Centuries ago, hazards of excessive inbreeding were largely avoided through the practice of abducting brides from neighboring tribes—indeed, in many parts of the world today, marriage customs hearken to symbolism reflecting this barbaric prototype. With the dawn of 'romantic' love in the 12th century, however, fidelity to an idealized love-object from afar became indisputable evidence of True Love. So culturally persistent did this paradigm prove to be that up until only a few decades ago—when this extravagant behavior was dubbed 'stalking' and severely proscribed as a threat to a free and orderly society—a young man obsessed with a woman indifferent, even hostile, to his attentions continued to be declared, if only secretly, rather admirable.
But the early 1960s were a sufficiently romantic age for English author John Fowles to risk invoking our nostalgia for lovers acting on their emotions in defiance of social restrictions. Frederick Clegg, our protagonist, is such a hero—a working-class boy who wins the lottery and with it, the means to pursue his desires. One of these leads him to kidnap Miranda Grey, a bourgeois art student, imprisoning her at a country cottage in hopes that she will come to bestow her chaste blessing upon him.
It doesn't take a Ph.D. in English Lit to recognize this as an allegory of conflict between the external life—synonymous with 'practical,' or with 'superficial,' depending on your orientation—and the desire for deeper spiritual purpose. Miranda is not herself immune to platonic sensibilities, calling on memories of a beloved mentor for comfort in time of trial, just as Eleanor of Aquitaine said to do. Neither are we, flinching as the reluctant lady cruelly spurns her swain's fairy-tale courtship in a vain attempt to bring him to his senses.
This kind of dynamic has always required a period setting steeped in sentimental myth to distance it from contemporary cosmologies, lest it be revealed ( as Fowles himself is forced to admit ) as the stuff of crime thrillers—patrician damsel terrorized by proletariat psycho resentful of her superiority and even more resentful at the prospect of its abandonment—but Fowles almost pulls it off, as does director Christopher Dennis for this LiveWire Chicago Theatre production. Certainly, it is through no fault of actors Matt Kelly and Michele Kline, who navigate the demands of their ambivalent universe with commitment and patience, that we in 2007 are too wise—or cynical, if you prefer—to buy into the illusion.
At: LiveWire Chicago Theatre at the Side Project, 1439 W. Jarvis. Phone: 312-533-4666; $15. Runs through: Oct. 17
