Part morality play, part satire, part tragedy, and all ambiguity, Timon of Athens might be the ultimate Shakespearean head-scratcher—a work that seems unfinished, which was never performed in the playwright’s lifetime, which may or may not have been coauthored with Thomas Middleton. (In Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human, Harold Bloom addresses those “recent scholars” who “assign several scenes” to Middleton, and concludes that “their evidence is not at all persuasive, and one or two of them would be glad to give much of Macbeth to Middleton, which arouses absolute distrust in me.”)
Whether or not you side with Bloom—and apparently Theatre for a New Audience and director Simon Godwin don’t, since Shakespeare and Middleton get a double byline on the title page of their Timon of Athens program—he’s unquestionably right that “it remains the graveyard of Shakespeare’s tragic art.” If I had to hazard a guess, popularity-wise, Timon might rank at the very bottom of the Bard’s oeuvre, just below Coriolanus and just above the three-part Henry VI.
This makes the TFANA production, headlined by the formidable Kathryn Hunter, all the more exciting: It’s not only a chance to see a rarely performed piece, but it’s also a chance to see it done slickly and smartly, with women playing actual roles including the kick-ass revolutionary Alcibiades (Elia Monte-Brown)—not just whores who have a few lines here and there, as in the original.
[Read Michael Sommers’ ★★★ review here.]
From the start, it’s clear that the free-spending Lady Timon, for all her noble intentions, is headed for ruin. In the first scene alone, she springs a man from debtors’ prison, gives her poor servant a dowry so he can marry the love of his life, purchases a portrait of questionable likeness (“It tutors nature,” she generously tells the artist), buys a lavish necklace proffered by a jeweler (well, it is an exquisite piece), and presents all the attendees—sitting under her gilded chandelier, sipping from her golden goblets—with souvenir jewels. The guests dance and fawn over her, worshiping at the feet of their golden goddess. But they look suspiciously like snakes coiling around an unsuspecting victim, venomous predators who could devour her at any moment.
The sharp-tongued philosopher Apemantus (Arnie Burton) notices it: “O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon and she sees ’em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one woman’s blood.” Timon’s servant Flavius (John Rothman), meanwhile, is more practical: “Her promises fly so beyond her state/ That what she speaks is all in debt—she owes/ For every word.” When Flavius is finally forced to break the news to his boss, she’s absolutely convinced her pals will come to her aid. “I am wealthy in my friends,” she declares.
Along with Emily Burns, Godwin, the artistic director of Washington, D.C.’s Shakespeare Theatre Co. (where this Timon will run Feb. 20–March 22), has pared down the proceedings into a very manageable 2 hours and 30 minutes. One of their smartest edits is rolling Act 3 scenes 1, 2, and 3—in which three of Timon’s servants separately visit Lucullus (Dave Quay), Lucia (Shirine Babb), and Sempronius (Daniel Pearce) to request loans—into a single infuriating showcase of hypocrisy: each well-appointed Athenian breakfasting in satiny pajamas and velvet slippers, each offering up lame, and obviously bogus, excuses. Lucullus claims he warned her many times (of course he didn’t); “this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship without security,” he mansplains to Flaminia (Helen Cespedes) before tossing her a few coins. Lucia playfully calls herself “a wicked beast,” and pleads poverty (such bad timing…you understand). Sempronius feigns offense that he was Timon’s third choice for money—she can’t really love him, can she? “They have all been touched and found base metal,” says Lucilius (Adam Langdon) of Timon’s gold-plated friends, “for they have all denied her.”
Another small but significant change: swapping out the entrée at Timon’s farewell feast. The script calls for the bitter Timon to give his two-faced friends a meal of stones and water; here, the glamorous group—oblivious to their offenses—is served steaming tureens of blood. (It’s a nice echo of Apemantus’ earlier speech, and of course a nod to Titus Andronicus’ brothers baked in a pie.)
Acts 4 and 5 take an entirely different turn as Timon turns into a hermit, spending her days growing carrots and cursing everything under the sun, including the sun. (Think Lear running around in the forest losing his marbles.) “I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind,” she proudly tells Alcibiades. But Shakespeare’s—or Shakespeare’s and Middleton’s, if you prefer—rage-filled monologues grow tiresome. Thankfully, Hunter’s spirited, often playful performance tempers most of the pessimism. Witness her barely suppressed glee as she force-feeds worms to a former hanger-on—the pompous beret-wearing Painter (Zachary Fine)—then offers the earthy delicacies to an audience member. The night I attended, the gent in the front row swallowed it happily and gave her a thumbs-up.
Timon of Athens opened Jan. 19, 2020, and runs through Feb. 9 at the Polonsky Shakespeare Center. Tickets and information: tfana.org
