THE MISANTHROPE
Look at The Misanthrope. What a great comedy. Moliere discovered, isolated, and dissected a classic type in his title character, Alceste: the moral bigot who has insight enough to realize that society runs on lies, but who’s too fatuous to acknowledge the lies he tells himself. The Misanthrope bounces along, brilliant and merciless, for a full four acts, while Alceste allows his little bit of knowledge to become a terrible thing–ruining him financially, alienating him from his friends, trivializing his ideals, and finally pushing him so deeply into his moral hole that he can’t climb out.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
The play’s certainly not wrecked by this lapse: Moliere being cheap is a thousand times wittier and more telling than practically anyone else being incandescent. The recitation of Celimene’s letters is a wonderfully icky piece of business, and Alceste goes on to seal his folly with a gesture that’s both perfectly tragic and absolutely ridiculous.
Which, in turn, means two things. First, that she becomes a much more potent object of satire, representing a greatly expanded field of nastiness; and second, that she becomes a much more sympathetic character, representing a greatly deepened pool of humanity. It’s an odd phenomenon, really: saved from Moliere’s sexist stereotype, Celimene develops simultaneously into a stronger symbol and more vivid person.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Steve Leonard.
