Mrs. Warren's Profession Brings a Satisfying End to Shakespeare Theatre's season

George Bernard Shaw's play, Mrs. Warren's Profession, has gotten a lot of action lately. I first learned about it when it was at Princeton's McCarter Theatre in the 2008-2009 season. Next year, it's playing at Roundabout Theatre in New York. Meanwhile, it's being staged at the Shakespeare Theatre as its final production of the season.

Mrs. Warren's current popularity might stem from its salacious history. It was officially banned by the Lord Chamberlain in 1893, when it was written, and wasn't performed until 1902. A public staging in New York City was put to a stop by the police. Perhaps producers hang on to this bad ass image when they market new productions of Mrs. Warren as "controversial." The tagline for Shakespeare Theatre's current show boasts, "There are no secrets better kept than the secrets that everybody guesses." But in an age of Jersey Shore and Sex and the City 2, Mrs. Warren's Profession is not the place for lewdness.

Instead, this play should be seen for its careful, deep exploration of perennially interesting themes: a woman's place, class, and the bond between mother and daughter. Without a single utterance of the word "prostitution," the play centers on this, Mrs. Warren's profession. Mrs. Warren (Elizabeth Ashley) is returning to her home in the England countryside after long trips abroad. Her daughter, Vivie, is also residing there, studying law after graduating Cambridge with extremely high marks in mathematics. Vivie embodies the 1890's "New Woman," one who is educated and wants to work for a living. However, Vivie also has a very rigid sense of morality and "way of life." She thinks people should work hard to get what they want. Basically, Vivie would be a Ayn Rand follower is she lived 100 years later. Naturally, Vivie is appalled when she learns that her mother was once a prostitute in her youth. But the two reconcile when Mrs. Warren (in a great performance by Ashley), asks Vivie exactly what choices did she have as a young woman in the 1860s: the lead factory for 9 shillings a week, or much more money in her chosen profession?

However, Vivie's respect for her mother quickly fades when she finds out that Mrs. Warren is still a madame. Most devastating of all is Vivie's realization that all of her own money comes from this kind of business. She is just as culpable for prostitution as are the barons who pay for these services. But while Vivie tries to work out her indignation, we wonder if she really has a right to be indignant. Mrs. Warren's business partner, an aristocrat, asks Vivie which is worse: his brother's investment in a factory that employs 600 poorly paid girls, or his investment in a brothel that helps girls actually earn a living for themselves?

Though Mrs. Warren is entirely relevant, parts of it do feel a bit dated--or, at least--foreign. A minor character, Mr. Praed, is never entirely accounted for. How does he know Mrs. Warren? I suppose the audience is just supposed to accept him as one of those house guests that so often dot the landscape of Merchant-Ivory films, but he remains a random plot-advancing device throughout the play. It's also more difficult for American audiences to empathize with the dilemma of forgiving one's own mother for partaking in a low-class pursuit or never speaking to her again. But it's ultimately Vivie's choice to forgive or not to forgive that makes Mrs. Warren's Profession a memorable play.

Lying Can be Fun: The Liar at Shakespeare Theatre

"Sit back; turn off your brain," the actor implored us in an opening monologue to The Liar on Tuesday. My friend Michelle and I were at the Shakespeare Theatre Company's Lansburgh Theatre for a special performance of The Liar meant for young professionals. Sponsored by The Onion and Magic Hat, the event was full of 21-35 year olds who took advantage of the cheap tickets.

The character giving the monologue turned out to be Cliton, (Adam Green) a valet to The Liar himself, Dorante (Christian Conn). And Cliton's warning to empty our minds proved to be exactly the right mentality with which to approach the play.

Pierre Corneille wrote and premiered The Liar in 1643. The Shakespeare Theatre's version, however, is a revamped one, replete with modern references by Peter Ives. It tells the story of Dorante, a man newly arrived in Paris, and his attempt to pursue a woman whom he meets on the first day. The problem is that he doesn't know the woman's name and incorrectly thinks it to be Lucrece instead of Clarice. Two other challenges are that his father wants him to marry a girl he has picked out, and Dorante's best friend, Alcippe, is already engaged to Clarice. This is all complicated by Dorante's inability to tell the truth in any circumstance.

Besides the typical joy one gets from such ludicrous dramatic irony, this production heaps on the jokes in its smartly rhymed lines. Recited entirely in verse, the play delivers unexpected laughs simply in the ridiculousness of some of its lines in order to make things rhyme. Near the end when Dorante is wooing one of the women, he says, "You may be a bivalve, but you are my valve." That line also delivers the delicious juxtaposition of SAT-type words (in this case SAT II Biology) with more commonly used words in the name of rhyme. Ives has also reached to the world of Twenty-first century vocab to draw even more ridiculous rhymes. Though you can pretty much predict the end of the play by the end of the first half, many jokes are delightfully unpredictable.

What makes this production memorable is how Ives draws out the themes that resonate the most with contemporary audiences. Perhaps I am prone to seeing things I want to see, but I thought this production touched on a range of modern romantic concerns, from whether or not women should play hard to get, to the standards to which women should hold their suitors.

Even if you don’t see all that, the play is sheer fun to watch, and well worth the two hours.