The 2024 season for the Illinois Shakespeare Festival (ISF) offers a breadth of well-known stories beloved by readers and theatre audiences alike. Macbeth is one of Shakespeare’s most frequently produced tragedies, the lead roles played just in the past few years by star actors such as Denzel Washington, Frances McDormand, Daniel Craig, and Ruth Negga. Twelfth Night is a favorite among Shakespeare’s romantic comedies, recently adapted into a dazzling musical by Kwame Kwei-Armah and Shaina Taub. And Illinois Shakespeare Festival alum Quetta Carpenter’s new version of Sense and Sensibility, which she will also direct, joins a long line of adaptations for the stage and screen admired by Jane Austen fans.
Looking ahead to an exciting summer at Ewing Theatre, I want to reflect on what these three titles may have in common. All three stories hinge on the tangle of human relationships: headstrong and energetic characters bound to one another through love and loyalty, jealousy and competition. As festival dramaturg, I will help festival patrons keep track of these relationships by providing detailed character diagrams in the program, as well as offering the “Bard Basics” preshow talks for select performances. (Visit the ISF calendar for more information.)
In my first “Beyond the Stage” article for the 2024 season, I want to offer another theme that links Macbeth, Sense and Sensibility, and Twelfth Night: the idea that looks can be deceiving. All three titles are full of misunderstanding, hidden motives, deception, and disguise. What do these stories tell us about outer appearances and our ability—or inability—to see through them? Are Shakespeare and Austen optimistic that the truth will come out in the end? Or should we wisely abstain from putting trust in people we do not know well? Is the distinction between disguise and one’s true self always clear? We will explore these questions as I introduce the three titles in ISF’s current season.
Macbeth begins with a war. Duncan, the Scottish king, fights off a coalition of foreign invaders and rebels, including the Thane of Cawdor. The king seems shaken by the thought that a man he trusted could betray him—or as he puts it, “deceive / Our bosom interest” (1.2.73–74). Upon hearing that the Thane of Cawdor has been executed for treason, Duncan ruminates on the impossibility of truly knowing someone’s inner thoughts: “There’s no art / To find the mind’s construction in the face. / He was a gentleman on whom I built / An absolute trust” (1.4.13–16). One might think that Duncan has learned his lesson and will be more cautious around his subordinates in the future. Unfortunately, he has not. Duncan again places faith in Macbeth, who had played a pivotal role in winning the war. Yet by this point in the play, Macbeth has already been told by the three witches that he “shalt be king hereafter” (1.3.53), sharing this fateful prophecy with his wife. Inviting Duncan to their castle, the Macbeths exploit the king’s “absolute trust” to act on their dark and bloody ambitions.
Perhaps Macbeth’s deceit is not so shocking to us because we see the seed of treachery sprout in his mind like a twisted root. Shakespeare gives us an intimate account of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth’s psyches through intricate monologues, such as Macbeth’s “stars, hide your fires” aside and Lady Macbeth’s “unsex me here” speech. Even as Macbeth prepares for the assassination, we can almost hear his heart pounding in his faltering words. But how much does this translate to Macbeth’s outward appearance—the Macbeth that others see? In Act 1, Scene 5, Lady Macbeth notes how visibly on edge her husband looks: “Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men / May read strange matters” (1.5.73–74). She then instructs him to hide his inner turmoil, almost like a director talking to an actor: “Bear welcome in your eye, / Your hand, your tongue. Look like th’ innocent flower, / But be the serpent under ’t” (1.5.75–77). Macbeth takes her advice and puts on a trusting demeanor before the king. But he knows all too well that it is a thinly veiled ruse: “False face must hide what the false heart doth know” (1.7.95).
Shakespeare gives us a vivid portrait of deceitful people putting on a mask—in other words, a “false face”—to achieve what they want, whether it is political power or access to someone’s heart. In other Shakespeare plays, as well as countless more examples in history, women are especially portrayed as being double-faced or “painted” with makeup. In Shakespeare’s late play Cymbeline, Duncan’s question about the general unknowability of the human mind is rendered into a bluntly sexist remark: “Who is’t can read a woman?” (5.5.57)
In that sense, Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility refreshingly turns this stereotypical narrative on its head. Because the story is told from the perspective of the Dashwood sisters, Elinor and Marianne, it is the men who are mainly observed—and whose looks can be deceiving. Male romantic interests such as Edward Ferrars, John Willoughby, and Colonel Brandon sometimes come across as inconstant, fickle, and duplicitous. Men are the “eternal mystery” in Austen’s fictional world. A woman living in this society can be shrewd like Elinor or spontaneous like Marianne, but, regardless, they struggle to understand what men are thinking and what they want.
But then again, Austen also shows us how feelings can linger even when dishonesty is exposed. Without giving too much away in the plot, suffice it to say that the truth can bring great pain and unhappiness to someone not ready to confront it, especially for Marianne, who lets her passionate sensibility cloud her judgment. But Marianne’s problem is less that she loses confidence in people like Duncan or Macbeth, and more that she has trouble letting go even after she realizes that she was deceived. Or maybe she knew all along but went along with the ruse because she wanted it to be real. To be fooled, in this case, is to be human. Sometimes we are deceived—subconsciously or even willingly—because we want to put our trust and love in others.
Still, Marianne finally understands that she must accept the truth. She can only move on by clearing away the deceitful illusion and recognizing someone for who they really are. On the surface, this theme also seems to apply to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. After all, this is a play in which the heroine, Viola, is disguised as a young man throughout the entire play, adopting the alias “Cesario.” Disguise was one of Shakespeare’s favorite comedic devices, serving as the engine for delightful chaos and confusion. For example, when Viola visits Lady Olivia to woo her for her boss, Duke Orsino, Olivia instantly falls head-over-heels in love with Viola—or at least Viola’s male guise. Compared to Macbeth, however, there are no serious moral implications for deceit in Twelfth Night. Viola herself is a victim of circumstance, feeling sorry for Olivia but unable to reveal her identity just yet. She does try to hint that not all is as it seems; beset by Olivia’s ardent advances, Viola mumbles paradoxically: “I am not what I am” (3.1.148).
Viola has no idea how she will come out of this mess, lamenting: “O Time, thou must untangle this, not I. / It is too hard a knot for me t’ untie” (2.3.40–41). In Shakespeare’s comedies, these knots tend to untangle themselves. Indeed, having a character in disguise is essentially making a promise to the audience that the truth will be revealed by the end—ideally in a fun and unexpected way. Twelfth Night follows this pattern. Viola gradually falls in love with Duke Orsino, which means that her identity must be revealed in the end for them to be married happily ever after. And that is what happens … well, sort of.
Viola differs from other Shakespearean heroines (such as Rosalind in As You Like It, Portia in The Merchant of Venice, and Imogen in Cymbeline) in that she does not reappear onstage in feminine garb after the truth is revealed. Yes, Duke Orsino does realize that Viola is a woman and proposes to her accordingly. But rather than underscore this image of a heterosexual union by putting the character in a dress, Viola remains onstage dressed as a man until the final curtain. This is unusual for Shakespeare, especially given that clothing was strictly regulated in his time by gender and class. Duke Orsino mentions the discrepancy between the woman he will marry and the male persona who stands before him in the final lines of the play: “Cesario, come, / For so you shall be while you are a man. / But when in other habits you are seen, / Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen” (5.1.408–411). Time may eventually untangle this knot, but at least in the present moment, Viola/Cesario slips past binary gender, able to be who they want to be. “I am not what I am,” as Viola says. But might not some part of Viola’s full identity as a human being be reflected in the so-called disguise? If so, then can it be said that Viola’s looks are deceiving?
Theatre thrives on deceit and disguise, as these plot devices are immediately exciting. They generate suspense and anticipation, causing the audience to wonder when the truth will finally come to light. But at the same time, the three titles in ISF’s 2024 season also show that false appearances can sometimes become a mirror that reflects the beholder’s innermost desires. Other times, the distinction between an outer disguise and the true inner self can itself end up being deceptive. What truth will you uncover this summer at the Ewing Theatre? Or will you willingly believe in the trick?
