Okay, I’ll add in an extra star for the two belly laughs I got out of this—the only-Condell-likes-Pericles gag and the Love's Labor's Won gag. Shakespeare would definitely be happy. Otherwise, just ignore this snipping of a review; I’m clearly too much of a Shakespeare nerd to have too much fun with this.
It’s 1621 thereabouts and much of the world has forgotten William Shakespeare, dead now for a couple of years. Well, sort of—there are amateur troupes doing Hamlet (badly), from the Bad Quarto no less, which angers Shakespeare’s surviving theater colleagues, the celebrated actors Richard Burbage, John Heminges, and Henry Condell. With Burbage’s sudden death putting the fear of oblivion in them, Heminges and Condell get the idea of publishing Will’s whole oeuvre, a folio to precise. Thus they, with their excellent wives and womenfolk’s support, embark on the huge, gigantic challenge of publishing a first folio, gathering and scrounging up foul papers (first drafts), promptbooks, actor parts, a big enough press run by the seedy William Jaggard, who had illegally published Will’s plays in the past. All the while reminiscing on Will, whose personality comes through in fits and bursts throughout the work. Eventually the job is done, and the First Folio hits shelves in 1623 at a whopping one pound, duly presented lovingly by H&C to Will’s widow Anne at the end. Now, of course, it is considered one of the most influential books of all time and William Shakespeare’s name and fame has been 24-karat ever since. Theater bros are the best.
So this is obviously a doozy of a premise, rich and even poignant, with personal and historical significance. The importance of the First Folio can’t be overstated (in short, we would have lost Macbeth and Twelfth Night among others—ow, ow, my heart) and Heminges and Condell have ensured their own immortality with this project. This also shows a man’s impact on the world and his loved ones, his colleagues, and even his rivals, and how they contributed to the preservation of his legacy. It also shows how tenuous that legacy could be: a quarter of genius could have been forever lost to posterity.
But for all the grandness of the premise, Gunderson’s play feels small, in both execution and scope. It doesn’t help matters that emotional heavyweights like Emilia Lanier and Anne Hathaway—popular Dark Lady candidate and mysterious wife figure—are relegated to blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameos; they of course have nothing but nice memories of Will. Ben Jonson, Shakespeare’s rival-friend, is only a fraction of the macho love-to-hate-him sonafubitch he was in real life, but he did have his moments. At least Burbage was appropriately big-hearted, but he only had one scene, alas, and his death plays out almost an intimate affair (in real life, his death was the most mourned and eulogized of all time, so much so that parody eulogies came out mocking the bathos).
And then there are the little things. A big arc is Heminges’ hand-wringing doubts over the feasibility of such a project—of the two, he is the Debbie Downer. However, a folio compilation of a playwright’s works had been done before—by none other than Ben Jonson, at that. H&C are right to worry about money troubles, but this is by no means unprecedented. Also, as in the vein of even decently researched works like this one, there is that tell-tale edutainment Did You Know? exposition creep—most egregiously, H&C having to be reminded of the terrible fire that burned down the first Globe theater some years past (long story short, Heminges was literally there, referred to by a callous satiric ballad as “poor, stuttering Heminges,” hence the popular headcanon of Heminges’ speech impediment. More likely he stuttered out of shock or weeping at seeing his life’s work disintegrate before his eyes). There is also the ever-present Shakespeare-is-responsible-for-everything trope: Who got the idea of each actor receiving just their part and not the whole script so that it’d be harder to steal scripts? Will Shakespeare, of course! Never mind that professional theater had been established by the time he came into the scene. I know Shakespeare had big influence, let’s say post-1596, but come on.
And yet, despite the prevalence of clumsy exposition for the non-nerds, unanswered questions still proliferate: What about Shakespeare’s narrative poems and poetry? Venus and Adonis was still selling like hotcakes years after publication, and the Sonnets were published fairly recently in 1609. How did H&C arrive at the decision to leave those out? Who decided on the order of the plays, what was their rationale? If the plan was to exclude the co-written plays, then why include the likes of Two Noble Kinsman (Fletcher) and the Henry VI plays (Marlowe and others?) and not Pericles (Wilkins) or others? What was the rights situation with that? The play also portrays the decision to dedicate the Folio to the Pembroke brothers as a necessary PR move, even though the earls are clearly described by H&C as having shown support and favor to Shakespeare’s plays and Shakespeare himself. Not the most egregious of contradictions, but it does beg the question of patronage: why was the Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare’s patron, was not included in the dedication? Why the Pembrokes specifically?
Overall, this needed a lot more grandeur and mystery than the simple but narrowed scope we got, something more meet for such a mysterious, influential historical figure as Shakespeare. His personality should have definitely been revealed more to the spectator through the eyes of his theater colleagues and intimates; we are talking of professional and personal relationships of nearly twenty years, after all. The stakes should be through the roof. Instead Gunderson focuses on Heminges’ and Condell’s womenfolk. I liked Rebecca Heminges et al. fine (actually Becky IRL led quite a life; married at fourteen, widow via nasty duel, and then remarried with her dead husband’s theater buddy in an apparent love match), but they don’t do much except to cheerlead their menfolk and find some creative solutions here and there. That women contributed to the creation of Shakespeare’s oeuvre is appropriately zeitgeist-friendly, but did Gunderson really have only the settled, conventional theater wives to bring to life? I mean, in terms of women connected with Shakespeare, we not only have the sonnet femme fatale, but an Oxford mistress (plus possible illegitimate-son-turned-playwright!), a possible illegitimate daughter (much less certain, but fiction is fiction), a mysterious wife of arguably more interest than any mistress, and a badass/hardass female Puritan enemy of the theater and possibly of Shakespeare as well (the Countess of Bedford, look her up). Oh, and that mysterious Anne Lee that pops up in an arrest warrant along with Shakespeare in 1596. But y’know, Becky Heminges.
All in all, too vanilla for my taste, with way too many pulled punches and unexplored avenues, and a severely underwritten conflict. Writing-wise, it’s sad that fewer and fewer playwright are willing to write some Elizabethan pastiche or at least keep away from gross modernisms. A poetic sensibility is definitely wanting. Read only if you're in the mood for a pleasant, inoffensive Shakespeare-era offering or if that’s your thing to begin with. Also the gags.