Theatre review: Sparks fly between brilliant equals in Bard on the Beach’s The Dark Lady

Poetic flourishes and strong characterizations bring compelling charge to imagined story of Shakespeare and the woman who inspired and challenged him

By Janet Smith

Arghavan Jenati and Nathan Kay in The Dark Lady. Photo by Tim Matheson

Bard on the Beach presents The Dark Lady at the Douglas Campbell Theatre to September 19

BARD ON THE BEACH’S absorbing new two-hander The Dark Lady has a bracing intimacy that feels radically different from the outdoor spectacles the summer fest is known for. 

Helped by Jessica B. Hill’s smart script, chemistry between the leads, and key poetic flourishes, it makes you feel like you are sitting in on the passionate, intellectually charged relationship of two fiery, brilliant equals. At the same time, it may make you see Shakespeare’s iconic plays—referenced frequently throughout—in an entirely new light.

The “Dark Lady” of the title refers to a subject of desire in Shakespeare’s sonnets. Many believe her to have been Emilia Bassano, a multiracial, multilingual writer, musician, and teacher who became England’s first published female poet (after decades of effort). Hill frames her here, in this fictional story, not only as Shakespeare’s muse, but his confidante, his collaborator, his critic, and, occasionally, his rival. Through Hill’s feminist lens, Bassano was the Bard’s unsung match, who frequently voiced her frustration at not being able to find a sponsor or publisher. She isn’t even allowed to go to Shakespeare’s plays (unless she takes a cue from his own gender-reversing works and disguises herself as a man).

The Dark Lady imagines the pair’s complex and sexually charged love affair—he’s married, after all, with three children—but it also explores ideas of artistic agency and who gets a place in the historical canon.

Unlike so many other playwrights who have conjured Shakespeare in modern works, Hill makes the notable decision not to mimic his Elizabethan language in the playful dialogue. Sprinkled with words like shit, edgy , and wow, the banter feels immediate and accessible. That makes the moments of poetry sing by contrast—like this bold and cutting line from Bassano’s work: “Men, who forgetting they were born of women…like vipers deface the wombs wherein they were bred.”

Any Elizabethan woman who would have dared to record those thoughts was rebellious—and as Emilia, Arghavan Jenati throws herself into that impetuous strength, raising her voice literally and figuratively. You can feel her rage at a society that prefers her to shut up, marry, and bear children—and the frustration that her work, every bit as brilliant as Shakespeare’s, will end up lost to history. Though sometimes you yearn for a little more vulnerability, nuance, and quiet reflection from the character, it’s fun to watch her stand up to her partner, and open up her emotions—even as she challenges him. At one point early in his career, she bluntly tells Shakespeare that she hates the way he portrays his female characters.

As the Bard himself, Nathan Kay is charmingly natural, painfully relatable, and flawed. When Emilia makes him laugh, you really feel like he’s laughing. He can be humble and self-effacing, but when she injures his pride you can almost see the wound. And yet he’s capable of cutting insensitivity—most notably by pontificating callously about her failure as an artist.

Arghavan Jenati and Nathan Kay in The Dark Lady. Photo by Tim Matheson

One of their best scenes finds them reversing roles—Bassano stepping into the “pants” part while Shakespeare dons a dress and tries to imagine how a woman feels wooing a man. Hill explores sexuality and gender with precision, openness, and depth; Emilia discusses her affair with an elderly lord, while Will talks candidly about his attraction to males (familiar to anyone who has read his sonnets). 

Under Moya O’Connell’s creative direction, simple yet innovative touches give the work a compelling poetic feel. At one moment, a taffeta cape becomes a bundle of joy; at another, long red silks stretch out from the back of the stage to become bedsheets entwining the lovers. And a deep red sculptural piece rises above the stage to symbolize a tragic turning point. Ryan Cormack’s set of stacked crates reframes the action in a contemporary way. Rather than aiming for a period-specific environment, the backdrop works like an immersive metaphor for the way we store memories—boxing them up and pulling them out in bits. Only in one late scene does a pop-up set piece become too literal.

Music is integral to the work, and Anju Singh’s moody score enhances just about everything that happens onstage. Props also go to Alaia Hamer’s simple but effective costumes, from the sensuous velvet bodice over Bassano’s gauzy gown to Shakespeare’s sleek, high-waisted pants—the famed bulky bloomers only getting a brief nod.

In the end, it’s a pleasure to spend 90 intermissionless minutes with two intelligent, emotionally open adults—in a relationship so engrossing that many audience members in the tiny Douglas Campbell Theatre were visibly moved to tears. Hill may be shining a light on an unsung Elizabethan talent, but The Dark Lady feels immediate and contemporary in a time when women aren’t afraid to spar with their partners—but still fight to be heard.  

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