All's Well That Ends Well (27 page)

Bertram's lies and harsh lines toward Diana in the play's final scene do seem to problematize his redemption, but in the context of Act 5 Scene 3, these flagrant displays of his still deeply fault-ridden character function as the final purging of his moral recklessness. Here, at the end of the play, Bertram reveals just how repugnant he is capable of being. His ugly display crests in its finale of calling Diana “that which any inferior might / At market-price have bought.” And yet, as heinous as his behavior is, it is now out in the open. He no longer has Parolles to blame his sins on, and must now take full responsibility for his actions and suffer the disdain of every other character onstage (as well as of the audience) in a way that he hasn't been forced to until now. The young man who left home five acts ago in pursuit of honor and nobility must now feel what it means to be publicly stripped of both. From this moment in which his lies are revealed and he confesses to having slept with Diana (as he believes himself to have done), Bertram then remains mysteriously silent until the moment when Helen reappears. This silence, I believe, bespeaks his recognition of his own moral failure, so that when Helen reappears, and he is presented, after suffering such public shame, with the woman he believes himself to have killed, his only recourse is to beg the pardon of Helen and everyone else around him. We must believe that his “O, pardon!” comes from the very depths of his soul, as he has now achieved full recognition of his sins and is prepared to reform.

6.
Stephen Fried's 2010 production for the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey with Clifton Duncan as Bertram, “not … a confirmed cad, but … a young man who still has a huge amount to learn,” and Ellen Adair as Helen, “a somewhat naive girl” who has to “confront reality” in order to “mature into the woman.”

George Bernard Shaw famously thought the Countess “the most beautiful old woman's part ever written”; is that what you found?

Doran:
I told Judi Dench that, although I think I left out the “old” part! It is a beautiful part; the Countess is the moral heart of the play. I think Trevor Nunn knew that when he cast Peggy Ashcroft. That production was meant to open the Swan Theatre, although the opening was delayed so it ended up playing in the main house. Judi Dench was attracted to the role partly to come back to Stratford and to the Swan, but the Countess is the still center of the play and of Rossillion, which makes her a deeply attractive character. She found expression even in the silences of the Countess; there was one moment when Helen is revealed at the end to have come back and Judi simply opened her hands, giving a gesture of acceptance, relief, and acknowledgment, which was very, very beautiful. But she also conveyed the rage of the Countess, the sense of fun in the Countess's relationship with Lavatch, and the depth of her own loss when she loses her son to Court.

Fried:
I would agree wholeheartedly. At some point during rehearsals we realized that she might be the only example (or at least one of the few) of a truly good parent in all of Shakespeare. Shakespeare's parental figures generally tend to have some major flaw. Capulet has a violent temper. Eleanor, Elizabeth, and Constance all seem out for political gain. Henry IV is somewhat ineffective. Volumnia (while fabulous) seems a bit manipulative. Even Prospero can seem a little overly protective of Miranda. But the Countess seems to be motivated simply by pure love for both her son and for Helen. And it's for this reason that it is so incredibly heartbreaking when her son disappoints her. When she laments, in Act 3 Scene 4, that “My heart is heavy and mine age is weak. / Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak,” we are forced to consider every wound that we have ever inflicted upon our own parents.

7.
Gregory Doran's 2003 RSC production in the Swan Theatre with Judi Dench as the Countess of Rossillion and Claudie Blakley as Helena: “The Countess is the still center of the play and of Rossillion, which makes her a deeply attractive character. She [Judi] found expression even in the silences of the Countess.”

All's Well That Ends Well
is a comforting thought, but how well does the play end and what does it mean by “end” anyway?

Doran:
We always felt that it should be called
All's Well That Ends Well?
with a question mark, because the ending is so ambiguous. There's a chill to the play. It is perhaps not Shakespeare's most congenial play. It fits into that middle period; it doesn't have the snarl of
Troilus and Cressida
or the decadence of
Measure for Measure
, but it does have this ache in it, which fits very much in that period. “All's well that ends well” is an aspiration that rather than a certainty.

Fried:
I see the title as a somewhat open question that the play asks of its audience: if we find our way toward ultimate redemption, can we forgive the sins committed along the way? Helen seems quite resolute that “all's well that ends well,” as she twice argues to the Widow and Diana, but I think that Shakespeare intended to leave the question of whether the end really does justify the means somewhat ambiguous.

In a more abstract sense, the notion that “all's well that ends well” also gets at the possibility of salvation. It's what we're asked to consider when assessing both Bertram's and Parolles' characters; these two young men both commit gross acts of misjudgment causing great pain to those around them, and yet they each (Bertram through Helen and Parolles through Lafew) find their way toward self-recognition and reformation. They both, in essence, “end well.” So can we forgive them for everything they did along the way? The play forces us to consider how much we believe that a human being is actually capable of change, and how much we are willing to forgive in other people.

Guy Henry
was born in 1960 and trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London. In 1982 he played the title role in ITV's
Young Sherlock Holmes
series. He has since enjoyed wide success as an actor on stage, in radio, film, and television. He first joined the RSC in 1991 and has played many well-known Shakespearean roles, including Sir Andrew Aguecheek (1996), Dr. Caius (The
Merry Wives of Windsor
1997), Malvolio (2001), and the title role in
King John
(2001), the same year in which he won the TMA/Barclays Best Supporting Actor award for his Mosca in
Volpone
(1999), directed by Lindsay Posner. Guy is probably most widely known for his film role as Pius Thicknesse in the film
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
. He has also worked with Cheek by Jowl and at the National Theatre as Turgenev in Tom Stoppard's
The Coast of Utopia
(2002). He is here discussing his much lauded performance as Parolles in the 2003
All's Well That Ends Well
directed by Gregory Doran.

Why do you think Parolles is such a large part in the play, second only to Helen in terms of lines? Is it something to do with the play's emphasis on language: the high incidence of rhyming couplets, proverbs, and sayings, “telling” rather than “showing,” apart from a character actually called Parolles (“words”)?

I think Shakespeare probably knew when he was on to a good thing. He invented a character that is full of warmth and eccentricity, foibles and failings, and has an extraordinary range of humanity; he must have wanted to put him into all sorts of situations. I think he knew that he'd created a character that was going to be very watchable and very interesting. He is also very different; he's not like anyone else in the play, indeed I suspect he's not like many other characters who have ever been written. He was an invented character and doesn't appear in the source material, so there must have been an element of creating this firework character, who is a catalyst in the play. He loves words. He's a liar and a braggart, a fantasist who lives in his own world. So he can go any which way: he can say or do almost anything that Shakespeare wants him to. Once that character has come to a writer, it must be rather a gift.

“Simply the thing I am / Shall make me live.” A fantastic line–how did you deliver it? And what “thing” do you think Parolles is or was and does he change?

8.
Guy Henry in Gregory Doran's 2003 production in the Swan Theatre in his “fantastic costume of rags and tatters.” His Parolles “was obsessed with his scarves: that was all part of the pretence—anything to take the eye away from what's really going on. He loved anything flashy, he was like a magpie.”

At the time Greg Doran asked me to do it I was working with Trevor Nunn at the National on
The Coast of Utopia
. I told Trevor and he said that if anyone ever doubted that Shakespeare was a great humanitarian and the great understander of human behavior, then he'd only have to point at the character of Parolles to show how Shakespeare believes humans are capable of change and redemption and generosity of spirit. I think that's right. That line comes after he's been beaten and tormented, and his mask has been ripped away. I was on my knees, sat back on my haunches, alone on the stage. Greg Doran quite rightly kept emphasizing the need to make it as simple as possible, because all the lying is gone. He sees a way to be much happier if he no longer piles layers of lies upon what he is and just tells the truth. It's a lovely thing to be able to play a character that has what some people call a journey, a change. He does. He goes very simply back to the court and I think all his lies and nonsense are forgiven. I remember thinking what a relief it must be not to have to bother to pretend anymore. That's one of the great moments in the play. It's interesting that a supposed upstanding and honorable gentleman like Bertram is in fact revealed as less generous-spirited than Parolles turns out to be.

How does Parolles compare with other Shakespearean parts you've played?

He is unique. He's not as stupid as Sir Andrew Aguecheek and he's not as wise as Feste. He reminds me more of Mosca in
Volpone
, in that he's a chancer and liar. He's nowhere near as clever as Mosca, but in terms of flashiness and extraordinary braggadocio behavior they are similar.

There's a lot of discussion in the text of his clothes—how was that realized in production?

I had a fantastic costume of rags and tatters. He was obsessed with his scarves: that was all part of the pretense—anything to take the eye away from what's really going on. He loved anything flashy: he was like a magpie. The first scene he has, with Helen, has a lot of rather dense, jokey stuff about virginity. I'm quite neurotic and I can get quite inhibited in rehearsal, which is not particularly helpful to
the director or anyone else! That's a very naked scene to do, to come on and launch into all that stuff. So Greg Doran gave me something to do. He gave me a great big trunk with scarves hanging out of it. Parolles was going away with the soldiers so he was taking everything he could from his wardrobe. I would pull this trunk onstage and be packing a few things into it and then sit on it. Having something to tie the scene to and then having somewhere to sit naturally on a bare stage gave the scene, and the rehearsal of the scene, an anchor. And I think visually it told quite a bit about Parolles that out of everybody he had the biggest trunk!