Much Ado About Girl Power

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You may be surprised to learn that Much Ado About Nothing is not considered one of Shakespeare’s mastercomedies, yet it remains one of his most enduringly popular works, and Beatrice and Benedick two of his most memorable lovers. Why? Perhaps because Much Ado is a Shakespearean rarity; a play which charms its audience with its humour and humanity, without taxing us with convoluted sub-plots. Or perhaps it has more to do with the eternally tantalising theme of male/female supremacy; a recurring motif in Shakespeare’s plays, but never so humorously – or sexily – demonstrated as here in Beatrice and Benedick’s war of words and wit.

The pair are old rivals; Benedick has wooed (and jilted) Beatrice once before, and Beatrice seeks refuge in verbal skirmishes not only with her former lover, but with most members of the male sex within her ambit. As for the uncluttered story-line; the handsome nobleman (Claudio), returning from the wars with his brave comrade-at-arms (Benedick) and the honourable prince (Don Pedro), falls instantly in love with the enchanting maiden (Hero), who is the kindly Leonato’s daughter and cousin to the feisty Beatrice. A marriage is arranged according to the custom of the day, and for further amusement, masters and servants conspire in a series of ploys to bring the reluctant Beatrice and Benedick together. The course of true love is on schedule to run smoothly – until the prince’s evil brother (Don John) and his dastardly henchmen (Borachio and Conrade) hatch a plot to disgrace Hero, and rob her of happiness. Things may look gloomy but it will only take a spot of judicious detective work from the verbally dysfunctional constable (Dogberry) and his watchmen to bring about another happy ending.

However, Much Ado’s apparently light touch fails to mask a number of darker issues. Note how Beatrice’s dominance, in those sparkling exchanges of wit, demonstrates the extent to which she has been wounded by Benedick and how her words, though clever and humorous, are often tinged with bitterness and hurt. Marvel at the consummate ease and speed with which Don John persuades the men in the wedding party that Hero is morally unfit for marriage and call it a convenient plot device – but recognise it for what it is; an appalling indictment of masculine arrogance in a world of male dominance.

And while Beatrice’s unequivocal outrage over Hero’s wronging may look like frustrated feminism, her personal brand of gender politics goes well beyond the mainstream. For when Beatrice bemoans the fact that only if she "were a man" could she successfully avenge her cousin, she adds a chilling embellishment which far overreaches a desire to be merely a man’s physical and sociological equal. Not content with merely killing Claudio, Beatrice would additionally "eat his heart in the marketplace". There’s more. But I mustn’t spoil your fun with an in-depth psychological treatise on female liberation because Much Ado is, above all, a delightful comedy about the battle of the sexes, about love requited and about the triumph of good over evil.

Nevertheless, we cannot overlook the genius of Shakespeare in breathing a whole world of emotion and message into apparently weightless comedic characters through dialogue which, four hundred years after it was written, remains timelessly resonant and universally recognisable. So tonight, with a nod to William Thackeray and Jane Austen, we set the story in the early part of the nineteenth century, when the girls began to call the shots on literature, and tales without heroes were gaining popular ground. We hope that neither Thackeray, Austen, nor, more importantly, the Bard himself, would disapprove.

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