So, I finally got to see one of my favorite plays of all time (and the subject of a thesis I wrote in another lifetime), Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe at Agecroft Hall, staged by the crown jewel of Richmond Summer Stock companies, Richmond Shakespeare. I say finally, because there’s a cost to producing outdoor shows in the humid South. Last week’s performance was canceled due to unsafe performance conditions (it was lava hot outside). I was already sweating by the time I got to the Box Office. I was a little relieved.
My relief was half-hearted, as I really wanted to see this play. I’m not going to stand on ceremony to avoid spoilers, as you should have read this in high school. If you are not familiar with the play, don’t worry, you are. Every time someone sells their soul to the devil in exchange for unbound earthly delights, they’re cribbing from this play. The beauty of the work isn’t necessarily in the main plot but between the lines.
Briefly, it goes like this. Dr. Faustus is a secular genius – physician, logician, philosopher and natural scientist. He’s an arrogant intellectual who feels he knows everything worth knowing in this world, but craves more. What can’t be learned from books of his time is secreted within the occult. From these studies, Faustus is determined to wield illicit power over the mundane and divine in collusion with the damned. His bargain accepted, he rises in power and influence amongst royal courts and even taunts the papacy itself. Pretty serious stuff.
Wrong. Dr. Faustus is a very thinly-veiled satire borne of Elizabethan mores. And it is funny. At a time when England was stomping its feet at the Catholic Church with its new brand of Anglican Christianity, Christopher Marlowe undermined the Holy See’s greatest selling point. Hell. As Mephistopheles would remind us, hell is a state of being, not a place. A hollow place without an address. Hell is what you make it.
As the play progresses, our protagonist has the occult confirmed to him with the presence of his new companion, the aforementioned Mephistopheles, with a couple visits from Lucifer himself to boot. He avails himself of every opportunity to turn parlor tricks into a reputation – a olde-timey David Blaine of sorts. His diversions and apparitions increase in absurdity up to a slapstick, Bugs Bunny-esque, haunting of the Papal court for laughs. If you understand the culture in which the play is written, the jokes hit harder and the subversion of societal norms burns like an aged Scotch down the throat.
James Ricks, Artistic Director at Richmond Shakespeare turns in a delightful staging of the production. The dragon riding scene (yes, you read that right) made me grin for the brilliant simplicity of well-executed stagecraft. The props, puppets, demons, and ghouls feel right at home in a city known for its sculpture and visual art. Well done. Bravo.
The pacing slows and plateaus a couple times during the play, but I’ll chalk that up to Marlowe and not Ricks, or his company. There are moments where restraint could be discarded for camp, but that’s a me thing. I’ve daydreamed of putting this production on myself for a very long time. My head-canon can button its lip. I enjoyed this version immensely.
Landon Nagel, who is quickly becoming one of my favorite Richmond actors, conjures a Dr. Faustus that truly believes in his infinite charm and abilities. He has a touch of Shatner-ian pomp, and I mean that in the absolute best way. There’s some Phil Hartman in there too, for good measure. So much of the play is over the top, playing this role too straight would sully the subtext and remove the fangs from the comedy. All said, he’s a great choice for the role and he plays it well. Not to fanboy too much, but if his name is on the bill – and it often is in Richmond – go see that show.
The supporting cast does a fine job of setting the scenes, but there are a few standouts. Dixon Cashwell and Elle Meerovich playing Robin and Dick/Cornelius respectively, bring the laughs, and plenty of them. Elle has a comedic spark and cuddly mein that serves them very well. Sometimes there are intangibles to an actor’s presence that elicits a giggle before they even open their mouths – Elle’s got that. Dixon just owns every scene they’re in. Maybe it’s vocal projection, speech pattern, unpredictability, or a combination of those and other things, but they transcend the “thee’s, thou’s, and what ho’s!” and pounces on every line like it’s their first (and last).
I want to go to a metal show or a monster truck pull with Steven Rice’s Lucifer. I said what I said.
Chris Dunn’s Pope is exactly what Marlowe had in mind when he wrote the character. Weakness with great power in its undeserving grip. The pontificating (pun inescapable) of the Pontiff could be done so many different ways, Mr. Dunn’s choices reflect a great understanding of the material, and I for one, really appreciated that.
Adria Applebee, Sophia Smith, Elizabeth Delcid, and the choreographer they danced in on, Starrene Foster, deserve their own applause. Selling the occult, and the presence of the damned, in dance, is a language without a beginning in history. The slithering, over-extension of limbs, hypnotic and somnambulant gesturing, near-orgiastic mummery of abandon is a language as studied as any in the dance world. There’s a difference between speaking a language and singing in it though. They sang. Brava to them as well.
All that wasn’t remarkable, was absolutely serviceable. The audience was engaged the entire show, and the spirited murmurings of the crowd as we exited the garden amphitheater confirmed their joy. This production is another win for Richmond’s theater community. Go enjoy Dr. Faustus as soon as you can.
Buy tickets HERE before it’s too late!
