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Loyalty like a Fly

From the beginning it is clear that Mosca’s relationship to Volpone is rooted in the delicate acts they construe.  They function as a finely tuned machine of trickery that operates seamlessly, even in the face of unforeseen obstacles. Throughout his servitude to Volpone, Mosca is undoubtedly loyal, and receives the greatest satisfaction at his successes in the name of their bizarre game. While Volpone seems to derive satisfaction from the sheer thrill, Mosca nourishes himself on the scraps of this profound enjoyment, much like a parasite would his host. He is an unswerving and irreplaceable aspect of Volpone’s grand ruse. Until he isn’t. Much like others in the play, he is forced to sacrifice his bizarre code of honor in the face of self-interest, which, oddly enough forces Volpone to do the same. Although portrayed rather abruptly, it would seem that this inevitable reversal is something Jonson is keenly fascinated with, an altogether unsurprising conclusion.

These shifts occur at key junctures. As soon as Volpone commits the fatal flaw of violating their relationship status, by elevating him beyond his well-accepted boundaries, he forces the break in Mosca’s otherwise solid code. In this darker take on the pitfalls of honor, the near inability of it to exist, one finds that the root of this falls to nature, and the movement of people. In such a city, marred as it is by strains of depravity, but also, resting on these shifting, oozing grounds as foundation. Mosca begins to realize that his affection for the con is growing beyond his bounds of loyalty.

Willing his estate to Mosca, forgetting his ultimate reliance on the cunning man, is symbolic for each misstep. And in committing this motion Volpone has allowed himself to fall victim to his own devices. The only way to right this imbalance is to essentially ‘reset’ by self-incrimination and acceptance of guilt. Thus they are all wrapped up in varying levels of greed and conditions for individual honor, and until the final unraveling, this suspends each character against the chaos of the cityscape of Venice.

Ultimately what does this mess present as a central theme? At the risk of oversimplification, some light cliche, and grandiose generalizations, the work as a whole takes a very hopeless turn for those mired in greed and depravity. It would seem that once tainted, various indiscretions are impossible to wash off.

Posted in Power struggles, Psychological detail, Satire, Uncategorized, Volpone | 1 Comment

Volpone Scene Study

Volpone Scene Study

Our interpretation of the text focuses on four variations of honor, represented by specific colours which appear on the background as they do in the text. They run together essentially to form Venice, or a very abstract Venice at least, to emphasize the allure of the location, which drives much of the spirit of the play. It was filmed in this staggered way to make an uncomfortably noticeable irony between the motion of the text, and the incredibly interwoven plots that layer upon one another. It also allowed us to play with the timeline and perspective by forcing the viewer into a forced dialogue with each character simply by isolating them. The players are separated so as to better see the visual representation of their effect on their surroundings and company. Only when rapidfire conversation or necessary contact must be made are they staged together.

Posted in Stylistic qualities, Uncategorized, Volpone | 1 Comment

Dr. Faustus is a man.

Although the play centers itself very obviously amidst a fervent religious debate, that is, a conversation about the nature of redemption and damnation, a more pressing topic is implied. Dr. Faustus claims to be bored by his accomplishments, having obtained everything he wished to seek form academia and the safe sciences, and thus his interest in necromancy is fostered. But the root of this interest lies in power, and a desire to obtain such power as no man can compete with, committing the classic folly of reaching beyond his own capacity. His arrogance is betrayed by his blood oath, his inconsiderate use of Mephistopheles, and a constant wavering between Christian moral standards.

The futility of his plight is in Faustus’ inability to accept his own morality. Indeed, he seems to claim that his blood oaths are non-binding in the sense that hell is pure fiction, which might seem illogical considering who he is conversing with. In fact, it is apparent that he has no grand powers, only the terms of a business deal, in which Mephistopheles is the muscle behind his bizarre displays of occult prowess. This reaffirms the idea that he, as a mortal, is unable to contain such godly, or ungodly, powers in his own being. It is only his willingness to abandon God that calls the devils, and his human lust for power and acclaim that drive his decisions. One could even argue that his moral status is negligible, and that it is the paradox of being human with a penchant for the taste of divinity that unravels him, and rushes him to his end. It’s a funny thing, to want powers, that by their very definition, separate a mortal from humanity. In obtaining them they can no longer be used to propagate human desire, and instead come with the full consequence of removal from the realm of living. He is no longer able to repent like all other people, having wrapped himself so tightly in the arms of “sinful” strength, amongst the other demons. His academic learning, his scholarly colleagues, even the voice of wisdom is unable to reverse the damage incurred.

An interesting parallel is drawn to the story of Eve, when Faustus laments his misfortune, because although the serpent who distributed knowledge can be saved from wrath, there is no saving him from the depth of his betrayal. In an interesting twist, this forces Faustus into the role of Eve, another figure who eschewed the rules of Christian Morality to obtain beyond her supposed capacity. So the real concern becomes, what is the drive behind the human quest for inhuman power? The only escape for Faustus, as he acknowledges in his final moments, is to suspend reality. If the second runs on eternally, or he can absorb a half a drop of redeeming blood, his fate is less tragic. “Earth Gape!” he cries, “it will not harbor me.” In the final day of judgment there is only heaven an hell, and no earth, which on a surface level is solely the realm of the religious. But, in truth, it is a statement that reflects the predicament of Faustus, which he only discovers too late, that it is, and remains, impossible to combine divine creation (ultimate power) and human existence without an incomparable sacrifice at one extreme or the other.

Posted in Doctor Faustus, Power struggles | 1 Comment