It’s been a rough couple of months. Between Christmas, New Years, and the inauguration of a tyrant, but I’m back. There might be more immediate things to talk about than feminist critiques of art, but art still matters.
Now more than ever.
Quick recap: Jane Eyre, our eponymous heroine, survived an abusive childhood at the hands of her aunt and the boarding school to which she was sent, to rise triumphant like the mythical phoenix into the exalted role of school teacher. Eschewing the endless day to day drudgery of being a school mistress, Jane took leave of her position and took flight to the adventures of being a governess in some distant rural hideaway on the moors.
At least it’s a different set of walls.
Oh hey, last time I forgot to mention that Forgiveness technically meets the Bechdal-Wallace test. Probably because it was only a technicality. Seriously, the musical has twice as many speaking female characters as it does speaking male characters and it still only passes the Bechdal Wallace test on a technicality.
Side Eye Count: 3 (and that’s before we even get back to the musical itself)
Highlights:
Sirens: I really shouldn’t like this son, but I do. I have a really deep and problematic attachment to love songs, and star crossed love songs in particular. Not only that, but this song resonates with the toxic tropes of the misanthropic hero who just needs the love of the right woman to save him (not as much as Secret Soul but I’ll get into that one later). As problematic faves go, this is right up there near the top. I still love it though. Probably because my personal association with the song is entirely outside the context of the musical, but that’s not really an excuse.
Plot Specifics: Jane travels by carriage to Thornfield Hall and we get the haunting Secrets of the House, hinting at dark deeds and mysterious ghostly doings. All the hallmarks of a gothic romance, if you like that sort of thing. I do (obviously), but honestly, it just wasn’t as good as House Upon the Hill (from The Secret Garden, in case you missed that recap). It was a functional introduction, but it just didn’t make my heart sing.
At Thornfield, Jane is greeted by the Housekeeper, Mrs. Fairfax. Her character song, Perfectly Nice, also serves as exposition to give the audience some cultural context and foreshadowing (because it’s a gothic romance, that’s just part of the genre). So, if you’ve watched Upstairs, Downstairs or the more recent Downton Abbey, you already know that, among the servant class, housekeepers, butlers, and governesses were often isolated. They couldn’t mix with the upper crust, but they weren’t really at the same level as the other servants--having the power to promote or fire them at their discretion. And unlike Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Fairfax has no counterpart. Jane’s arrival, gives her the first person in a very long time who is something like an equal, with whom she can have casual conversations--though the age difference makes it more of an Aunt/Niece relationship than one of equals. In the course of this introduction, Mrs. Fairfax sings the praises of Mr. Rochester (who we still have yet to meet) and gives the public version of Adele’s story. Notably, it is Mrs. Fairfax who makes a point that it is unthinkable to have a relationship with Mr. Rochester, as it would be “unfitting one’s class,” both establishing the social norms of the time and foreshadowing Jane’s romantic interest. To be fair, Jane Eyre is the novel that popularized the governess/master romance, so it’s not really all that surprising. Do I need to mention that the whole story about poor orphaned Adele being accepted as Mr. Rochester’s ward simply out the goodness of his heart while on one of his frequent trips out of the country is really obviously fictional? It’s all a lie.
So Jane remains at Thornfield for a time, settling into a routine. In the novel she goes out to post a letter and surprises a rider on the road, who is then thrown from his horse. The rider, misanthropic middle aged man, refuses, then is forced to accept, Jane’s assistance. Naturally, of course, the mysterious stranger is, in fact, Mr. Edward Rochester, her employer. He interviews her properly and were are given the song As Good As You.
I have a lot of feelings about this song, but they’re mostly anger, rage, and eyerolls. Rochester tells Jane the true story of Adele’s origins, and it’s supposed to be an honest but fundamentally sympathetic account to explain his general misanthropy and give an inkling into his supposed heart of gold, but it’s really just an exercise in rampant misogyny.
Here are the facts: during his travels Rochester fell in love with an opera dancer. They became lovers. She got tired of him and left. Later he found her in dire straights with Adele in tow. She tells him that Adele is his and she doesn’t want her, but to tell her that her mother is dead.
That right there is the entire reason he describes women as, “inhuman, worthless / Hard and savage / On the average / Never to be trusted / Completely maladjusted...” Which is really just so much misogynistic bullshit.
Side Eye Count: 4 (already, and we’re only a few lines into the song)
So let’s start with his relationship with the opera dancer. No matter how he tries to spin it as being blinded by love, it was most definitely not a relationship of equals. A nobleman with a significant income with an opera dancer, whose only asset is her sexual attractiveness (this is the 18th century, performance artists were considered to be only barely more respectable than sex workers). Such a relationship was always going to be transactional. By any objective measure (wealth, social status, future prospects) all the power in their relationship was his. How long until he tired of her (and based on his own description of his behavior in the novel, he would have)?
Side Eye Count: 5 (I regret that I have only one side eye to give)
Then there’s his depiction of her “abandonment” of Adele, ugh! Of course, a child would have made it less likely for her to acquire patrons, but given that she lacked other options, what other choice did she have? And leaving her with a wealthy man who would have the resources to care for her? Instead of the penniless existence she was already living? Obviously, that was the only reasonable choice for the child. Of course, Rochester takes it as another sign of the vileness of women, but his privilege (along pretty much any axis you care to name: wealth, social status, sex) blinds him to their perspective.
Side Eye Count: 6 (seriously, Rochester, stop. My eyes are starting to hurt)
Shortly afterwards, there is a fire. In Rochester’s bedroom. His bed curtains are set on fire. No, that’s not an erotic euphemism (though I really wish it was). Jane arrives in time to put them out with a bucket of water (no really, this whole scene would have been so much less problematic if the fire was a sexual metaphor).
This event brings to light to obvious attraction between Rochester and Jane. Naturally, Rochester attempts to dissuade Jane from further pursuit while appearing unable to release her hand. This naturally only serves to fan the flame of Jane’s interest--what is this, a guidebook for grooming behavior for sexual predators? Maybe I’m being too harsh here, but Rochester really is the spiritual ancestor of this rash of novels about billionaire men who emotionally and sexually abuse their subordinates (see Fifty Shades of Grey). On the surface, Rochester falls in the same category of rich misanthropes as Mr. Darcy (and those, I have fewer issues with). But Darcy learns how to be a better, more empathetic human being, and doesn’t win Elizabeth’s affection until he proves it. Rochester is just terrible for most of the rest of the musical.
Jane eventually escapes to the safety of her room--but she cannot escape the dangerous leanings of her heart! (sorry, I just couldn’t resist) And this is where we get Secret Soul. Typically, I’m all about star crossed love songs (see Sirens in highlights) but I have very negative feelings about this song. Certainly Jane is her own person and knows her own mind, but we’re also talking about a very experienced man and a very sheltered younger woman. And then there’s the “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”/”Young Girl (get out of my mind)” creepster set up. In any modern day relationship the power differential (age/inexperience, employer/employee, high social status/low social status, take your pick, they’re all problematic) would make this whole thing icky. On the other hand, the age difference was standard for the time period (modern ethical anachronisms and all that) and the mixed social status/employer/employee relationship is the thing cliches are made of. I might even be convinced to give those elements a pass (I certainly did for the novel and numerous film adaptations) but just as troublesome is the underlying gender essentialism in the lyrics. As the woman, it’s Jane’s job to weather his anger and do the emotional labor to draw him out of whatever dark emotional place he’s found himself. This is seriously no healthy. “He’s not really angry, he’s just covering up his emotions, he’s really a nice guy…” It’s like the script for every abusive relationship ever. The fact that Rochester comes in towards the end to express himself and reaffirm his decision not to pursue the relationship with Jane that he wants makes it a little better, but still deeply problematic.
Side Eye Count: 7 (Rochester, stop being a creepster)
In the wake of this near romantic encounter (spurred on by some late night arson, let’s not forget, since it’s a plot point that will become relevant later) Rochester invites some people of his own social status over. Including the beautiful and notably single Blanche Ingram. I want to devote some deeper analysis to Blanche later, but for now what you need to know is that she’s selfish and mostly interested in Rochester for his money. Yes, that’s awfully superficial and neither the novel or the musical is particularly kind to Blanche. Her character song, Finer Things, is pretty much a celebration of wealth and shallow classism--though, to be fair, those would be the things people of her social class would be judged by in that era, so Blanche would simply have been a produce of her time.
In the novel, Rochester invites Jane along for reasons unknown. I can’t decide whether it’s an attempt to make her seem unappealing to him in comparison to Blanche or simply emotional abuse. Given his later behavior, I’m leaning towards the latter, but that could just be me being uncharitable.
Rochester also has a visitor by the name of Mr. Mason, a nervous sort of man with seeming no connection with the rest of his guests. Sometime after everyone is abed, Jane discovers Rochester giving medical attention to a bleeding Mr. Mason. There are tantalizing references to a “her” and then Rochester and Jane are alone together again. Here we get The Pledge where Rochester references some great sin in his past and Jane, continuing to do all of the emotional labor in this relationship, comforts him. I’m not saying Rochester doesn’t have some damn good reasons to feel despair and want to leave his life behind him (if you’ve read the book you know what I’m talking about). But encouraging the interest of a young, inexperienced woman who doesn’t know the whole story is a really poor substitute for counseling.
Side Eye Count: 8 (my eyes!)
This leads directly into the Act I climax song, Sirens, which I still love despite being deeply problematic--for pretty much the same reasons that Secret Soul was problematic, so I recognize my hypocrisy here. At least Sirens is a duet with equal time given to both players in this relationship (as opposed to Secret Soul, which was almost entirely Jane angsting over her attraction). We also get another tantalizing glimpse of the mysterious figure who set the fire and injured Mr. Mason.
If you’ve read the book, you already know that this is Bertha. Rochester’s wife.
Dun dun dun.
Next up: Jane Eyre Act II or Jane, you can do better than either of them
No comments:
Post a Comment