The Cocktail Party

Hopkins, Stearns and I just got back from a lovely weekend in New York City. We went to see T. S. Eliot's play, The Cocktail Party, and stay with Hopkins' friends, Curry and Boy Wonder (I think that's what their blog nicknames are). Well, the play is all about cocktails and hospitality, which Curry and Boy Wonder provided in droves. And about olives, which Hopkins provided.

The last time this play was shown in New York was more than 40 years ago. Basically, I've never heard of Eliot plays actually being performed, and so when I heard about this, I had to go. What I'd heard about Eliot's plays is that (since he's primarily a poet) they're fine to read, but not much better to watch being performed. Oh my goodness, was my informant ever wrong! To see this play performed was absolute bliss.

The play was brilliant--we were all close to tears by the end (the only thing that was holding me back is that I think that Eliot gets a little overt about the meaning toward the end, and I felt like crying would be a bit like crying during a sermon, which, while I do have over-active tear ducts, is something I normally don't do).

Jack "The Jaw" Koenig, who plays Edward in the play, was marvelous. I mostly watched him, no matter who was speaking. His response to every comment was worth taking in.

I liked many of the details added by the actors--Edward's pat to Lavinia's stomach, implying that she was pregnant; the fact that Edward never actually pours the Unidentified Guest a drink (who finally takes the cup from Edward and pours a drink for himself); Edward's fall to the floor in anguish; and Lavinia smashing a record, which nearly made me jump. There was something interesting that they did with the set--in the first scene, it was a normal room; in the second scene, some panels were open, revealing lights shining in, making it more obvious that the audience was watching a play; in the third scene all of the panels were open, and many lights (some shining, some not) could be seen. I think that this was commentary on the free will/fate theme in the play: the characters in the play were nothing more than actors, acting in ways that they didn't (entirely) choose. As Hopkins pointed out, the use of music was very rarely a benefit to the play.


The play itself is partially hilarious--Eliot identifies it as a comedy, and it's full of tigers and monkeys and a "harmless man" who can hear bats and, of course Julia, who knows everything and pretends to be a harmless old woman herself. Plus, Edward and Lavinia are happy at the end. On the other hand, Celia is dead (of course, even her death is happy, in a way)--crucified near an ant hill (how odd for the playbill to notice and emphasize the ant's presence in the play--couldn't they have used a monkey?). The play deals with weighty matters, such as salvation. It certainly isn't a tragedy, but I don't think comedy's quite right, either.



What struck me in this time through were two things: the role of the stranger in the play and the continued exhortion to recognize one's failings. The psychologist, Sir Henry Harcourt-Reilly shows up as the Unidentified Guest (his identity is not made clear until Act II). He says,

to approach the stranger
Is to invite the unexpected, to release a new
force,
Or let the genie out of the bottle.
It is to start a train of events
Beyond your control.

The Unidentified Guest explains that Edward and his wife Lavinia must treat each other as strangers--it is this way that they treat each other as subjects rather than objects. Each of them can change, and the other must recognize this. The Unidentified Guest says,

Ah, but we die to each other daily.
What we know of other people
Is only our memory of the moments
During which we knew them. And they have changed since then.
To pretend that they and we are the same
Is a useful and convenient social convention
Which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember
That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.

In fact, the Unidentified Guest tells Edward that he must even be a stranger to himself. But the point of the dark is not to stay in darkness, "Except long enough to clear from the mind / The illusion of having ever been in the light."

The Unidentified Guest is clearly a type of priest, giving spiritual direction to Edward, Lavinia and Celia. His role as a stranger reminds me of Christ so many times after he died--He was a stranger to the men on the way to Emmaus until He broke bread with them; He was a stranger to Mary Magdalen until He spoke her name. The Unidentified Guest also reminds me of when the three men appeared to Abraham in Genesis.


On recognizing one's failings (which is part of realizing that we are strangers even to ourselves): In the play, Edward realizes that things are not as they had seemed when Lavinia leaves. The Unidentified Guest tells Edward: "It will do you no harm to find yourself ridiculous. / Resign yourself to be the fool you are. ... You will find that you survive humiliation. / And that's an experience of incalculable value." He explains that this is necessary in order to realize that you don't know yourself as well as you thought. Edward realizes that he is afraid that he can't love; Lavinia, that she is afraid that she can't be loved. After recognizing this, they understand that "we must make the best of a bad job."

Peter, who loved Celia, only to find out toward the end of the play that she is dead, realizes that he didn't know her as he thought he did: "I suppose I didn't know her, / I didn't understand her. I understand nothing." This is the point of beginning for Peter--"You've only just begun. I mean, this only brings you to the point / At which you must begin." This is the point when he stops treating Celia as an object, which can only happen when he realizes that he doesn't know her and that he doesn't know himself--that he understands nothing. Earlier, he didn't even know that he wasn't knowing Celia--he thought that he was profoundly knowing her.

And I love the ending of the play (how true--one cannot compliment a dress too much):

[Edward has complimented Lavinia's dress some time ago. Later, she asks him how she's looking, and he says that she's looking her best, and that she always looks her best, which of course is just logically impossible.]

Lavinia: "What you should have done was to admire my dress."
Edward: "But I've already told you how much I like it."
Lavinia: "But so much has happened since then. And besides,
One sometimes likes to hear the same compliment twice."