By Marilyn Lester . . .
When a playwright chooses a topic to write about, the roots of that choice can be intriguing indeed. In this case, T.J. Elliott was fascinated by the tale of Saint Dymphna, a martyred seventh-century Irish princess whose story evolved through oral tradition before being recorded four centuries later by the French Bishop of Cambrai. By that time, Dymphna’s reputation for miraculous healing had grown, especially regarding her ability to cure the mentally ill (of whom she is now patron saint).
The backstory: Dymphna, daughter of the petty Irish King Oriel and a devout Christian queen, took vows and dedicated herself at age 14 to the Church and chastity. Shortly thereafter, her mother died and her father went mad, determined to marry his own daughter. She fled the court with her confessor, two trusted servants and the King’s jester, finally reaching Belgium, where Dymphna began a hospice for the poor and sick. Eventually, Oriel located her and it transpired that in a rage he cut off Dymphna’s head along with her confessor’s. But what of the two servants and the jester? Here’s where Elliott enters the tale, and in The Jester’s Wife, the playwright interprets the legend with his own point of view, and an intention to—through dark comedy—explore issues of survival, accountability, myth-making, martyrdom and survivor’s guilt—all relevant in modern life.
On a starkly white set, representing a cave where the Jester (Steve Weatherbee) and his wife (Emma Taylor Miller) take refuge after Dymphna’s death, the action starts with a prologue delivered by the actor who becomes the Stranger (Xander Jackson). Thus begins a very long dialogue between the unnamed pair about their respective survival. They are unsure of the King’s whereabouts and fear leaving the cave and losing their own heads. The badinage, aspiring to Shakespearean depth, alas, misses the mark. Talky, repetitive, and often confusing, these game actors do their best to extract comedy and meaning from their marital pushes and pulls, but for way too long into the 95 minutes of the play’s runtime. At long last, the Stranger of the prologue appears, clearly mad, and he whirls and twirls, grunts and groans, dramatically exiting the cave as night falls, only to return the next morning, miraculously cured and cogent.
If there is meaning in The Jester’s Wife it’s revealed in the last half hour of the play. One clear theme that emerges is the very modern notion of women’s rights—hence the play’s name: the ultimate point of view is the wife’s. Yet, in this putdown of men there’s more screed than comedy; and, while we might nod in complete agreement that women are powerful and largely overlooked by the patriarchy, there’s no new information to be gleaned here. Other than the surprise reveal of the Stranger’s identity (and that’s somewhat incomprehensible), the goals Elliott has set for himself fall short.
Elliott, after retiring from his day job as a chief learning officer, founded and runs the Knowledge Working Theater, a largely family affair that’s the producing entity of The Jester’s Wife (and other Elliott-scripted works that have preceded it). Elliott also directs. Generally, this duality of roles is a chancy one. But Elliott is a fine director, moving the actors around the stage with sensible choices that help alleviate the tedium of the dialogue in the first long section of the play. Weatherbee, Miller and Jackson are credible actors who all show a potential to excel with a more focused and perhaps reworked script. Each brings enthusiasm and authenticity to their respective roles despite the text’s limitations.
The production features colorful and engaging costumes by Elena Vannoni, who also contributed to scenic design with Gloria Novi. Technical and Artistic Direction is by Gifford Elliott, with lighting design by Taylor Lilly and sound design by Margaret Montagna.
The Jester’s Wife. Through October 8 at the 36th Street Theater (312 West 36th Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues). 95 minutes, no intermission. www.knowledgeworkings.com
Photos: Marjorie P. Elliot
Cover photo caption: Xander Jackson, Steve Weatherbee, Emma Taylor Miller
