“I am no more mad than you are”: Malvolia, Twelfth Night, and the Aspirational Lesbian
or, Here’s How to Watch this Production and Be Emotionally Shipwrecked Forever
Those of you who follow me may have noticed that, over the past month, I’ve been losing my mind over the National Theatre’s 2017 production of Twelfth Night, starring Tamsin “the lesbians’ George Clooney” Greig. There’s a reason for that, and the reason is, in one word: Malvolia.
If you’re unfamiliar with Twelfth Night, it’s a play about mistaken identities and unfixed gender and murky sexuality and loss and longing, much like every other Shakespearean comedy. Twins Viola and Sebastian are shipwrecked on the shores of Illyria, each thinking the other is dead. Viola disguises herself as Cesario, a man, and goes to work for Duke Orsino, acting as Orsino’s romantic emissary to the Countess Olivia. Cesario/Viola turns out to be great at the whole romance thing, because Olivia falls in love—with Cesario/Viola. At the same time, Cesario/Viola is longing for Orsino. (Meanwhile, Sebastian exists, I guess? His primary role is to be an object of desire for Antonio, who rescued him from the shipwreck, and outside that context, he’s thoroughly uninteresting.)
What distinguishes this particular production of Twelfth Night, though, is that the character of Malvolio—Olivia’s proud & puritanical steward, secretly longing to marry his mistress and transcend his class status—is not a man. Instead, Malvolia is a woman. A lesbian who’s truly in love with her lady. And that one change completely transforms the play from a comedy I’ve always loved into the representation I didn’t know I desperately needed.
Malvolia is thoroughly repressed and severe, a middle-aged Mrs. Danvers-type who wants nothing more than to serve her beloved Olivia to the best of her abilities. She thinks highly of herself, while others in Olivia’s household mock her. Following an aggressive physical confrontation with Maria, one of the household maids, Malvolia becomes the focus of a revenge plot, in which Maria and various co-conspirators plot to trick Malvolia into believing that Olivia loves her. They plant a letter, ostensibly from Olivia, that Malvolia finds and reads. In the aftermath of discovery that her desires are supposedly requited, Malvolia comes alive, sent into paroxysms of ecstasy. “I will be proud,” she declares. “I thank my stars, I am happy!”
Of course, her happiness doesn’t last. It’s here that I want to be careful to qualify why this matters, in order to help persuade you to watch this production. Like many of you reading this, I’m wary of depictions of lesbianism that turn to pain and suffering as a shorthand for What It Means. We’ve seen that narrative before. We’re tired of it.
This is not that narrative.
I don’t want to spoil what happens for you in the second half of this production, because you deserve to experience it yourself. I will say, however, that I was, and still am, moved beyond language to see a lesbian character openly maintain her conviction in her pride and her sanity when she’s told, repeatedly, that neither belong to her. Malvolia is never anything but certain that she is good and right and worthy to be loved in the way she needs, even though, in the world of the play, that love only comes from herself. Ultimately, she finds a way to survive in the fullness of her honesty. To call out the darkness and refuse to find light when there’s none and look for her own light, instead, so that she can tell a true story.
If you’re a lesbian, or a bisexual woman, or a queer woman, I want you to watch Tamsin Greig’s performance. It’s remarkable from start to end, but her last few scenes are unlike any form of lesbian representation we’ve ever had, and the word I think I want, the best word for how I feel about Malvolia, is grateful. We spend our lives searching for ourselves in the media we consume, all of us, and we translate what we find to fit our lives and our desires and our experiences, because that’s the only way we can feel seen. Here’s a character who’s searching for us. We don’t have to translate her. She’s waiting.
Part One, timestamped so that it begins when the play does: https://youtu.be/03_FGzUAtro?t=18m
Part Two: https://youtu.be/aiuGqNYnIE8
(thanks to @telanu for helping me finesse the above commentary!)
