Shakespeare Couples: Falstaff Shouldn't Have His Own Sitcom

It's wild to realize how much human nature remains the same. Individual people are different but people's desires remain remarkably consistent. 

Shakespeare's Merry Wives of Windsor was apparently the equivalent of Joey or Frasier. It was a spin-off, written for the sake of a subordinate character, Falstaff. People loved Falstaff so much that Shakespeare had to keep bringing him back. He supposedly wrote Merry Wives at Queen Elizabeth's command (which reminds me of Jamie saying bluntly, "Really!?" when Obama wanted him and Adam to try out the mirrors-as-weapons experiment again on Mythbusters). 

And Merry Wives of Windsor was one of the first Shakespearean plays shown at the start of the Restoration (after the equivalent of lockdowns were lifted).

Despite being requested by Queen Elizabeth, Merry Wives of Windsor wasn't particularly liked even at the time. And I really didn't want to read the play since I don't care about Falstaff. Instead, I watched Orson Welles in The Chimes at Midnight. It helped that the older Orson Welles is how I see Falstaff!

This movie is basically Henry IV, Parts I and II with text from other plays. It is exceptionally well-edited. It is told mostly from Falstaff's point of view but the plot isn't about him (directly).  

And it proves that Falstaff is best presented within a larger story. Like with so many spinoffs, he is more interesting as a subordinate rather than a main character (Frasier was truly an exception, not a rule.)

From a lovers' perspective, Falstaff has less luck than the man who played him. I'm not a fan of the poor buffoon plot used by Merry Wives. And I agree with those critics that the complication of Falstaff is that despite his jokes and joie de vivre, he is in fact a villain. Hal is right to repudiate him.

The true relationship is Falstaff and Hal.  

Trios are All the Rage

Speaking of Leverage...

Lately, more and more shows are presenting the trio rather than the duo, the set of three who take on the world together. Sometimes, a romance is involved or implied. However, since I despise romantic triangles, the four trios I chose here don't rely on the romantic triangle to keep the trio functioning. 

Leverage: Parker, Hardison, and Eliot form a unit, especially in the later seasons. In one episode, they solve the case without Nat and Sophie's help. Eliot becomes the de facto leader, but he is less Mastermind and more the guy who knows how to pull everyone together.  Their group is far more democratic than Nat's group, in part because Nat has trained them to go it alone. 

My Roommate is a Detective: Qiao, Lu Yao and Youning form a unit against the world. Qiao and Lu Yao are the linchpins, being the Watson and Holmes. However, I was quite touched that one of the later episodes heavily implies that circa World War II, Lu Yao will use his contacts to get Qiao, his best friend, and Youning, his wife, out before the Battle of Shanghai, the occupation by the Imperial Japanese Army, and what would shortly become Mao's China. They are functioning members of their social orders--city, family, police force, gang--but ultimately, they will save each other. 

Mysterious Ways: Declan, Peggy, and Miranda. I adore this show and was able to get the DVDs on eBay. It is Adrian Pasdar at his finest since it combines his Hallmark side with his Profit side. The guy can get dark! In some ways, it is X-Files lite, but it has its own vibe and mandate. The three form a believable friendship with no competition. 

Chihayafuru: Chihaya, Arata, and Taichi. I hesitated with Chihayafuru since an underlying romantic rivalry does partly define the relationship between Arata and Taichi, who both are drawn to Chihaya. However, ultimately, the rivalry--at least in Season 1--is a source of inspiration rather than contention. The three formed a bond that is unbreakable, whatever the ups and downs--and whether or not they literally compete against each other. The chivalry here is reminiscent of Coach's line: "We played great. They played better. That's the way the game is supposed to be."

The Transformation of Gilly from Heyer's The Foundling

On Votaries, I am discussing characters that transform. A character that transforms too much may leave the readers confused. A character that transforms too little may leave the readers disappointed. 

Gilly from Georgette Heyer's The Foundling is a great example of a character who transforms just enough. 

Gilly’s uncle and trustee feels compelled to protect Gilly’s inheritance as the Duke of Sale. (His own son, who also supports Gilly, would inherit if the uncle was less protective and upright.) 

Gilly is a soft-spoken young man who has been coddled and watched-over all his life. He eventually goes “walk-about,” leaves his protective supporters, to have an adventure of his own. 

The book is one of Heyer's travelogues, which means that Gilly encounters a con-man and a damsel in distress. He engages in several adventures and acquits himself. 

At the end, when he returns home, his uncle attempts once again to "help" Gilly through blustering goodwill. Gilly finally lays down the law and makes it clear that he, not his uncle, is the Duke of Sale.  

What makes the scene so perfect, however, is that Gilly remains Gilly:

The Duke raised his head and met his uncle's fierce look with one so icily aloof that Lord Lionel was startled. "I have borne enough!" he said, his voice still level and low-pitched, yet anger throbbing in it. "I will not endure any longer this ceaseless thwarting of my every wish. I am fully sensible, sir, of the great debt I owe you for your unremitting care of me...but my gratitude would be increased tenfold if you would bring yourself to believe that I am neither a child nor a fool...It is not I who stands in danger of forgetting that I am Ware of Sale!" 

Lord Lionel is taken aback. But he is a fair-minded man: 

"I never saw you look so like your father before....Ware of Sale, indeed. There, stop glaring at me, Gilly. I have a good mind to box your ears."

The rigid look vanished from the Duke's face. 

He quickly accepts his uncle's olive branch. He continues to speak in a sweet and low way that is more effective than shouting the place down. He doesn't transform into a perfectly confident, perfectly extroverted, perfectly commanding (in style), perfectly perfect Duke of Sale. He remains Gilly--only he has gained the ability to trust himself in his role. He expects others to treat him accordingly. 

The Bratty Lover

Allec is my "bratty lover." Like Rory, 

he saves his older, more stable lover.

One rather adorable archetype in romance is the bratty lover. The character is often younger than the lover, full of piss & vinegar with a sharp tongue and lots of attitude. 

When the archetype works, it is--as noted--adorable and fun. 

Unfortunately, when it doesn't work, it is simply irritating. The character comes off as entitled and self-centered and rather incapable (almost deliberately incapable). 

In Therin's Magic in Manhattan series, Rory is a bratty lover. And he works for several reasons:

1. He isn't entitled. 

His adorableness is built-in, not deliberately cultivated (a character who deliberately cultivates a persona can be interesting but if the purpose is grifting--using others--the deliberate cultivation ultimately fails. Rory, in contrast, is behaving like himself; he has no idea how much he delights his lover, Arthur.

2.  He thinks about others. 

In fact, one of Therin's insightful points is that Rory thinks about all kinds of things, even his complicated relationship with religion. He is aware of people, their variation, their complications. When he starts to figure out Arthur, he goes out of his way to track him down and bring him a meal. 

3. He is fully capable. 

A delightful aspect of the book is that Arthur, the lover, isn't only protective of Rory; he is protective of everyone. 

"You're right, I'm being monstrously overprotective. I'm afraid it's a bad habit of mine. If it makes you feel better, Jade is a telekinetic ex-spy who can kill a man with her mind, and sometimes I can't sleep because I'm afraid she's lost control and accidentally stabbed herself."

"He calls," said Jade.

"I do," Arthur admitted. 

Arthur is protective of Rory, but Rory isn't helpless, and he doesn't practice learned helplessness.

Rory as a bratty lover allows him to be tough as nails, despite several bad events in his past, and to meet Arthur head-on, despite the disparity in class. 

From Yugi Yamada's oeuvre, Naoki plays a similar role with the people around him.  

A-Z Romance Paperbacks: Therin and the 1920s

I complain in several places of the non-historicity of historical romances. The characters behave and talk like moderns. They have modern expectations. They scold each other for violating modern norms. 

It's highly irritating. 

Allie Therin's series Magic in Manhattan (and Roaring Twenties Magic) is a great example of the opposite phenomenon. Therin excellently captures the time period, the zeitgeist, of New York City (and later, London) in the 1920s. The series is urban fantasy, so Therin had more options--could take more liberties with historical "facts"--but generally speaking, the books feel like a tribute to the era of Al Capone and speakeasies and new automobiles and luxury liners than stories containing off-the-cuff allusions to those elements. 

As a writer who struggles with setting, I have to ask, How does she do it? 

She uses language--cloche hat, phonograph, "asylum" rather than "mental institution"--and settings--the series starts in New York City and one of the main characters operates a speakeasy. And Therin references certain events, such as a character learning to drive, which is considered--for a woman of the lower-middleclass--to be highly unusual. 

More than providing language and setting and references, Therin USES them. When Rory, the main protagonist, breaks his glasses, the possible cost of another is considered as big an imposition as me having to fix part of my car. The fact that the woman he works for can drive becomes a factor later on. And the speakeasy is an ongoing setting, especially since the woman who runs it needs to avoid being cheated by bootleggers. 

As I mention in one of my fan fiction posts, capturing a historical time period means taking the conditions of that time period seriously. Therin's series do. 

The Non-Platonic Marriage in Ellis Peters

A sub-sub-sub genre of romance is the platonic marriage. It also shows up in the occasional movie--the straight and gay best friends who raise a baby together, for instance. (Hey, Boston Legal did a variation!)

Generally speaking, I'm not a fan. Brennan in Bones has a point when she refutes that she and Booth are "friends." I don't entirely agree since I think friendship--the ability to talk to someone about anything--is one of the most positive aspects of a relationship. 

But I do agree with her in the sense that I think that an intimate relationship does, in fact, imply a physical relationship. 

One of the best platonic yet physical relationships occurs in The Excellent Mystery by Ellis Peters.  

*Spoilers.* 

A young woman who was engaged to a crusader from a young age learns that he has chivalrously acquitted himself in battle. But he was mortally wounded, to the point where he can no longer father children. He releases her from the betrothal and enters a Benedictine order as Brother Humilis. She dresses as a young man and enters as Brother Fidelis. (Interestingly enough, as educated monks, they are both put to work in the scriptorium.) She becomes his closest confidant and cares for him. In the end, he figures out who she is and expresses his love and gratitude. 

It is incredibly touching--and an entirely physical union. Peters makes clear that some more dogmatic members of society considered an engagement the equivalent of marriage. Julian, the young woman, was instructed as much. She considers them wed and claims her rights to his physical body. She baths him, dresses his wound. He is young (enough) in his forties, but his wound is the type that in that time period will eventually result in weakness and death. In a final act of chivalry, he does what he can to preserve her reputation. 

The book is beautifully written. Although disguises are not always believable, Peters establishes the "rules" that allow us, the readers, to accept Julian's disguise. And they  prepare us for her husband to glean the truth. In a final act, while they are seated together, he acknowledges the blessing of her companionship. Her grief at his death is awesome (in the old-fashioned sense of the word, heartfelt, and entirely physical). 

An excellent marriage indeed! 

The Great Major Margaret Houlihan

I mention on Votaries that Major Frank Burns had more potential than the writers allowed for. 

Apparently, Loretta Swit objected to her character's ongoing affair with Frank. (Maybe Swit did; maybe she didn't--what gets reported isn't always accurate).  

In any case, I've always considered Major Houlihan one of the great female characters of the 1970s. She doesn't spout off the correct-sounding stuff. She is a full character with layers. And I never had any trouble understanding why the seemingly tough and ambitious Houlihan would have an affair with Frank. 

First, she likely isn't as interested in marriage as she thinks she should be--she is a product of her time period, and a woman in the military is still an outlier. She sees friends getting married and settling down and having kids. She would hate that life, but a part of her thinks she is supposed to love it--until an actual marriage fails her. 

Second, a person can be savvy and hard-headed in one area yet a fool with romance. She marries a jerk--in fact, she acknowledges at one point that Frank was better than her cheating husband, Lt. Colonel Penobscott, who was entirely shallow and fell short of Frank's devotion.

Third, she isn't stupid--the obvious person for her to hook up with his Hawkeye...and they would kill each other in a fortnight (as the episode when they sleep together proves). Hawkeye is too cynical. He is also, work-wise, her mirror. She doesn't need a mirror, and Hawkeye isn't comfortable with one (as the episode with a female surgeon proves). 

Fourth, Houlihan has enough self-knowledge to understand herself regarding Frank. To him, she states, "You were military issue. I got you with my mess kit and khaki girdle."

Consequently, I wouldn't pair Frank with Houlihan in the long run. I would have them become good friends who can confide in each other. But Frank is looking for a wife--and, as stated above, Houlihan isn't necessarily looking for a husband, even if she thinks she is.   

The above analysis is based on the character--what she does, what she says, how she says it. The complexity and strength is there!  

Fantastic character! And excellently acted!