"Much Ado About Nothing' in Clark Park

If you had attended the first performances of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, back in 1598 or so, you could have bought a ticket for as little as a penny or two. We West Philadelphia hoi polloi who recently saw Much Ado by Shakespeare in Clark Park got a much better deal: It was free.

On opening night, some 600 of us sat on the ground, or in folding chairs, or even stood, trying to hear actors and pay attention to stage business while blocking out the distracting noises that rumbled from all sides— trolleys and trucks on Chester Avenue (which slices through the park); a propeller plane that uncannily chose Act I, Scene 3, for a buzz-by; and the other park users eating picnic dinners or playing catch or running around the children's playground.

Scholars tell us that Shakespeare's original audiences were none too quiet, so our experience had something akin to theirs. Mercifully, the Mister Softee driver discreetly parked his truck far down 45th Street, somewhat muting his infernal song, and then left after serving the several children who located him.

The meaning of "'nothing'

Much Ado About Nothing is about the power of words. The title itself points to that: The word "nothing," which meant to Shakespeare's era what it means to us, also meant, in his time, "noting" (it may have been pronounced that way), as in taking note of what's said, overheard, surmised and written down. The characters note either too much or too little, and until they get straightened out, there can be no happiness for anyone except the villains.

Interestingly, the most inarticulate of the characters, the constable Dogberry, eventually exposes the evil scheme, unwittingly allowing things to be set aright. His malapropisms and verbal misunderstandings bizarrely cut through the façade of genteel talk; justice is done; and the marriages of the young couples take place.

Poetry mocked

To the play's educated characters, Dogberry's jabber is mere noise, until they discover how insightful it really is. Shakespeare, in a way, was daring his audience to find those verbal gems, no matter how unwashed the speaker. Much Ado paralleled his own story— a bumpkin from Stratford-upon-Avon whom one contemporary writer initially scorned as an "upstart crow."

Yet Much Ado isn't a plea for Shakespeare's own respectability; it's almost the opposite. By 1598 he had already established himself as a poet in his previous plays and poems.

Much Ado, known for its verbal wit, is mostly written in prose. Its poetry consists mostly of the ludicrous pining-for-love stanzas that Benedick and Beatrice write for each other. The audience laughs at these lines, and the other characters mock these efforts. Words, like the park noise, may be mere commotion (ado about nothing), or they may mean all (ado about noting). Woe is us if we get it wrong.

Hiding behind real trees

This is the sixth annual production by Shakespeare in Clark Park, which by now has learned to make good use of the park's ordinary features. One area of the park is sunken (a creek runs under it), creating an elongated bowl, and the stages are within the basin, so that the audience sits partly on the same flats and extends up the gradual, semi-circular slope, like a natural Greek theater. A simple rope separates the "stage" from the closest viewers on their blankets, but sometimes the actors play outside the stage (hiding behind actual trees, for instance).

This informality, plus the ambient noise, helps involve the audience members, who, when I attended, clapped after almost every scene. Still, I needed about ten minutes of dialogue to get accustomed to the characters' speeches. They're all miked, and this technology (despite a dropped line now and then) makes this kind of production possible.

An assist from Dorothy Parker

This production introduced music, composed by Andrew Nelson, the company's music director. The characters sing four songs, incorporating lyrics from several non-Bard sources, such as the 19th-Century hymnist John H. McNaughton and the 20th-Century satirist Dorothy Parker.

More pervasively, a garage band trio plays intermittently in the background, ostensibly independent of the stage action at the time. Sometimes they seem to be part of the park's ambient noise, and at the start I found myself trying to tune them out. But as the play continued (maybe someone turned down the sound system a notch), they became just another stage voice. The band generally played when the villain, Don John (played by Dan Higbee), entered; as he began his lines, he interrupted himself to shout "Shut up!" at the musicians, always to a laugh.

The ensemble starred Victoria Frings (as Beatrice), who seemed to be all hinges, like Ray Bolger. Alex Torra, who directed The Comedy of Errors for Shakespeare in Clark Park in 2009, proved again his special touch in making an established play come alive for an audience beset by the natural pandemonium of urban life.