as Musset's Les Caprices de Marianne and Beaumarchais' Le Mariage de Figaro.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, it the "Dumas summer of the musketeers" for us. Our timing is great since BBC America has just started airing The Musketeers series and (based on the first episode) it's a hit with the boys. The credits are clear that the series is based on the characters from Dumas' novels, so expect a lot of invention and liberty taken with the original. Which is fine with me, especially if the episodes continue to be done as well as the first one. I'm never quite sure why some changes are made from book to screen…why 1630 was chosen instead of the novel's opening in 1626, for example…but as countless other filmmakers have discovered the stories and the characters provide so much opportunity for fun. A few snippets of dialogue:
King Louis XIII (while shooting birds): "There's something about shooting that makes a man feel fully alive."

Queen Anne: "Unlike the birds, I suppose."

King Louis: "They're born to be shot like rabbits…and poets."


and


Guard: "What do you want?"

Constance: "Fifty sous and I'll take you to heaven."

Guard: "Are you one of those religious nut cases?"

Check your local listings and enjoy.

One of the 'goals' I had this summer was to take the boys to a play, so I took them to see a local performance of City of Angels by Larry Gelbart (book), Cy Coleman (music), and David Zippel (lyrics). The storyline follows an author as he attempts to turn a successful novel into a screenplay. Author and story intertwine as his creation takes on a life of its own, which leads me to reflect once again that everything comes back to Cervantes (with a healthy dose of Unamuno). While the youngest boy was bored by the intermission the oldest enjoyed the whole thing. I thought it a very well done performance of a complicated (staging-wise) production by a local troupe. Who knows…I may even convince them to go to another play this summer!

Wednesday, June 04, 2014

Instant viewing: The Three Musketeers (1973) free on Amazon Prime

The boys and I started reading The Three Musketeers last week and we're enjoying it. Looking to see what film versions were available for instant viewing I found 1973's movie directed by Richard Lester and written by George MacDonald Fraser (of Flashman fame). I've always enjoyed Lester's and Fraser's version and the kids love the additional humor in it.

Several Amazon Prime movies I was interested in seeing are no longer available for free viewing, so if you're interested in watching it don't wait too long!

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Kean (1924 movie: France)

Ivan Mosjoukine (Mozzhukhin) as Edmund Kean

I thought I was through with my Kean project, but Sunday evening I checked to see what was on TCM and the onscreen guide promised Kean with Anthony Hopkins, the version I had blegged about a while back! Knowing this slot was usually reserved for silent movies I had my doubts, though, so I checked out TCMs page on Kean and it promised the 1924 film version, which is what was shown:

Dashing Russian actor Ivan Mosjoukine stars in the 1924 silent production of Kean, an engrossing dramatization of the life of British stage actor Edmund Kean, widely considered to be one of the greatest actors of the 19th century. Based on an 1836 play by Alexandre Dumas, this seldom screened gem covers Kean's celebrated career along with his freewheeling lifestyle as a libertine and eventual decline fueled by heartbreak and alcohol.

Kean, directed by Alexandre Volkoff, was a major production from Albatros, the famed company formed near Paris by a group of Russian migrs who made several notable contributions to early French silent film. Russia's answer to Rudolph Valentino, Ivan Mosjoukine shines in his nuanced performance in the title role.

I believe they meant Russian émigrés. See this article for information on the production company and some of their films available for sale (I have no connection to the site). Here’s what they have to say about the film:

This movie is basically a showcase for Ivan Mosjoukine who plays the title role. The movie begins with a 20-minute sequence from Romeo and Juliet, and there are extended scenes of Kean playing other roles from Shakespeare. It a great vehicle for Mosjoukine to declare that he's a serious and talented actor, which he undoubtedly is, but it doesn't work as well as it should. When Kean is on stage, Mosjoukine seems to be in 'acting' mode, using exaggerated gestures and deliberate, thought-out motions. This makes the "performances" seem more wooden than the rest of the film where he has a more natural style. The fact that we can't hear Kean speaking and have to read title cards instead also subtracts from the performance. Still, it is a good film, even if you didn't know anything about Kean aside from that one famous quote [Kean supposedly said “Dying is easy, comedy is hard,” although there isn’t much evidence for the attribution]. There are some very good scenes, like when Kean gets drunk in the pub, and double exposures were used in a very effective manner.

I’ll address some of these issues in this post, but I’ll agree there are some very good scenes and I thoroughly enjoyed the overall film. Previous posts related to the actor and the play can be found at these links:

The introduction said the movie was adapted from Dumas’ play and historical documents, although both claims are a little misleading. The first half of the movie is fairly faithful to the spirit of Dumas’ play, showing some of the backstory and other scenes referred to in the play, but begins to diverge as secondary plots are omitted and a painfully long death scene ends the movie. The original title of the film was Kean but has alternately been titled Edmund Kean: Prince Among Lovers or Kean: Or Wildness and Genius. The restored print TCM aired used the latter and that really is the focus of the movie—his talent and his disordered life.

The best part of the movie for me was the interaction between Kean and his servant Solomon (I’m going to retain the spelling used in the Sartre post even though there is some variation in the Dumas play and the movie). In his version of the play, Jean-Paul Sartre emphasizes this more than Dumas does and I think it works extremely well. In the movie it’s clear they both love each other, Solomon declaring that he is Kean’s only friend in the world. The servant obviously cares for Kean, helping him out of scrapes while facilitating getting into others. In this version, Solomon is also Kean’s on-stage prompter. The funniest scenes of the movie involve these two interacting, whether it’s Solomon practicing fencing with Kean, Solomon dressing up in a tiger rug to scare off creditors, or Solomon in drag to avoid the creditors as they leave the house. Kean can be a little rough with Solomon at times (bordering on abusive) but it’s clear he values his friendship. Solomon attempts to make things better for Kean, providing advice even though the actor ignores it most of the time.

There is much more of an emphasis on Kean’s dissolute life, emphasizing the “wildness” part of the subtitle. Dissipation in this case equals dancing, drinking, more dancing, and a lot more drinking. One bar scene does a good job in piecing these actions together to make Kean appear manic, dancing and drinking the night away with sailors. Occasionally excuses are given for his behavior, especially the class differences and how actors are treated, but I think the movie intends to show that this is a major part of Kean. In other words, it is a part of his very being, as is his brilliance in acting.

Kean's acting on stage, as noted in of the review above, looks exaggerated and deliberate, wooden instead of natural. I find some humor in the fact that the movie (1924) is almost exactly as far removed from the play (1836) as the movie is from today. This style of acting is what silent movies did—the exaggeration is only slightly toned down when Kean isn’t on stage, but there is that added level when he performs and the audience loves it. I found that the exaggeration on stage helped drive home the point that the public loved Kean “the actor” and not Kean “the man.” Sartre’s play emphasized this distinction more than Dumas did, and I think the movie is doing the same thing. When Kean “the man” steps forward from behind his character during his last performance (when he insults the Prince of Wales), the crowd turns on him, booing and throwing food at him. They have no desire to see him, they want to see him perform. The real man is despised and derided—even the livery men at the Danish embassy mock him (via Solomon). There is an additional scene where Kean reads to his actor friends and his delivery and motions are much more normal, highlighting the artificiality of the stage. He notes before his charity performance that he works in a “Damned profession. Where we are masters neither of our joys nor our pains. Always a mask, never a face.” Sartre highlights this difference more, but it’s in Dumas’ play and the movie notes it as well.

A large part of Anna Danby’s escape from her fiancé Lord Neville is not included in this movie version, with no negative impact. Anna was a weak character in Dumas’ play so her cut scenes are fine with me (Sartre makes her a much stronger character). The confrontation between Kean and Lord Neville in the bar, though, is very important to the play and the movie suffers from its exclusion. The worst addition to the movie, by far, is the death scene. As noted in the IMDb.com link, this is supposedly the longest death scene on film. The only other film that had me muttering “Die, already” was to Debra Winger in “Terms of Endearment.” This scene was around 17 minutes and outside the tender moments with Solomon and Elena it is way too long. To demonstrate his love of Shakespeare Kean asks Solomon to read from his plays for him, but Kean ends up quoting several death scenes. I guess the storm breaking at his death and blowing out the candle, emphasizing earlier lines about Kean being England’s sun or light, was OK but by that time I just didn’t care. The closing of the movie, with a curtain being pulled on the scene as if it were on a stage, was a nice touch.

Even with that complaint it’s a decent adaptation and the first 90 minutes has some great moments. Robert Israel adds the new score for the film. Definitely recommended if you happen to stumble across it.

A few additional links on this film:

The flyer for a viewing of it at the Edison Theater at the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum in Fremont, California. If you find yourself in the area, I strongly recommend a stop in at the museum.

Another review of the recently released French Masterworks – Russian Emigrés in Paris: 1923-28 set.

Ivan Mosjoukine as Edmund Kean
(and possibly what Cap'n Geech & The Shrimp Shack Shooters would have looked like if they used the Who instead of The Wonders)

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Edmund Kean: or, The Life of an Actor by Alexandre Dumas

Edmund Kean: or, The Life of an Actor by Alexander Dumas
The English adaptation by G. H. Jessop and J. St. Maur (published 1881)

Note: I'm not sure what happened but this post returned to draft status after being posted. There have been no changes since the original post yesterday.

After I read the pictured "adaptation", of course, I find there is a translated copy of the play available online. The translation is by Frank J. Morlock. I only looked at the first few pages and found numerous differences, probably because of the adaptation vs. translation issue. I will be quoting from my copy of the Jessop and St. Maur adaptation.

There is a good reference page on the Dumas play at The Alexandre Dumas père Web Site, including notes on the question of authorship. It includes a very good synopsis of the play.

Before I go any further I wanted to make sure and include a link to Stuart Fernie's page with his reflections on Kean. I initially forgot to include it in my post on Kean but included it in an update. Unfortunately the update was well after many people viewed the post, so I want to correct my error here.

Related posts:


Dumas got to see Kean perform in 1828 (eight years before the play Kean) when an English company, including the actor, gave a series of performances at the Odéon in Paris. The eight years between seeing him and Dumas’ play, though, saw many changes in France, not the least of which is the 1830 Revolution. Dumas’ play is decidedly reflects a post-revolutionary France, presenting an intermingling of classes as they work through their changed relationships with each other. More importantly, I think, is that Dumas’ Kean reads not just as an actor’s place in society but an author’s place, too. It is probably too much to say Kean is Dumas, but the there are some parallels to be drawn between the two.

While Kean does not include the melodrama common in Dumas’ novels, Kean does appear as a Romantic hero in the play. Kean plays many roles in the play, such as libertine, friend, counselor, gallant, cavalier, but his relevance as an actor seems to be forgotten at times. Dumas’ Kean rarely worries about the distinction between acting and reality, rationalizing his life of excess and disorder as a way to feed his genius in acting. Sartre’s Kean, on the other hand, acts all the time in various roles, on and off the stage and worries that he may never be authentic. Dumas presented a Romantic view of art, where literature/theater can help a reader/viewer experience the same emotions they read/see. Anna’s love of the theater punctuates this view—she had been sick and listless, full of melancholy until her doctor suggested a trip to the theater. That visit lifted her spirits, changing her and providing “a strange new warmth” in her heart. Anna believes the theater is just as real as life, while Kean trumps her in his declarations—he tells Lord Melville (Neville in Sartre) that the world is a lie while the theater is truth.

Even with such exuberance, Dumas marks a clear delineation between acting and living. After the fiasco during the benefit performance, the servant Solomon tries to convince Kean to continue to feign madness to reduce the dire penalties from insulting the prince. Kean will have none of it:
Solomon: Now if you would only keep up the deception for a week. You act the part of King Lear so remarkably well.

Kean: Mr. Solomon, I’d have you to know that my hours for acting are from 8 p.m. till midnight. I never act out of the theater.

In both Dumas’ and Sartre’s plays, Kean plays the rebel while accepting the status quo. Dumas’ Kean targets the privileged, those who don’t “deserve” their wealth and privilege. He still defers to and respects royalty, even as he denounces them. Dumas has Kean develop awareness, limited at a societal level. Here is part of Kean’s attack on Lord Melville while protecting Anna in the dockside bar:

Lord Melville: There is on little difficulty in the way, sir [in giving satisfaction]. An earl, a nobleman, a peer of the realm, cannot meet an acrobat, a mountebank, a strolling player.

Kean: You are right. There is too great a disparity. Lord Melville is a highly estimable gentleman, belonging to one of the first families in England, descended, if I am not mistaken, from the rich old nobility of the Conquest. It is further true that Lord Melville has squandered his heritage in cards, dicing and horse-racing and cocking-mains; that his escutebeon is tarnished by the stain of his base actions and licentious life; that instead of endeavoring to rise, he has steadily sunk lower and lower into the depths of degradation. Whilst the stroller, Kean, born in a kennel, and exposed in the public square, commencing his career without any aid from fortune or a great title, has made the name he bears the peer of the most illustrious, and has wealth enough to compete in expenditure, when it so pleases him, with the royal princes themselves. But all this does not make Lord Melville any the less respectable, nor Kean the less a buffoon. It is true that Lord Melville has sought to rehabilitate his dissipated fortune at the expense of a young and defenceless girl. Forgetting that her rank is beneath his own, he has persecuted her with professions of his noisome love, and has spared no efforts to compel her to marry him. And the mountebank, Kean, affords his protection to this poor fugitive who came to him for aid, has cared for her as a brother would care for his sister, and will send her hence, pure as when she came, and all the more because she is so lovely and so helpless. Nevertheless, Lord Melville is an earl, and Kean is a mountebank.

There is much more in this tirade that Kean uses to contrast the two—it is quite the denouncement of any deferment toward nobility. Yet Kean continues to defer. Sartre’s Kean expands his targets to include the bourgeoisie, those that exploited him and “made” him an actor, an illusionist for their amusement. This Kean also develops awareness but it is on a metaphysical level. Sartre updates Dumas’ Romanticism to a 1950s Existential view of man.

A little more on some differences between the two plays…
Sartre tends to cut corners on Dumas’ plot development in order to allow actors, especially Kean, time to muse on the questions of appearance and reality. Sartre also develops the secondary characters quite a bit more. In Dumas’ version, Anna Danby initially shows initiative, then disappears back into herself. Sartre shows a much more brazen and self-assured woman, determined to get what she wants. Elena/Helen is also more fully developed under Sartre, where she is torn between her love of the actor Kean (not the man) and her privileged role in society. She realizes much of her life is a sham while highlighting the roles she plays as a woman and a countess. These aspects of her character are hinted at in Dumas, but Sartre plays up her inner conflict. The servant Solomon is also more aggressive in Sartre’s version, going beyond a simple comic foil.

Reading Dumas’ Kean was enjoyable on its own. Even better, though, was the heightened appreciation of what Sartre achieved in using Dumas’ play. Fun stuff all around. Since I provided some of Kean’s pointed comments to the prince from the stage in my previous post on the play, I want to include Dumas’ version of lèse-majesté committed by the actor. Dumas makes it clear Kean is doing this as himself, not as the actor:

Kean: Who calls me Hamlet?

Ophelia [Anna]: Kean, you must be demented.

Kean: No, I’m not Hamlet. I’m Falstaff, merry companion of the Prince’s revels. Here my jolly comrades. Poins, Bardolph, Dame Quickly. Give us a cup of sack, and let us drink the Prince’s health, the most dissolute, the least trustworthy and the vainest of us all. Here’s to the health of the Prince, to whom all women are fair game, from the bar-maid in the riverside tavern to the lady of honor who drapes the royal purple on the shoulders of his mother!

Lord Melville (from box): Off, off with you! Off with Kean.

Constable (from pit): Silence, order.

Kean: Falstaff; no, I am not Falstaff, nor yet am I Hamlet. I am Punchinello, the Falstaff of the high road. A horsewhip here for you miserable caitiff who steals innocent maids, and refuses to meet the man whose name he has stolen, and this, forsooth, on the brave pretext that he is a noble, and earl, a peer of the realm. Yes, I say; a horsewhip for my Lord Melville, well and lustily laid on, and let us enjoy it.

Update (22 Jun 2013): An audio performance of the play is available on YouTube: Kean, ou Désordre et Génie - 03/03/1949. French Radio and Television hosted a performance of the Dumas play (Sartre's play was written in 1953) starring Pierre Brasseur as Kean. The story goes that Brasseur played Lemaître in the film Les Enfants du Paradis and asked Sartre to update Dumas' Kean, but I wonder if this performance wasn't a major reason, too.

Update (16 May 2014): A translation of the play by Frank J. Morlock can be found here.


Advertisement on the back page of this edition

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Edmund Kean: fact, myth, and everywhere in between


Edmund Kean by James Northcote (1819)
Picture source at the National Portrait Gallery

Edmund Kean (1787 – 1833), an English actor noted for his leading roles in Shakespeare, was as famous for his personal life as for his professional one. His messy divorce, many affairs, adultery trial, and riotous excesses were fodder for gossip. His stage performances alternated between laughable and brilliant—in his last performance (Othello) he received an ovation while he was suffering what he thought were his death throes. Six weeks later he died. His was a life of celebrity that other notables found memorable, good or bad. About the actor Samuel Taylor Coleridge said, "Seeing him act was like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning." Harry Houdini collected Kean memorabilia.

Jeffrey Kahan in The Cult of Kean (Ashgate Publishing Co., 2006) traces the celebrity of the actor, looking at the cultivated image Kean tried to project, and sometimes live up to. Kahn also looks at the various hagiographic treatments his biographers published, adding to the actor's reputation. Three years after Kean’s death, Alexandre Dumas wrote the play Edmund Kean, Or, the Life of an Actor at the behest of the actor Frédérick Lemaître. In an ironic case of symmetry, after the French actor Pierre Brasseur played Lemaître in the film Les Enfants du Paradis he asked Jean-Paul Sartre to write a play based on Dumas’ work so he might play Kean. Sartre was intrigued by Kean, seeing him as an archetypical existential man, alienated from himself and everyone around him: “He [Kean] was the Myth of the Actor incarnate. The actor who never ceases acting; he lives out his life itself, is no longer able to recognize himself, no longer knows who he is. And finally is no one.” (140)

Sartre based his portrayal of Kean not on the actor himself but on Frédérick Lemaître, who is said to have “become” Kean on the stage and in his personal life. The legacy of Kean continued with a musical comedy, Kean by George Forrest and Robert Wright, playing on Broadway in 1961. It was based on Sartre’s play which was based on Dumas’ play, emblematic of the way in which the legend-building Kean’s life comes to us. Kean, as a character, has become as famous as his performances during his life, on and off the stage. His death scene as played by Ivan Mosjoukine in 1924’s film Kean (renamed Edmund Kean, Prince Among Lovers) is larger than life, setting a record for the longest death portrayed in cinema—ranging between 16 and 20 minutes depending on the speed of the projector. Note in the review they even take pains to point out that the portrayal is “more like the popular idea of the famous actor” instead of an accurate depiction.

Brian Moyes has a great post on Kean leasing a Scottish house on the Isle of Bute. Check out the pictures of the busts adorning the gate: Edmund Kean, William Shakespeare, Philip Massinger, and David Garrick. As Brian notes, “Obviously modesty wasn’t one of Kean’s traits.”

Related posts:


Update (19 Jun 2013): Edmund Kean at Richmond, a page providing detail on Kean's life in the Richmond Upon Thames borough of London. There's a link for further reading on the topic, too.

Playbill for a performance of Richard II, 13th March 1815, Theatre Royal, Drury Lane
Featuring Edmund Kean as Richard II.
Picture source at the Royal Shakespeare Company