THE TWO-FACED ACTOR Part One
(originally posted on www.redfieldarts.com on January 28, 200 
Although this essay was written several weeks ago, I delayed publication upon hearing the news of actor Heath Ledger’s death. Somehow, many things that have been said by the public and by pundits on the internet and in the media regarding Ledger mirrored this essay. I’ve decided to include my thoughts on Ledger’s death at the end of Part 2 of THE TWO-FACED ACTOR.
It seems appropriate that the first published reviews of Robert Louis Stevenson’s novella Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde appeared in the month of January.
The month January is named after the Roman god Janus, which can roughly translate to mean “door”. The god Janus is usually depicted, in painting and in sculpture, with two faces, or two heads. And so January becomes, literally and metaphorically, the “door to the new year”. And a door, symbolically, has neither a beginning nor an ending; it allows one to move in opposite directions, to come and to go. And so Janus also symbolizes change and transformation, the threshold of change, the dividing point of youth and old age, of chaos and civilization, of good and evil.
In Stevenson’s well-known story, even if the theme is known in its broadest strokes and not in detail, Utterson, a lawyer friend to one Dr. Henry Jekyll, plays detective to discover the details of a mysterious man called Hyde who seemingly has a dangerous strangle-hold on the old doctor. As Utterson investigates, and fears that Jekyll may be blackmailed, he is revolted to learn of Hyde’s horrible nature. An evil nature that soon leads to the murder of a respectable member of London society. Before Utterson can unravel the mystery of these two very different beings, it is Jekyll himself, after his death and in his own diary that solves the mystery. Jekyll and Hyde is one and the same person. By using a chemical, Jekyll transformed into “another”, and assumed the identity of “Hyde”, and kept this a secret from all others, including his friend Utterson.
Upon publication, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde captured the imagination of the Victorian reading public. The themes of the story resonate today. It also immediately captured the imagination of actors and theatrical producers.
While Stevenson’s story of duality and the themes of good and evil were used by Victorian clergy in their sermons, American actor Richard Mansfield grasped the enormous potential of these characters for performance, and seized upon the opportunity to create a stunning characterization for the stage less than a year after publication.
Mansfield’s play, adapted by Thomas Russell Sullivan, opened in Boston, in the United States, in May of 1887.
From the New York Times review of May 10th:
Before an audience that filled every seat at the Boston Museum this evening, Mr. Richard Mansfield, an actor of remarkable versatility, unusual perceptive powers, and a perfect command of all the minor resources of the stage, gave form and substance to a character entirely new to the drama. If the effect had gone no further than that the performance would deserve to be recorded conspicuously as an important theatrical event. Mr. Mansfield’s gift of mimicry and his skillful use of the art of ‘make-up” were both called into important service in the new play, and his ability to express vividly some of the worst passions that beset humanity, to depict clearly the traits of cupidity and malignant spite, was brilliantly demonstrated. With these and a picture of physical terror and demoralization not often equaled by an artist so young in experience as he was couple, or rather contrasted, the portrayal of a just, sound-hearted and benignant man, and both tasks were undertaken by the same actor. It must be confessed at the outset, however, that he was more interesting and more impressive in picturing vice than in the expression of virtue and sentimentality.
Mansfield was famous for this play and toured with it, keeping it in his repertoire until his death.
The production was invited to Britain by the great English actor Henry Irving, and Mansfield took the play to London, where it proved as popular as ever. His performance was so popular, and disturbing to the public’s imagination, that during the peek of the investigation into the Jack the Ripper murders, the authorities asked Mansfield to suspend presentation of the play, as to not stir additional public fear. The play resumed performances soon after the Ripper murders ended.
It is said, in some of the lore associated with the Ripper investigation, that Mansfield himself was briefly a suspect. Although unproven and still in many ways a rumor, it is said that an audience member in 1888 was so frightened by Mansfield’s performance, by his transformation, that he notified the police and accused the actor of the Ripper murders because he didn’t believe that any actor could be so convincing and not be an insane, homicidal maniac in real life.
This may seem strange, if the story is indeed true. If untrue, the legend of Richard Mansfield becoming a suspect in the Ripper murders has grown into acceptance, and that fact, in and of itself, is worth looking into.
Why would an actor, celebrated on the stage and held in high esteem, become a suspect in a murder case, simply for playing a deranged, amoral killer?
Assuming that the story is true, the obvious answer is that the transformation Mansfield demonstrated in 1888 was experienced as real, beyond art and artifice, and thus caused fear. It was too good, for its own good.
The real answer is less obvious, at first. Mansfield was made a suspect in the popular imagination of Ripper-ologists because he was an actor. An actor who demonstrated, live, onstage, the very dual nature of the actor’s work. By doing so, Mansfield becomes victim to an anti-theatrical, anti-actor prejudice that continues to taint and cause misunderstanding of what an actor does and what an actor is, to this very day.
Richard Mansfield is certainly not the first actor to be viewed in this prejudicial way, and I don’t mean to imply that his portrayal of Edward Hyde is the first time the public viewed a performance with mistrust, either. Historically, the actor has always been viewed with suspicion, and has been made “an outsider” in society.
It has something to do with how we, as human beings, consider the self. Each of us, at any given time, considers our self, our identity, to be absolute, and unchanging. Have you ever done something, say, made a mistake, and surprised yourself by exclaiming, “That’s not me! I never do that!”, and have been troubled by the revelation? It’s because our sense of self is an idea, or rather an ideal, of who we think we really are, constructed by us, individually.
Coupled with this, we like to think that others are who they are, too, and not something else.
Years ago I threw a Halloween party, and costumes were mandatory. It was a big blow-out, and I invited many people from the theater and art scene, knowing that there would be some spectacular and very creative costumes. I lived in a large house I shared with two others; David, a set designer, and Holly, who worked in theater administration. We decorated the house from front to back, top to bottom, and where Holly chose to dress as a World War One pilot, I chose to do a make-up and costume as Frankenstein’s monster, and David, after shaving a beard he wore for years, made-up as The Bride. It was all very funny. By 8pm the night of the party, there were 150 people swarming the joint.
At about nine o’clock, in order to get some fresh air and take a break from the crush of costumed partiers, I walked a block or so over to a popular watering hole to hook up with a girlfriend that I had been seeing at the time.
At the bar, an hour flew by as costumed folks came and went, showing off what they’d dreamt up for the night. Realizing I was neglecting my own party (but assuming that I wouldn’t be missed as there were so many people choking my house) my girlfriend and I headed back.
David caught me at the front door, and excitedly told me that my father, Tom, had just left, and I’d missed him. I forgot that I’d invited him! Many of my friends had met my father, and knew him a bit, so it wasn’t difficult to understand that many people then were telling me that I had missed him in the hour or so that I was gone. But the most interesting part was the descriptions of my father’s appearance during his brief visit.
Some people were convinced that it had been my father; some were equally convinced that it was someone dressed as my father. All of them were slightly creeped out by the experience…
A few minutes after I left the party, a man arrived wearing a bright yellow suit. Everyone who told me about their experience mentioned the suit. Couldn’t miss it, they said. The man wore a dress shirt and a tie, and as he silently mingled through the crowd, never saying a word, people noticed that he was wearing a mask—a hand-painted life mask of my father.
Friends who knew him, and recognized the face, greeted him. The masked figure never spoke, but simply wandered the party. After about 30 minutes, he left.
Like I said, reports were evenly split. Some thought it was indeed my father, some just weren’t sure, because, they said, he didn’t walk like my father, didn’t say anything, or was taller (or shorter) than they remembered. All of them found the experience un-nerving. Even if it was him, it didn’t seem like him, said one good friend, who was taught ceramics by my father, and knew him well.
What disturbed people so profoundly, even in this event of masquerade, where dressing up and putting on a mask to become someone else is accepted, was the deep uncertainty of what should be wasn’t necessarily what, or in this case, who, it should have been.
The mask hangs on the wall of my office to this day. Dad confessed and came clean. Yes, he was at the party. He said he took great delight in being a “blank” version of himself. He actually referred to the escapade as the “other Tom” once in conversation. He told me later that when he saw the shadow of doubt pass people’s eyes, and they became suddenly unsure of whom he was, they moved away from him. I plan on trying the experiment myself one day, at a future Halloween party…
But, back for a moment to Richard Mansfield, and the dual nature of the actor’s work, and how the public perceives it.
Continued next week in part 2 of THE TWO-FACED ACTOR
COPYRIGHT 2008 Mark Redfield. All Rights Reserved.
