Characters: (4) Development in Shakespeare's Comedies

            In “Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of Comedy,” philosopher Henri Bergson posits that what makes something funny is ‘mechanical encrustation’—a person stuck in a robotic, repetitive way of being. Bergson claims that laughter’s primary function is to cajole others out of their rigid, unthinking ways—to laugh them into a more fluid social way with others. The expressions “laugh it off,” “laughing stock,” and “derision” embody this dynamic.  Interestingly enough, the physiology of laughter is rhythmic, repetitive, spasmodic expiration—our diaphragms pumping hard to get the air out.  That’s why, during a spate of guffawing, we will briefly stop to take a deep, loud inhale.

Bergson’s insight plays out in Shakespeare’s comedies, for many of the funniest moments occur when characters do what is called “practice” on others who are stuck in their ways. It seems counterintuitive, but comedies are pessimistic, for they expose just how futile it is to change some mechanical encrustations—so we might as well have a good laugh. Tragedies focus on characters who are optimistic that they can scoff at social norms and achieve superhuman aspirations.  Macbeth, Richard III, Titus Andronicus, and Iago (to name a few) murder their way to power.  Antony and Cleopatra choose love over community.  Timon of Athens forces his generosity on others—as if making people indebted won’t backfire. And so on.

A useful strategy in interpreting any of Shakespeare’s works, then, is to explore whether and how characters change over the course of a play.  Comedies tend toward teasing and ultimately accepting human foibles.  Tragedies tend toward cutting down those characterized as villains.  Some characters are just there to announce the arrival of a king—others to hurry the plot along.  They start and end nowhere.  But then there are the players. We can combine the question of character development using the seven deadly sins as a starting point, for that’s what makes for drama.  And then let’s see if and how characters move toward virtue, redemption, or communal stability by the end. 

In Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will, Malvolio is characterized as a haughty, uppity servant to the Lady Olivia.  He wallows in the sins of Wrath, Lust, Envy, and Greed (what Feste calls “covetousness”).  Most of all, he suffers from Pride, and is exceedingly judgmental and punishing of others. Here are some early snippets from him.  He derides others, while fawning on Olivia—a flattery meant to win him more favor than Feste, the Fool:

I marvel Your Ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal. (1.5.80-1)

Olivia’s response aptly characterizes him:

            Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio…. (1.5.87)

Sir Toby Belch, Olivia’s uncle; Sir Andrew Aguecheek, an erstwhile suitor; and Maria, her gentlewoman, finding Malvolio ridiculous (the word means “laughable”), and plot to show him up and rib him out of his mechanical encrustations:

By the end of the play—once the pranksters Maria, Belch, and Aguecheek show Malvolio to be the real fool—he’s no better for the lesson.  He’s right back to maligning others:

            I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you! (5.1.378)

There might begin a new play, The Tragedy of Malvolio.

            But Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will is a comedy, written to entertain Queen Elizabeth’s court at the end of the Christmas holidays—the start of a long winter when we all need to lighten up and laugh at ourselves and each other.  We’re all stuck in our ways.

As is Viola. If anything, she commits the tragic heroine’s sin of pride.  Image, and the necessary deceitfulness that requires, is everything to her.  She disguises herself as Cesario, so that she can assume the power of a man. She is the quintessential codependent, as she courts Olivia on behalf of Orsino, although she seems, herself, to be in love with him. “Look at how honest and virtuous I am,” she seems to be saying—while lying about her identity and manipulating others.  In some sense, Viola is a flat character, because she doesn’t change—her reveal is thrust upon her.  In the beginning she says to the Captain:

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid

For such disguise as haply shall become

The form of my intent…

Lead me on. (1.2.53-55, 64)

 In the end, it’s still not her word as a woman that is her reveal.  She invokes her clothing that the Captain kept:

            The captain that did bring me first on shore

            Hath my maid’s garments.  (5.1.274-5)

Let someone else tell you. We are led to wonder about the veracity of her claims of loving Orsino—the Count, Duke, the catch. We might have a sequel comedy:  The Never-After of Viola and Orsino. Virtue is not entertaining as sin. 

It’s in Shakespeare’s Tragedies, Romances, Histories, and long poems, where character development is most obvious.  Trying to change social order is hard and risky.   Better, as in the comedies, to just bumble along as one is. 

While enjoying Shakespeare’s comedies, assign deadly sins and notice how the plot is moved along by characters practicing on each other, cajoling and making each other laughable.  Ask yourself the question: Does this character’s character actually change?

Works Cited:

Cover Art:

https://www.reddit.com/r/R6ProLeague/comments/96kiue/the_7_deadly_sins_but_in_pro_league/

Text:

Shakespeare, William. Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will in. The Complete Works of Shakespeare. 

           6th ed.  Ed. David Bevington.  New York: Pearson, 2008.