By Lauren Smart
By Jane R. LeBlanc
By Lauren Smart
By Elaine Liner
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
The man who wrote such enduring works as The Picture of Dorian Gray, Lady Windermere's Fan and The Importance of Being Earnest, now onstage in a pitch-perfect production at Dallas Theater Center, died a persecuted genius, ruined by a repressive society that had outlawed homosexuality and made him an outcast. Wilde's health had been destroyed in prison, where he had been sent for openly practicing "the love that dare not speak its name" (a phrase Wilde's younger lover, Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas, coined in a poem).
It was the 1895 London premiere of Earnest, still one of English lit's funniest, most romantic stage comedies, that ultimately led to Wilde's downfall. Bosie's father, the 9th Marquis of Queensberry, so hated Wilde for seducing his son that he tried to disrupt opening night. Barred from the theater, the Marquis left rotting vegetables at the stage door. He later dropped off a misspelled note at Wilde's club: "Mr. Wilde posing as Somdomite."
Wilde, who was married and had two children, unwisely sued for libel. The trial did not go well. He was shamed and held up to public ridicule. The judge found him guilty of sodomy and sentenced him to two years' hard labor in the notoriously bleak Reading Gaol. Wilde was broken physically, psychologically and financially by the ordeal. (Wilde, the 1998 movie starring Stephen Fry in the title role and Jude Law as Bosie, plays this out with stirring beauty.)
All of this history provides much-needed context for getting reacquainted with Earnest. It's a comedy most high schoolers still study (200 of them attended the preview performance reviewed at DTC the other night). But considering the current puritanical restrictions in public schools regarding any discussion of gay topics, do they really appreciate Wilde's courage in writing a play that so cleverly skewered the hypocrisy of the British upper classes?
On its surface, The Importance of Being Earnest is a light farce about two society bachelors in the 1890s, Jack Worthing (Paul Whitthorne) and Algernon Moncrieff (Michael A. Newcomer). Both men have invented fictitious characters to explain frequent trips out of town. At the pile of bricks he calls a country house, Jack is "Uncle Jack" to a pretty young ward named Cecily Cardew (Anna Camp). But in London, he's Ernest, fiance of Gwendolen Fairfax (Julie Evan Smith), an upper-class toff with a dragon-lady aunt named Lady Bracknell (Brenda Wehle). The name change is necessary to satisfy Gwendolen, who has declared she'll marry only an Ernest.
For Algy, the getaway ruse is a fictional friend named Bunbury, whose frequent illnesses require Algy to zip off to the country, a practice he calls "Bunburying." Playing a trick on Jack one weekend, Algy turns up at his country estate pretending to be Jack's non-existent younger brother Ernest, whereupon he meets and instantly proposes to Cecily, who, like Gwendolen, has decided that an Ernest is the only name worth wooing.
Through two short acts as bubbly as a fresh Buck's Fizz, Earnest plays out its comedic dilemmas. The girls quarrel over who is actually engaged to which Ernest. Lady Bracknell, the old fussbudget, refuses to let Gwendolen marry Jack/Ernest until he's unraveled his parentage. Turns out Jack was a foundling, abandoned as a baby in a large black bag in a London train station. Lady Bracknell cross-examines him like a prosecutor, one whose head is filled with clotted cream.
Lady Bracknell: I have always been of the opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you know?
Jack: I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
Lady Bracknell: I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.
This is Wilde at his wiliest, writing effervescent throwaways full of ironic commentary on the vapid beliefs of the well-to-do. His epigrams remain some of the wisest observations ever penned about the human condition. "All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy," says Algernon. "No man does. That's his."
Underlying every line in Earnest is Wilde's contemptuous indictment of 19th-century homophobia. "Earnest" was a euphemism for homosexual. "Bunburying," a phrase it doesn't take a cryptologist to figure out, referred to the practice of conducting a secret gay life while passing as straight to the outside world, what's known these days as "living on the down-low."