(Sweete 2002) Timothy Findlay’s Elizabeth Rex [tv play; w. Diane D’Aquila, Peter Hutt, Brent Carver]

Tim­o­thy Find­ley (1930–2002) was one of Canada’s finest nov­el­ists, but he began as an actor before turn­ing to writ­ing. He was part of the orig­i­nal Strat­ford Fes­ti­val com­pa­ny in the 1950s, act­ing along­side Alec Guin­ness. His life­time part­ner, William White­head, his inseper­a­ble oth­er half from 1951 until his death, was an actor and direc­tor, respon­si­ble, among oth­er things, for over a hun­dred episodes of the ground­break­ing sci­ence series The Nature of Things, and the extreme­ly intel­li­gent radio series Ideas. They occa­sion­al­ly col­lab­o­rat­ed on screen­plays. So it should come as no sur­prise that Find­ley wrote a fine play, as well as famil­iar nov­els like The Wars and The Last of the Crazy Peo­ple.

Eliz­a­beth Rex, his most suc­cess­ful play, pre­miered at the Strat­ford Fes­ti­val of Cana­da in 2001. It is the prod­uct of a mature crafts­man, and this tele­vi­sion pro­duc­tion of the play, star­ring Diane D’Aquila and Brent Carv­er, is both great dra­ma and great tele­vi­sion. The set­ting is the evening in 1601, when Eliz­a­beth I is known to have spent with William Shake­speare’s act­ing com­pa­ny, and dur­ing which her para­mour, Robert Dev­ereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, was exe­cut­ed. Shake­speare is a char­ac­ter in the play, but only in a sup­port­ing role. The dra­ma focus­es on Eliz­a­beth and one of the actors in Shake­speare’s com­pa­ny, Ned Lowen­scroft. Lowen­scroft was a famed per­former of female roles. Eliz­a­beth, of course, is most famous for her ambigu­ous male and female per­son­ae. Lowen­scroft is as impu­dent and devi­ous as Eliz­a­beth. Find­ley uses this fic­tion­al con­fronta­tion to explore every aspect of male­ness and fem­i­nin­i­ty. The twists and turns in the dia­log, with first one, then the oth­er gain­ing the upper hand, like two hell-cat lovers flip­ping sex­u­al posi­tions, are writ­ten and act­ed with mas­ter­ly skill. Find­ley used mod­ern lan­guage in the play, not some pseu­do-Eliz­a­bethan anachro­nism. But the rhythm is Shake­spear­i­an. I have rarely seen a mod­ern play with this degree of delight in (and con­trol) of lan­guage. Find­ley under­stood and loved the Eng­lish lan­guage, just as he obvi­ous­ly loved and under­stood peo­ple. This is the work of a for­mi­da­ble man.

Leave a Comment