Doctor Faustus and The Devil is an Ass (review)

Probably, the Faustus theme has always pulled directors in two different directions—psychological realism on the one hand, spectacle on the other—but economic constraints and the focus of most Marlowe criticism usually combine to enforce a small-scale, perhaps allegorical examination of the hero's psychology at the expense of the magic effects that were probably the reason for the play's popularity in its own time. Thus, I knew before I saw it that the double bill of Doctor Faustus and The Devil is an Ass, in the tiny playing space at the back of the White Bear pub in Kennington, south London, would have that "done on the cheap" look that relegates most revivals of the non-Shakespearean drama to the category of curiosities for eccentric academics. In fact, compared to most revivals, Blanche McIntyre's production turned out to be surprisingly luxurious. As the program note said, the effect was "traditionally theatrical" though not period-specific. The set consisted only of stage curtains, a short flight of steps, and a box large enough for characters to hide in, but the company was large enough to let us see all seven of the Deadly Sins at once, and in the Jonson play we got the sense of complexity that results from the presence of so many characters, each with his own agenda, moving around a stage at the same time. It was appropriate that Robert Forknall, excellent in the role of Jonson's gull Fitzdottrel who has a passion for fine clothes, should be credited with the costume designs. In both plays, Lucifer was played by the same actor (Richard Keynes), appearing each time in the same stage location and making use of the deepest register of his voice so as to be immediately recognizable. Otherwise, there was no obviously thematic doubling.

The one-hour Faustus retained much of what one remembers about the play: the opening and closing scenes; the Good and Evil Angels; the pact with Mephistophilis; the Seven Deadly Sins; the Helen of Troy scenes, framed by the two appearances of the Old Man; and some brief but funny episodes with Wagner, Robin, and Ralph. In the opening scene, Faustus hardly moved; the books he examines were handed him by the good and evil angels and by mysterious figures behind the curtain, creating the effect of extra hands manipulating him (the program retells the legend that in one performance the actors found one devil too many on stage). The production made the most, or rather the least, of its cramped space. In one scene, Robin entered by squeezing between two steps; the Sins mostly emerged as if from the box. However, the effect of this miniaturization was, as it usually is, to make the whole story a study in futility. The show of the Deadly Sins gave no real pleasure to Faustus, though he tried to talk himself into thinking that it was delightful. There weren't many other opportunities for him to benefit from his bargain, since the big set-pieces at the courts of the Emperor, the Pope, and the Duke were cut, as were the practical jokes that he plays. When Helen passed across the stage, the scholars agreed that she was incomparable, but the old man's horror, and Faustus's wretched state when he reentered after his sexual encounter with the succubus, canceled out their words. Increasingly exhausted and empty as the action proceeded, Richard Keightley's Faustus died alone, with no help from any visible devils.

Taken on its own, this production would have come across as a decent rendition of the play for anyone who had never seen it before, but it would have been hard to...