Dusty:

Here’s a play that would have to be presented very carefully these days in order not to be shouted off the stage. Elizabethan audiences would presumably hold some traditional views about strong-minded and outspoken women, and be familiar with plays and stories about how they need to be brought back in line. Maybe Shakespeare is asking his audiences to reconsider their traditional views, but that’s not yet clear in Act 1.

And it’s not clear to me just why Shakespeare thought the Christopher Sly “induction” an important part of the play. It tends to make the “story” of Petruchio and Katharina just a “story” that we can watch as some distance. What does Sly — his character and his situation — have to do with the world of Petruchio and Katharina?

Maybe there’s no special reason. Maybe Shakespeare just likes to play with play-acting. I’m struck with how often Shakespeare inserts a sort of ‘play’ into his play. The most obvious ones are this play and Midsummer Night’s Dream, along with Hamlet and maybe The Tempest. But As You Like It contains a play-acting scene, as does King Lear. (Is Katharina stuck in the “role” of shrew that she is playing?)

It’s odd that Petruchio does not enter the play until the second scene of Act 1 (and that’s after the two Sly scenes). And we don’t meet Katharina in Act 1 at all. Why, I wonder, did Shakespeare make the point that Petruchio, who wants to marry a rich wife, is not penniless: he’s got money in his pocket. His Grumio is a rough and outspoken servant, but Petruchio knows how to deal with him, perhaps preparing us for the way he will deal with rough and outspoken Kate. The sweet younger sister, Bianca, has plenty of suitors: Lucentio (to whom we are introduced in 1.1 — when we might imagine he is going to be the central male figure in the play) Hortensio, and Gremio. (Why did Shakespeare give us a Gremio and a Grumio? Does he want to confuse us?)

I suppose it’s going to be amusing, and maybe even farcical, that two of Bianca’s suitors are going to disguise themselves as schoolmasters, to provide cover for their suit. But it seems a bit much that Petruchio too will be Bianca’s schoolmaster.

Petruchio’s boastful speech in 1.2, saying roughly “I can handle her,” obviously sets up the scene when he meets his match.

Act 1 is pretty plot-heavy. It’s headed for comic reversals and surprises. But so far it mostly seems “situation comedy” — Shakespeare’s “sit com”.

Michael:
I have seen a couple of effective modern productions which make somewhat ironic the “taming” that Petruccio undertakes at the conclusion and emphasize Kate’s yielding as a strategic and joking strategy. It could be that the Sly induction suggests a topsy-turvy world that slides over into the main story; as you suggest, it makes the story of “taming” a story, a fiction that we can understand as such and not take as serious business. Interesting that the Sly induction isn’t concluded in the text we have, though there are scraps of text that suggest a possible continuing presence. In any case, I imagine that Sly and his companions are still off to the side and imagined as present.

I agree that “sit com” is a reasonable way to think of the play. Katherine’s ill temper and disinclination to deal with men seem exaggerated and strange — and the contrast to Bianca’s sweetness contrived. The beginning with Lucentio does make us think he’s going to be the center of things, and his changing clothes with Tranio only enforces that. But the opening exchange between Katherine and Baptista may hint at a reason for her irritability; she’s always been the less favored child, and her father has no compunction apparenly about disgracing her. And the Gremio piles on as well. Note that we do have brief, but consequential intro to Katherine at the beginning of Act I. The rest of the scene is devoted to the Lucentio/Tranio plot. Petruccio seems to take over in the next scene. He seems exaggeratedly interested in marrying money, even though he doesn’t seem to need it.

Michael:
Act 2 begins with the quarrel of the two sisters but immediately suggests the motive of their quarrel in the favoring of Bianca by Baptista. In her immediate reaction to Hortensio’s instruction Katherine’s independence is established: she won’t be “broken” (like a horse?) to the lute. And this immediately appeals to Petruccio. Their first bout of wit follows after Petruccio’s ringing changes on “Kate.” What follows is a sort of rougher version of Beatrice and Benedick. He seems to surprise, maybe almost overcome her by turning her inside out, insisting on her pleasant and agreeable manner when she is at her sharpest. Even when she strikes him, he doesn’t appear to be angry. Clearly she’s never been treated this way before and it must intrigue her. What he projects on her she seems not to accept, but when he describes their amity from 2.1.295ff, she doesn’t object, even though she’s just called him a “half-lunatic, A madcap ruffian and a swearing Jack.” How does she respond to Baptista’s blessing? Is she simply dumbfounded, or does she accept in some way Petruccio’s entirely fanciful vision of their loving relationship? Much work for an actress here.

Tranio — as Lucentio — and Gremio engage in a bidding war for Bianca, until Gremio confesses himself outbid. Baptista, the entirely conventional comic father will go with the highest bid. And all this ignores the woman’s wishes.

Gremio and Grumio: this could provide some comic business on a modern stage, but did Sh. notice the problem?

Dusty:
Act 2 is a single scene of more than 400 lines. I agree that we get a glimpse of what might be motivating Katherina — as she says to her father, “[Bianca] is your treasure.” But except for that moment, Shakespeare doesn’t seem to be interested in “character” at all. I don’t think Kate is really resentful of or angry at her oh-so-sweet sister, but her exit line — “I’ll be revenged . . . find occasion of revenge” — makes her sound a bit like Malvolio.

The entrance of Petruchio, Tranio, and the disguised “tutors” can only be played broadly, with ridiculous costumes. And it’s really the sideshow. Petruchio’s certainty of his success with Kate sets him up, in our eyes, for a comic fall, but we are pleasantly surprised when he’s more than a match for Kate. Their exchange is a great comic scene, and you’d think it is almost failure-proof. But we have no sense of real people actually exchanging lines or insults. Maybe good actors could convey with their eyes, their tone of voice, their body language, that they don’t mean what they say, and that these two people are actually feeling each other out. Maybe Kate is played by a very good looking actress, and when Petruchio  gets his first look at her he realizes that her beauty is a real bonus. (Or would a director have her “dress down” and hide her hair in a scarf?) But we in fact do not yet have any reason at this point to think Petruchio is interested in anything but Kate’s father’s money. Or that Kate has any interest in Petruchio.

The end of the long scene shifts again to the subplot, and Baptista sells his daughter for the “highest dower.” It would be ugly if it were not patently comic, and if the two suitors did not each over-promise.

Dusty:
Act 3 continues both main plot and subplot, but I find myself little interested in the wooing of Bianca. 3.2 is a crucial scene. When Petruchio does not show up for the wedding, we are not yet clear that this is part of his “taming” plot. Why does Kate “exit weeping”? Does this mean that she has been publicly shamed, or that she had become attracted to Petruchio? A director has a lot of latitude here, and could play it all for easy laughs, or could suggest that more is going on. Shakespeare’s words don’t give much away, and have to be embodied by good actors, who convey feeling in other ways. We then pause while Biondello preps us for Petruchio’s entrance in old clothes — which turns out to be the second stage of his “taming” plot — but I think he goes on too long. Maybe this was designed as a comic bit for a skilled comic actor. Petruchio blusters his way through the scene, and I think we catch on and laugh with him. The real question is: what is Kate thinking? How does an actor play her? Is she fuming? Is she softening?

I am guessing that we only get a report of the wedding ceremony, which Petruchio unceremoniously disrupts, because Shakespeare thought we got enough of Petruchio’s “act” in the wooing scene in 2.1 and because he wants to top it all with Petruchio’s exit speech, carrying Kate off (maybe literally) as “my chattels.” His language listing his chattels is so over the top — “my horse, my ox, my anything” — that even today’s feminists would have to laugh. The scene remains a comic one, and is treated as such by Gremio and Bianca and the others left on stage.

Michael:
Act 3 encompasses the wedding of Petruccio and Katherine, though it happens offstage near the end of scene 3. When Katherine exits weeping, it seems in response to Petruccio’s not showing up for the wedding when all the rest have come. She thinks he does not mean to marry. Does this mean that she has reconciled herself to the marriage? Sh. doesn’t give us much to go on for her feelings here, but as you say, it gives the actress playing Katherine some scope. Biondello’s description of Petruccio looks like a comic set piece, and of course it prepares us for his actual appearance “fantastically dressed.” Everyone tries to persuade him to put on proper clothes, but it’s clearly part of his purpose to continue in his mad costume. Apparently Katherine accepts this — or has no choice. Her second trial is Petruccio’s resolve to not participate in the marriage feast, and to insist that Katherine come with him on his sudden leaving. His speech about Katherine being his goods and chattels seems harsh, but then he pretends that thieves wish to steal Katherine and he orders Grumio to protect her. He suddenly becomes chivalrous, though in the event he’s the one taking her.

Michael:
Kate’s third trial comes in Act 4 in the cold and comfortless house that Petruccio takes her to. And he quarrels with all the servants over its discomfort to Kate. He then starves her over what he represents as a badly cooked dinner. After they all leave the scene, Petruccio returns and explains his plan, which is “to kill a wife with kindness.” It seems he wants to appear concerned, but meanwhile scare her into supposing that his temper may always break out if he’s crossed. His therapeutic seems to be to wear away all her resistance and leave her with nothing but his will. It would of course be rather horrible, but the comedy in his performance must be what redeems, or almost redeems, it. He seems to let her eat, but only after she thanks him (4.3.45ff). But then the quarrel with the haberdasher and the tailor come as more underscoring
of his method. Finally, at the end of the scene, he quarrels with her about the time of day, which might be when Kate begins to see the method.

The enlisting of the Pedant to play Lucentio’s father takes up subplot space, though I’m not sure it’s entirely clear why the deception is necessary. Of course it will run right into the appearance of the real Vincentio. But then Vincentio can take a part in 4.6, where Kate finally figures out the “logic” of Petruccio’s method, first with the heavenly bodies, then with Vincentio. This scene is a comic set piece and one of the most effective scenes in the play. Does the play begin to soften in Petruccio’s discovery that Vincentio is now a kind of uncle-in-law, that they are all related?

Dusty:
I wonder why Grumio gets so much stage time in 4.1 when the only real purpose of this part of the scene is to get the report that Kate fell from her horse. The servants don’t know what to make of Petruchio. Even they think he is “more shrew than she.” Petruchio doesn’t tell the audience about his plot until later, so at first I wondered whether he was just pretending to be angry and rough, or whether he was not. Interesting that Kate tries to calm him down. Soon enough he learns in his soliloquy that his plan is to “curb her mad and headstrong humor” and thereby to “tame” her. In order for the scene to be acceptable to modern audiences, and maybe even to Elizabethan ones, you’d think he would somehow have to signal to the audience that he is putting on an act.

Act 4 alternates between Petruchio-Kate scenes and Lucentio-Bianca scenes, but I found the latter to be only mildly interesting, and wanted to get back to the main event. 4.3 is an important scene, and would presumably give the actors a lot of latitude, and also demand a lot of them. Petruchio can come off as a tyrant and a bully and an irrational and willful brute unless we are clear that he is playing. Kate seems really to suffer, and it would be tricky for an actress to play her here. Is she still a spitfire, or is her spirit broken? You suggest that at the close of the scene she catches on to his game, but I wonder about that. Hortensio’s aside, as the scene ends, suggests that he thinks Petruchio is still insisting on his control — of Kate and of the sun. In Petruchio’s acting out in 4.3 there is a lot of “collateral damage” — it’s not just Kate who is deprived of food and clothing but the haberdasher and tailor who are insulted and rushed off the
stage. Maybe in a modern production Petruchio would give them a wink, or slip them a fiver, so they know what Petruchio is up to, and don’t feel badly treated.

4.4 moves the Lucentio/Bianca plot along, with yet another disguised participant. Is there really a serious connection between the various disguised agents playing their parts and Kate being stuck in a role she adopted and can’t get out of? Why is Hortensio hanging around Petruchio and Kate in 4.5 and earlier? Is it so that he can learn from Petruchio how to tame a woman? Later in 4.5 I wonder how a director would have Kate play the sequence where Petruchio insists that the real Vincentio, an old man, is really a young woman. When she too addresses him as a woman, is she desperately trying to say the right thing to as not to anger Petruchio? Or is she just wearily pretending to play along? Or has she at last figured out his game and decided that she is ready to play it with him? A good actress could convey a lot by body language, tone, and her eyes. You seem to think it’s the last of the three.

Dusty:
Act 5 brings everybody together, and rolls the two plots into one, even adding a third marriage. It looks as if we have a last-minute obstacle, when both Vincentio and Baptista exit, calling for revenge. (As did Kate herself, back in Act 1.) But the end of the scene suggests that Petruchio and Kate have come together. He calls on her to kiss him, and she responds by saying “I will give thee a kiss.” Their resolution was apparently wordless: she finally saw what he was up to, and he saw that she saw.

At the beginning of 5.2 Vincentio and Baptista have somehow been won over: we aren’t told how they were convinced to come around. We now get ready for three marriages. I don’t understand why Bianca becomes witty and resistant — she never was before. Maybe it’s to set up the wager, and her refusal to come when Lucentio calls. The women exit, though they give no reason to do so. (The real reason, it appears, is so that the men can make their wager about them.)

Kate’s return to the stage is a wonderful moment — indeed it is said to be a “wonder” — a real coup de theatre. (It made me think of Hermione’s re-appearance in Winter’s Tale.) Kate gets a long speech at the end of the scene, urging the women to be submissive to their husbands. Was it ever delivered straight, because it conveys the conventional wisdom about the proper subordination of wife to husband? Or was it always delivered ironically — Kate’s eyes twinkling and her voice signalling her irony — even in Elizabethan days? If she is being ironic, it appears that the men don’t get it: they still seem to think they are in charge. The Sly framework returns but only in the Quarto. I see that various theories have been offered about its absence from the Folio. You can readily see why it makes sense to include it: the
whole story has been Sly’s “dream,” and he thinks he now knows how to tame a shrew.

Michael:
My sense is that Kate is gradually catching on through Act 4, learning what the audience knows from Petruccio’s soliloquy at the end of 4.1. Of course she has to endure a bit of hunger to get there. At the end of the act, in the meeting with Vincentio, there’s a chance for the actress to turn Petruccio’s joke on him when she says that her mistaking eyes have been so bedazzled by the — pause — sun, as she looks toward Petruccio to see if that’s what he’s allowing now. I recall this in one production I saw as a splendid coup de theatre that set up their final accord. And of course it lets Petruccio know that Kate now knows the game — and the nature of their relationship. So yes, I subscribe to the third alternative, and I suppose that Petruccio at this point signals as much to Kate.

I think the wonder of Kate’s long speech at the end of 5.2 is that it can be either earnest or ironically earnest. I suppose the Elizabethan version was earnest, but how earnest who can know? And the modern version rather sweetly or amusingly ironic, indicating that an intelligent wife will know how to carry this off? The last six lines rhyme, which gives them perhaps a kind of concluding, or ritualistic, emphasis. The production I recall had Kate actually placing her hands beneath Petruccio’s foot, confident that he would not stand on them. And it required Petruccio to reach down himself to take her hand. So even if the men are deluded, Petruccio at least must understand what’s required of him. The bits from the ’94 quarto seem a persuasive ending for the play. And as they make the play a wish-fulfillment dream they seem thematically apt.

Dusty:
It sounds as if an intelligent director could make the play more than acceptable to a
contemporary audience, though perhaps there are some moments early in the play when the
male-supremacy rhetoric might need some countervailing signals from Petruchio, some clear
sign, with tone of voice or body language, that he is putting on an act.