Every Exit is an Entrance

The Tempest appeared in print for the first time in 1623 as the opening play in the first
complete works of William Shakespeare, the First Folio. That’s a lot of “firsts” for the play
that was the last one Shakespeare wrote by himself.

Throughout the centuries critics have drawn autobiographical parallels between
Shakespeare and Prospero. Many essays and books focus on Shakespeare’s last solo play
as his “swan song” — comparing Prospero leaving behind his island, his magic books, his
co-islanders, and breaking his magic staff to Shakespeare’s retiring from London, leaving
his Globe, his plays, his theatre company, and breaking his “magic pen.” Many illustrations
reinforce this image and depict Prospero as an ancient, Gandalfian/Dumbledorean sage
using his staff as a cane. Productions, too, have often softened Prospero’s Machiavellian
edge, presenting instead a benign senior citizen who dabbles in Dungeons and Dragons.

I’m not particularly interested in our production hammering home the notion of Prospero
as a “Shakespeare figure.” Although the autobiographical parallels are undeniable, they are
not particularly helpful in staging the play Shakespeare wrote. In addition, I don’t think
the play is “about” retirement, giving up, or the golden years as much as I think it wrestles
with the other side: new beginnings, fresh starts, and brave new worlds. Even though he
has to grapple with difficult decisions in choosing to break, bury, and drown his “potent
art,” our Prospero won’t be retiring when he leaves his island. He’s going back to work as
the Duke of Milan after a twelve-year leave of absence. And who says Prospero belongs
to the octogenarian crowd? Not Shakespeare. He has to be only old enough to have a
fourteen or fifteen-year-old daughter.

Other beginnings at the play’s end include Miranda and Ferdinand embarking on their
new lives together while Ariel and Caliban gain their freedom — Ariel to “be as free as
the mountain wind,” Caliban to roam the unpeopled island once again. Only the healing
balm of forgiveness makes these beginnings possible. Prospero must forgive those who
exiled him; Ferdinand must forgive Prospero for putting him through trials. We are left to
wonder if Ariel and Caliban forgive Prospero for enslaving them.

Often categorized as one of Shakespeare’s late “Romance” plays, The Tempest nevertheless
resists easy classification. Simultaneously a love story and a magical revenge play, it’s
also a farcical romp. But while the structure of the story invites delight and excitement,
the play’s darker underbelly remains undeniable. Prospero forces both Ariel and Caliban
to do his bidding; are they the children of his magic or are they his slaves? Prospero and
Ariel enjoy the torments they inflict on others. We hear the story of Caliban’s attempt to
“violate the honor” of Miranda. Antonio and Sebastian plot to kill the king. Stephano and
Caliban plot to kill Prospero. Shakespeare seems to ask for our sympathy and loathing
in alternating patterns for characters who don’t seem to fit neatly into classifications of
heroes or villains. By refusing to write a play that lives in one specific genre, Shakespeare
creates a dramatic comedy that flirts with elements of fantasy and breathes with the
danger and ambiguity of real life.

Jim Warren
ASC Artistic Director, Co-founder

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