"Well," he protests to his companion, "I can't hear a word they're sayin'."
She yawns again. It is a single set, single movement production with no break in the unrelenting gloom. Twenty six characters, all intermarried, or intercoursing, and all, it seems, called ANTONIO. One hundred and forty-two minutes - 142. Thanks, Mr Editor.
The two actors growl and jostle each other. Hoping for a fight, Veda perks up but the leading performer nudges the candle, snuffing out both flame and excitement. As the stage crew slink from the sidelines to relight the wick, she opens the programme of
Jump, or the Divil will Take Thee
by Giles Jankyn
and reads:
GILES JANKYN (c. 1571 - c. 1613)
Little is known about the life of Giles Jankyn (or Jenkin). He is believed to have been born in Llanstinan, South Wales, around 1571 and trained as a cobbler like Christopher Marly (or Marlowe). He followed his father into the trade and joined the Guild of Cobblers but when he saw a play given by Pembroke's Men at The Theatre (possibly Marlowe's Edward II in 1592) he was so excited by what he had seen that he joined up at once as a jobbing actor supplementing his meagre income by mending the boots of other performers. This prompted Robert Greene (or Green) to comment that "the theatre today is full of cobblers". Like his fellow actors, Will Shaksper (or Shagspaw), and Ben Jonson (or Jonson), Giles Jankyn drifted into writing as the company tried to meet the London public's demand for new work. He collaborated initially with Chettle and Day on the now lost Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green (Part 2) and with Porter on Two Angry Women of Abingdon before striking out on his own.
Following his 1596 productions of The Concubine's Tears (at the Curtain) and Be a Fool, Not a Dolt (at the Globe), Jankyn joined the Earl of Jedburgh's Men at the Jubilee Playhouse next to the Golden Garter bawdy house on the Charing Cross Road and it was for Jedburgh and the Jubilee that Jankyn produced his three greatest plays.
The Barmpot of Barnslie (Part One) is perhaps his finest comedy. It attracted bigger and more enthusiastic audiences than the Globe's rival production, derided by Jankyn's barmpot Benjamin Bumpkin in his famous couplet "And we will have coinage and eke tresure/When world debt is settled, mesure for mesure". "World" obviously points to the Globe and the debt was an outstanding payment of 5d owed to Jankyn for lines for Merry Wives of Windsor.
Jankyn's most controversial play was A Maidenhead Taken which sparked the 'prentice riot of 1604. Looking for whores to entertain with live jellyfish in the manner Jack Juggler had used Mistress Stainsheet on the Jubilee's stage, the 'prentice boys stormed the brothel and reduced it to a smouldering shell. Four boys were killed and several women ravished. The brothel-keeper, Tabitha Termagent, sued Jedburgh's Men for damages and all the money made in the past four years was paid over to the Golden Garter. Jedburgh's had to begin again. The play Jankyn wrote was Jump, Or the Divil Will Take Thee. Opening at the Jubilee on July 1st 1606, it became an instant success and played for forty-two successive days until it was replaced by Thomas Heywood's Unless You Go, You Will Have To Stay (now sadly lost).
So much for "Little is known about the life of Giles Jankyn (or Jenkin)". Veda yawns again and turns to the
Synopsis:
Parma, 1576. Following a Papal audience, Angelo and his son Hieronimo are journeying from the Vatican to Janiculum when they are captured by agents of Angelo's brother, the Duke Vicenzo, who has seized power in Parma. In a drunken orgy, the Duke rapes and murders Gloriana, Antonio's sister. In revenge, Antonio murders the Duke. When Angelo and Hieronimo escape from prison disguised as sheep, they put Antonio to death. As the body count grows, the Devil arrives to establish order.
The set is
A private chapel, represented by an altar covered with a black cloth, two candles, a wooden pew and a stained glass window depicting Mary and the Christ Child from The Vision of Saint Jerome by Francesco Mazzola (or Parmigianino) thusly
Two men are prising up flagstones supervised by ANTONIO the Revenger.
With much grunting, snorting, coughing and blowing, the men in black doublets finally dislodge a slab. The older presses a hand into the small of his back and sighs "I'm too old for this" as the younger leaps down with a muffled "Bollocks" and a louder "Arse biscuits" whilst he clatters and flounders among the plastic prop bones eventually handing a skull up to ANTONIO who now delivers the (oh too) traditional soliloquy.
ANTONIO Is this what is left, all now remaining
Of the richness and grandeur, the beauty
Which drove men to murder, distraction and
Fury, once fair hair now rendered to rags,
Lank and worm-ridden, with sockets of bone?
O, what a piece of work is Man, who struts
His petty life apace, to reach those stars,
And, ground to dust 'neath Death's mail'd foot,
To lie, stripp'd bare, in rags within the tomb,
Lacking e'en the flesh that clothes our souls,
Both pale and wretched food for worms that grow
Quite fat on human flesh ... O pitiful sight.
He sobs into his velvet sleeve.
The actor playing ANTONIO is an outrageous old queen who dyes his hair ginger and once fell from a scaffold during Midsummer Night's Dream breaking Bottom's head.
Wait a moment! Something's happening at last. ANTONIO is attacking the DUKE with a "Have at ye, Duke!" and a "Ho, foul Duke!" but the sword fight is dire, slow and elaborate, the blades never touching, some four feet apart. After an age, the DUKE is "stabbed" and given his "Death Wound". He claps his hand to his old velvet gown and groans like a door with rust-coated hinges.
He
staggers,
lurches,
staggers again,
blurts out his dying speech thusly-
DUKE Thou shouldst not have slain me.
I am thy brother, Gloriana my wife.
I married her privily, come look at my ring,
It bears my badge, my family's crest,
But now I am spent. Too late. I must rest.
Sinking to his knees, he groans some more and flops onto his face, his right arm twitching.
Ho ho ho
Young Mr Speak-Up laughs derisively.
ANTONIO Gloriana? The Duchess? O, foul and black deed!
Temptress and strumpet! Just like the rest!
A woman's a weathercock, bawd, and a whore...
Now let blood, blood, blood, rain down from the heav'ns!
As ANTONIO dashes the skull into pieces, Speak-Up roars with delight. Rug-wrapped-Wheelchair-Man's chin sinks on his chest. Last-Week's-Bottle-Blonde lets a muted whimper slip through her lips.
Veda notes "The dialogue consists of second-hand Tourneur and bits of Othello." She looks at her pad. On second thoughts - she Othello. The Editor will think it's a board game. Veda pictures Tourneur returned.
Ho, what noise within?
The DUKE's brother ANGELO appears with his son HIERONYMO who waves the brown meat speared on his dagger.
HIER. I have here his liver, ripped from his guts.
His daughters shall feast on it 'fore night draws in.
Hot wires and pincers shall make these whores scream
And then shall I use them for mine own pleasure.
I shall pluck at their nipples with nutcrackers and...
Tch. Young 'uns today. Veda consults her programme.
Iestyn Thomas (Hieronymo) comes from Llanstinan in Wales and was fourteen on January 25th. He is a pupil at King James' School, a chorister at St Jude's Church and a member of the Jericho Academy of Young Singers. He has appeared in a number of plays at the Fortune, including Macbeth, Our Day Out, Jumping Jehosophat and A Winter's Tale (as Mamillius). As a singer with J.A.Y.S., he has appeared in The Magic Flute and Tannhauser and will sing the title role in The Jackdaw of Rheims in July. Iestyn is a Versatile Juvenile. Outside theatre, he enjoys fishing, jigsaws, cooking and athletics. In June he
became the junior county javelin champion. He likes steak pie, leeks, parmigianino (or parmesan) and sheep. He dislikes cuttlefish and the Sixties.
Jesting Iestyn Thomas is a slight young man. Bare, twiggy legs stick out from the ragged hem of a ragged shift. A moth-eaten sheepskin hangs round his shoulders. The drooping liver impaled on his dagger dribbles a syrup down his thin wrist.
HIER. Nothing he touched survives this new dawn.
ANGELO And you are his bondman, nay, even his bloodkin
By virtue of wedlock, as shown by his ring....
"Your head," squeaks Iestyn, flinging the liver straight at the Altarpiece where it hits the Madonna with a soft sloshing splat, "Enters new service tonight/Weighing down my papers of state while I feast on your kidneys!" and, as ANTONIO, orange hair dye streaking his pallid face, babbles for the
"forces of light,
[To] Come to [his] aid...
HIERONYMO stabs him in the codpiece.
"OUCH!" goes Speak-Up, with evident sympathy. Bleachblonde covers her eyes. Wheelchair draws the shawl tight in both hands. An impressive blood spurt sprays across the Jesting Boy's face as he squawks his best line:
HIER. Prick you a prick to prevent your prating!
and he stabs him again, once more in the codpiece and then in the throat. The blood sprays and spouts once again
this time over the naked figure of the young Christ Child.
Sweat breaks on Veda's skin. She finds herself leaning, craning, hunching forward to savour this Jankyn's masterly play, the bursting of eardrums, the slicing of genitals, the fountaining blood... Bleachblonde is fighting her surfacing lunch.
ANTONIO yells: The jay will come-
and then
he
collapses
and
dies.
HIERONIMO kneels down and tears the doublet to get at the flesh, pricking the dagger against the pink skin. He's a touch over-eager. The corpse hisses "Be careful, you arsehead!"
Just as Speak Up is tittering with glee,
out of the vault,
emerging from clouds
of billowing smoke,
resplendent in red,
with horns and a tail
and sharp-pointed trident
emerges
The Devil (or "Divil")
Hahahaha, guffaws Mr Speak Up. Tee hee, goes his Bleachblonded friend.
The DEVIL jabs ANGELO with his trident.
ANGELO Hieronymo, son. The Jay has come. Our kingdom is gone.
The fleece is away and JASON rides home.
ANGELO falls on his dagger.
The Devil swishes his tail and turns his attention to Young Iestyn Thomas who yelps, squalls and squeals as the Devil jabs him sharply in the nether regions. The boy attempts to parry the trident. His dagger is damaged. He runs through the puddling blood, leaving bloody footprints on the boards, and leaps into the vault with a blood-curdling scream.
HIER. The flames burn high, the coals scorch flesh...
Come, bright fire, and cleanse my soul...
Cackling devilishly, the Devil leaps after him. Amidst lashings of blood and leapings of fire, he stabs the squalling, squealing, scheming child again and again. Frothy red blood from a capsule concealed erupts in his mouth.
HIER. The fires flare up from the depths of the pit,
The Devil is roasting my bones on his spit...
Evil men live whilst the good pass by me,
So Jump, or the Devil will take thee.
The flames grow higher, the DIVIL laughs and HIERONYMO sinks with a gibbering squeak into the fires of Hell.
FADE TO BLACK
Swisssssh.
Curtain.
Scattered applause.
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho three rows from the back.
Clap clap clap clap clap clap clap from the wheelchair.
Silence from Bleachblonde. She has fainted.
The Stage Manager held up the liver and grinned at Antonio. " 'Ere, you could fry this up wiv' a nice piece of bacon."
"Ghastly little man." The trouper wiped sweat and hair dye from his face with a neatly embroidered white hanky.
"Excuse me." Veda's notepad was still in her hand, a colossal mistake. The actors immediately seemed shiftier than ever. She recalled the graffiti often found scrawled in lipstick across mirrors in the green rooms of seedy old theatres:
WATCH OUT. THERE'S A CRITIC ABOUT.
"Hello, darling." Antonio gave her a peck on each cheek. "What did you think?"
"Fascinating" (which generally meant "mind numbingly awful").
"Most of it seems to be second hand Shakespeare," the Duke opined.
"A couple of lines didn't make sense." Veda consulted her notes. "That stuff about Jason and the fleece. It's just chucked in. Not followed up or explained. And that line 'the jay will come'. Surely it's 'day'."
"That's what we thought, love," Antonio said, "But the editor told us it is 'jay'. Apparently the jay bird is the devil's messenger."
"She knows more about Jankyn than you could ever wish to," said the Duke admiringly.
So not much then. Veda noted the name at the foot of the note: Jequirity Jimp, Jorum Professor of Cultural Studies, Jennyfield College
Iestyn Thomas, devoid of doublet, emerged from the green room beside the black-cloaked altar and grey granite tombstone. He had freckles, very soft, very dark hair and deep brown eyes. The greasepaint smeared on his nose stirred the maternal and she reached across with a tissue to wipe it away. The boy jolted backwards and grinned in surprise, a silver coin on a silver chain bouncing on his chest.
"Iestyn darling, Veda's a critic," Antonio explained.
The boy's grin widened. "What will you write?"
Veda shrugged. What could she say? The evening was ghastly? The play was appalling? For 400 years it was left alone so why drag it out of the literary dustbin now?
Maybe something like
BLOOD FEST ON THE FORTUNE STAGE
I was privileged last night to swell the ranks of an appreciative first night audience at the Fortune Theatre's revival of Jump or the Divil Will Take Thee by Giles Jankyn (or Jenkin). This, the first known production of the play since 1606, illuminates many aspects of the Revenge tragedy genre made famous by Jankyn's contemporaries Shakespeare and Turner (sic). To explain the story in the brief space allowed would be difficult. As with most plays of the genre the relationships are tortured but the action plays smoothly and the fights are controlled. Among the performances, that given by local boy Iestyn Thomas as the bloodthirsty Hieronymo stands out. Runs from June 1st till June 25th.
Lovely, she thought. Nicely bland. The Editor would love it.
Waiting for his mother to whisk him home to 42 Jericho Drive, Jesting Iestyn, in black jogging bottoms, grey Nike trainers and red Wales rugby shirt, watched Veda leave and hugged his triumph close to his heart. He fingered the chain and breathed on the coin. The review would be good. He knew it would be good. He also knew what it would start, and where it would lead. She was the one. He could barely conceal his excitement.
"She hated it." The old trouper licked his thumb. "You have some blood on your face, my dear." He wiped Iestyn's cheek. "We'll close tomorrow," he said.