"Mine own picture on the top on ’t"
Welles' Falstaff
This weekend I saw a marvelous picture by Orson Welles. It was called Chimes at Midnight, or Falstaff.
Welles was, by all accounts, an interesting chap. Books have been written about his career, which spanned drama, radio, and film-making, and movies have been made about him or featuring him as a character — including the very good Cradle Will Rock (which I highly recommend).
But one of his most interesting aspects was his interest in popularizing Shakespeare, during which he would often mash parts from several plays together to make one thing.
Which is what he does here, in order to make an entire picture about one character who appears in several plays — Falstaff. (For a marvelous instance where he gives a how-to about theatre make-up and performs one of Falstaff’s monologues, see here.)
The tension in this picture centers around Falstaff’s friendship with Prince Hal (a prince soon to be king). Hal spends time in London away from his father’s crown, often cavorting with company of the kind which finds the King’s disapproval, Falstaff being the most notable.
Hal is being groomed to take the throne, and yet here he is joking around and gaffooning with a loudmouth drunkard, a raconteur and fibber, who owes money to many people which he occasionally subsidizes via robbery, and whose sole contribution to life and the world seems to be humor, charisma, and the ensuing fair-weather friendships.
In the Chimes at Midnight, Hal has to contend with the fact that this is not the sort with whom he should be associated should he wish to be a proper King. And yet the warmth and conviviality of Falstaff serve as bold contrast to his father’s cold and disapproving demeanor.
Rather than focusing solely on Prince Hal’s inner conflict, however (although he does show it), Welles also focuses on Falstaff — a man who, despite his shortcomings, legitimately thinks himself a friend of Hal. What will it mean for their friendship when Hal takes the throne and becomes Henry V?
Strangely relatedly, the picture features a moment where Falstaff uses the word “addict.” (Some say that it is in Othello where Shakespeare coins the term “addiction.”)
If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack. — Falstaff in Henry IV
Dict- means “word,” and a dictum is a thing said or decreed. To addict oneself to something is to assign oneself to it, as though to a pursuit or master.
An addict is someone who has become defined and characterized by their substance — a woeful state which robs one of both identity and agency.
Falstaff, in this passage which glorifies the effects of drinking brandy-fortified sherry-wine (“sack”) is arguing that he would teach his sons not to be known for drinking weaker concoctions, but to instead be associated with drinking something far stronger (And more famous. “Sack” seems to have been both very popular and widely criticized in Shakespeare’s day.)
Could Falstaff have served as a more successful man had he not had this addiction? Were he to have been dry, could he have been a Duke or Earle in Hal’s court?
As with so many things, Shakespeare seems ambiguous about this. While the questions might be answered in the affirmative, Shakespeare also seems to think it equally important that Falstaff live as he was written — that in his inability to be a man of rank, he was liberated to be a man of comedy and wit, a man who pricked the dour, outer shell of others to elicit the humanity which transcends their rank.
An alcoholic in recovery myself, I actually cherish the ambiguity. As with so much other art, the play is a space in which the imagination can ask such questions without resolution, while still leaving myself to live a sober life that can celebrate Falstaff’s virtues without following his example.
I hope that all of you had a marvelous weekend and are ready for the week.
With much affection, I am
Yours, Amiably, Aaron