Timon of Athens

No wonder that Thomas Middleton is thought to have had a hand in this play, it has his bleak, fatalist conception of mankind written all over it. In pace and structure as well as in its themes it anticipates post-modern 20th century theatre. A marvelous work that, alongside its convoluted creation, is clearly a one-off.

I normally wouldn’t read another Shakespeare play so soon after taking a class on the Bard, but this May I happened to be going to the Windy City while Ian McDiarmid was performing Timon of Athens with the Chicago Shakespeare Theater, so I decided to read the play before going to see it. Because I read so quickly and uncritically, and because I saw the play so soon afterward, I’m having a difficult time separating text from performance in my mind, but I’ll try to do my best.

Many have compared Timon to King Lear, and it’s not terribly surprising considering that many of the tropes in this play recur in King Lear: the self-centered protagonist, the proliferation of two-faced flatterers, the faithful servant, stirrings of civil show more war, various banishments and self-banishments. What I’ve often heard hinted at, but never stated outright, is this small truth: Timon is the poor man’s Lear. It is a decent play, not a great one. Current scholarship holds that Shakespeare collaborated on the play with Thomas Middleton, which makes sense because there’s quite a stylistic shift between the frenetic scenes in Timon’s Athenian home and his melancholy, elegiac asylum in the woods. I can say from experience that the first half plays better while the rest reads better, but the first three acts or so are more entertaining in either format. This is odd because I think I read somewhere that Middleton was probably responsible for the first two to three acts, after which Shakespeare continued in a less enjoyable fashion. I guess his heart wasn’t in it. Maybe he was just using the opportunity to warm up for King Lear.

There is one truly great moment in the play: Act III scene 6, wherein Timon invites his false friends to yet another of his feasts, serves them only stones and hot water, then proceeds to chase them out. It’s thrilling both to read and behold (in the right production). The problem is that, after this and his great soliloquy in Act IV scene 1, Timon has nowhere to go as a character. He just continues hating humanity to the exact same degree, not developing in either direction. The ending is not quite as bleak as King Lear—there is a sense that society will continue lumbering on—but it is perhaps Shakespeare’s most cynical.

The highly abridged two-act version that I saw at Chicago Shakespeare Theater is probably about the best this play can get. It was reset to the present day, something I don’t usually care for, but in this case it was incredibly effective. The cuts were nicely chosen, although I wish we had seen more of Flavius early on. And the acting was excellent. Ian McDiarmid (Emperor Palpatine for you Star Wars geeks) has incredible range and energy, not to mention a powerful voice, and it was a pleasure to view his craft at such close quarters, on a simple thrust stage. Sean Fortunato as Flavius matched him line for line. Alcibiades and Apemantus were among the weakest of the ensemble, regrettable since those are among the most important roles in the play. The last 20 minutes before the intermission, including Timon’s shunning of his friends and his leavetaking of Athens, made for theatrical magic; unfortunately, the director wasn’t able to do much with the scene's of Timon’s solitude, and I simply disliked the ending, which showed Flavius taking Timon’s place in society, with the flatterers and false friends flocking to him. Though it underlined the cynicism of the play, I thought it was out of character for Flavius to befriend the men who ruined his master, and whom he described as “monstrous.” I suppose he could only be pretending to befriend them, with the intent of avenging Timon, but I never thought him in any way vengeful, either.

I don't think I’ll ever return to Timon of Athens, but I’m glad I read it, and even happier that I saw the CST production. A part of me still wishes McDiarmid had been playing Lear or Prospero instead, though, which indicates what I think of the play in relation to the rest of the canon. show less

Wow. Okay, that was just awful. Gives Edward III serious competition in the race to the bottom. It's like someone said to Shakespeare, “Bet you can't make a more unlikeable protagonist than Titus Andronicus,” and Shakespeare said, “Oh yeah? Here, hold my ale!”

Timon has the good fortune to be born to wealth and position in Athens, and manages to blow through absolutely all of his money by endlessly playing the “Lord Bountiful,” ignoring the protests of his more sensible steward, glorying in the flattery and sycophantic sucking up of toadies. Where he might be sympathetic as an “excessively compassionate” sort if he gave away all his money to people in real need, Timon's generosity seems to be directed mostly at show more comfortably well-off friends. He hauls out his jewel chest at parties, ostentatiously handing out gems as party favors, and, remembering that a friend admired the horse he was riding recently, announces “'Tis yours, because you lik'd it.” He's maybe a step away from lighting his cigars with $100 bills. Until the funds are all gone. And, shocker, his buddies no longer care about him. Who, in the noble Timon's estimation, is to blame for his downfall? Himself, perhaps, and his own reckless irresponsibility? His friends, who enjoyed his largesse but don't want to help him when he's in trouble? Nope. ALL MANKIND. That's who's to blame. All the women, maidens, toddlers, infants, slaves, old men, etc. of Athens.

”Spare not the babe, whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; think it a bastard, whom the oracle hath doubtfully pronounc'd the throat shall cut, and mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects, put armor on thine ears and on thine eyes, whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, shall pierce a jot.”

There are a few amusing exchanges, and Timon's steward is a lovely, devoted fellow who does his level best, but his master is an idiot and a jerk. This is a relatively short play, but it sure felt like it went on forever. show less

http://nwhyte.livejournal.com/1204543.html

Timon is an Athenian whose generosity knows no bounds: certainly not, as it turns out, the bounds of his own finances. Meantime his friend Alcibiades leads an army against Athens for obscure reasons. Timon flees Athens because of his debts and dies in a cave, having coincidentally though not happily discovered a vast store of gold, while Alcibiades marches mercilessly on Athens.

There are several serious problems: the style is uneven (because of the shared authorship - a theory I completely buy); the Alcibiades plot is rather bolted on; several significant plot events (including Timon's death) happen off-stage; the pacing is very weird (where most Shakespeare plays have a significant moment in show more Act 3, here the key scene is not until the end of Act 4); and Timon himself is a rather uninspiring hero, a poor reflection of Lear and Hamlet - so much so that I really wondered if the accepted chronology might be wrong and this a trial piece for better known and frankly superior works.

No doubt a good actor and inspired director could make a great production of this (and no doubt several have). Arkangel has made a good effort with Alan Howard in the title role. But it seemed to me surprisingly thin. show less

Of all his plays, this is probably the most maligned, it being perhaps a collaboration with Middleton, but any way you look at it, it is a striking piece.

The simple plot gives way to wild passions and simple fortunes and some of the broadest brush strokes I've ever seen. It's also as stark as death.

From great fortune and flatterers surrounding him, Timon is the absolute Good Man who gives away all his fortune to hear the praise of assholes. When he loses it all and asks for help from all his so called friends, they spit in his eye. He goes mad, hating all mankind and goes to live as the basest beggar, wildly exhorting all comers to do evil upon everyone else, to break and spite and die.

Finding fortune under his feet, even as he's show more digging tubers to eat, serves him nothing at all. He hates, and gives away his wealth to old friends who happened upon him, to whores, thieves, and lickspittles, all to just get rid of them.

The bile from Timon's mouth is pretty awesome. The man has gone from pure goodness to pure rageful spite overnight, and one thing that most readers or viewers of this play might discover is that there is no third act. Its message is as plain and stark as day, even if some of the secondary characters make interesting counterpoints, such as in not wanting so as to not to welcome either happiness or grief, or the last note in the music, where compromise and peace has got to be a better note to go out on than Timon's.

For when he dies, he dies hating all humanity, and there is no quarter, no justice, and only abject nihilism.

Of course people aren't going to like this play. :)

BUT.

If you're of a certain twisted temperament and like a twisted tale that defies expectations, such as an esoteric bad horror fan or a devotee of Samuel Beckett, then you might just discover that this little jewel might fit in your dark-hearted crown, or at least in a shit-stain'd seat of honor.

'Tis dark. Very dark. Expect no light or quarter. :) show less

A messy, uneven and disillusioned play, Timon of Athens is rarely studied or performed because of scepticism regarding both its authorship and completion. Like Pericles there seems little doubt that Shakespeare wrote the majority, but quite what he was trying to do is another matter. Timon of Athens is rich and generous, happy to provide his friends, servants and acquaintances with money whenever they require it. Only the cynical Apemantus questions the soundness of Timon's actions, and the motives of his supposed friends, wondering at "what a number of men eats Timon, and he sees 'em not. It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood." When Timon's creditors ask for payment of their loans, Timon goes to his friends, show more but they all refuse to help him. Even worse, Timon's one loyal friend Alcibiades is exiled from Athens. After renouncing all his friends at one last banquet, Timon retires to a misanthropic life as a hermit in a cave. As he rails against "yellow, glittering precious gold", he completely renounces mankind, to die alone in his cave, his epitaph claiming that "Here lie I, Timon, who alive / All living men did hate". One of Shakespeare's more puzzling plays, Timon of Athens is unusually bleak and unforgiving, with Timon behaving like an unsympathetic version of Lear (they were both written within a couple of years of each other). --Jerry Brotton show less

This is a weird one for me. I'm basically slowly plowing through the various plays and I'm the first to admit that I'm quite ignorant on the world of Shakespeare. I see others commenting on how this was a collaboration with Middleton and I think...who the hell's Middleton?

I think it should be noted that, as I (far too rapidly) approach my sixth decade on the planet, I decided to right a wrong from high school. That is, to come at Shakespeare's works with no expectations, just to enjoy them, to love the language, and let them wash over me as they will. Because in high school, Mr. Elsie (who looked remarkably like an undernourished G.I. Joe action figure...think G.I. Joe Inaction Figure) had us autopsy a couple of Shakespeare's plays, show more flaying virtually every scene and demanding that we wring out every ounce of subtext and meaning we could either glean or simply make up to appease the teacher enough to award a respectable, if ultimately disappointing grade. In short, he killed all enjoyment of Shakespeare's works for me, an avid reader even then.

So here I am, four decades later, coming at them and mostly enjoying them. Which is a long way back around to this particular play.

Supposedly this is a comedy, and while it held some smirkable lines, it didn't have me laughing out loud as some of his earlier works did. It's not quite a tragedy, yet Timon cuts a rather tragic figure.

And of all of Shakespeare's works, I'll admit to literally never having heard of this one until I started working on his entire output of work. And ultimately, while it's not my favourite by any means, I did enjoy Shakespeare's take on the "no good deed goes unpunished" theme. show less