The Fair Maid of the Exchange (review)

When the advertisement for a show claims that it has not been performed in over 400 years, one must go, I suppose. As part of its Renaissance season, the American Shakespeare Center (ASC) at Blackfriars Playhouse in Staunton, Virginia, threw together a performance of 1607's The Fair Maid of the Exchange, probably written by Thomas Heywood. I say "threw together" out of sheer admiration for the actors involved in the ASC "Renaissance Season," which consists of putting on five plays over the season (running simultaneously) within the limitations of thirty hours' rehearsal for each play. The idea, of course, is to recreate as much as possible the rehearsal conditions of the early modern period. The result is an actor-driven season that sparkles with energy rather than polish, prefers spontaneity over plan, and emphasizes discovery over theme. The actors often forget their lines and cues (during the Renaissance season, they use only cue scripts anyway, which makes listening the primary technical skill here), but they often react with delight when they do so. All these variables perhaps make a light city comedy the fittest genre to perform. Besides, in the case of Fair Maid of the Exchange, the only performance precedent is now 400 years old, so avoiding a director-driven theme and maximizing the play's elementary energy seems to be the only viable approach. The company used an as-yet unpublished edited text provided by Genevieve Love, who is working on an eagerly awaited new edition of the play for Routledge.

The play opens with uneasy farce, as two bumbling bandits attempt to "pillage" two middle class women shopping at the Royal Exchange in London. "Cripple" (he is unnamed throughout) hears the commotion and saves the women's lives, using his crutches as weapons. Cripple's triumph is short lived when the bandits notice his physical disability and commit a second attempt at theft and rape, and this time Cripple is fooled, harangued, and then subsequently saved by Frank Goulding, one of three brothers lovesick for Phyllis Flower (who is, as it happens, one of the victims and the titular character).

Between the threat of rape, the exploitation of disability, and the piratical farce of the bandits, the opening is off-putting on the page. The ASC dealt with this tonal discomfort by emphasizing the incompetence of the bandits and giving some agency to the "fair maids," Phyllis and Ursula, who verbally resisted the attempted theft and rape. As played here, Phyllis and Ursula, although physically overpowered, seemed amused by the whole ordeal. The light parodic touch of the scene also introduced Cripple into the action: the almost ironic cry of "Help! Help! He'll ravish me!" was met with Cripple's exclamation of "Methinks I hear the sound of ravishment." The parodic call and response established a comic affinity between Cripple and the women, whose physical disadvantages in the attack were read as indicating thematic and romantic compatibility. In this production, Benjamin Reed as Cripple and Ginna Hoben as Phyllis countered the physical attacks of the stronger bandits through improvised craft: Phyllis struck with her verbal invective and Cripple literally struck with his crutches. After the attacks at the end of the scene, both were left prostrate on the stage, amused at how their mutual experience of being physically overpowered had irrevocably bonded them; in a couplet, Phyllis laughed, "No more now; for God's sake, let us hence!" to which Cripple responded, "If I do live, your love I'll recompense." The affinity was established, and perhaps the most confusing element of the play—Phyllis's enduring love for Cripple—emerged from a moment in which both characters exploited a physical...