Did any of you, dear readers, catch the appearance of Ron DeSantis just before opening night of the Shakespeare comedy, “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” at Edgerton Park?
No? I thought not, because there was no recent visit to these parts by the governor of Florida, who hopes to win the presidency by touting the virtues of censorship.
Still, I offer a passable defense in pretending he actually returned to the city of his alma mater. For the Bard of Avon himself wrote of many things that can’t be traced to fact, and playwrights, directors and actors have lately added their own embellishments.
For example, Hamlet was never indecisive at breakfast, apparently, as portrayed some years ago at the Long Wharf Theatre production of “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.”
In that darkly comic version by Tom Stoppard of the classic tale set in Scandinavia, the sweet prince clearly preferred a freshly baked cheese Danish.
But enough disclaimers for what follows here. You can judge it on your own for its remarkable merit. So, now I’ll begin my almost true account of the event that didn’t occur in mid-August during the last dress rehearsal of the Elm City Shakespeare Company.
The cast of characters, dressed in a colorful array of this and that, included Sir John Falstaff in his camo and the bulge of what must be the world’s largest codpiece, were unaware that their evening of pressurized hilarity was soon become prey for political folderol.
From out of nowhere and unscripted, the Prince of Tallahassee entered stage left, wearing a MAGA suit, shouting, “Forsooth!” and then, quoting Bottom the Weaver, who is featured in a different comedy altogether, “Hark! I see a voice!” and then slightly misquoting him, “I see you are here to rehearse most obscenely.”
“Oh, the lewdness and lasciviousness you actors portray. For I know, for example, what that man of moral dishonor, Sir John Falstaff, will announce in Act 1, Scene 3, about a married women– and believe me, I can quote this because I went to Yale, even if I now dismiss it as the cradle of wokeness.
“Sir John will suggest he is being hit on by Mistress Page, or is it Mistress Ford, he does not make clear – ‘O, she did so course o’er my exteriors with such a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did…’
“Well, for propriety’s sake, I shall stop the quote there. But then in the very next act, Falstaff, this misogynous balloon of a man, bellows, ‘Not I, assure thee: setting the attractions of my good parts aside I have no other charms.’ Right there, you see, admission of his felonies.
“So, I beg of you, good ladies and gentlemen, consider that the lives of many schoolchildren will be ruined by such licentious expression, far more so than any rat-a-tat-tat from an AR-15 rifle.”
Isabel Chenoweth photo
From this year's Elm Shakespeare production.
Whereupon, Sir John himself, offered his own measure for measure of indignation, “Forsooth! Pray tell me, injudicious fellow, what business have you here? Are you some Heritage Foundation dramaturg?”
“I, sir, am making the world safe for idiots. Someone has to do it. And you, sir, are in my crosshairs.” Whereupon, Falstaff glanced down at his ample crotch and uttered, “My crosshairs?”
“Just like you,” sayeth the Prince, “to turn what I say into bawdiness. “For I am told that this marks the 28th summer that parents have exposed many underaged children, and even their dogs, to the Elm City Shakespeare Company and its Debris Under the Stars. Just goes to show what people will do when offered something free even if you do plead for donations before and after each performance.”
“I beg your pardon, Guv,” Sir John responded. “It is you, alleging that we poor players are, indeed, charged with the crime of first-degree wokeness, whatever asinine quality of the gods that may be. Here’s what I say, sir. Prepare your rapier. And, as Dr. Caius, that blowhard from France, who all by himself clutters this stage, would say, ‘en garde!’ ”
“Wait a minute,” pleaded DeSantis, seeing the weapon that Falstaff point at him. “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country – oops, as a son of Eli, I shouldn’t mix my inapt references. But I say, you human hippopotamus, kindly go do you-know-what to yourself, sir.”
“Ah, you say,” observed Sir John. “Yes, indeed, I am looking four centuries into human future, across the pond, in the year 2023, and seeing how far men and I suppose even fair women will have progressed into in perfect inanity. But, as favor to you, I will retire my rapier, and trouble you no further with this deposition.
“You may return anon to your sunshine state where you, sir, have no tolerance for letting the light in. This brilliant reference of mine, hah, may qualify at this place you refer to as Yale as an pertinent metaphor. But please be aware, sir, that the good town of Windsor is where such incongruous figures of speech go to die.”
Sayeth the Prince of Tallahassee, “I am sorry to be hoisted by my own petard, as, I think, Jerry Seinfeld lamented when he failed to secure the last pumpernickel at the bakery. Or was it rye?” With that, Governor DeSantis, his MAGA hat in hand, exeunted.
And all was well enough in Windsor for the folderol to begin unabridged.