Am I a bad student of Western culture if I have never read Beowulf? In high school, Beowulf had the reputation of being the book assigned by a vindictive teacher who only assigned it to prove a point, either about the merits of high school or his own worthiness. In college, Beowulf became the book that was not assigned even in the core classes but was beloved by the Old English enthusiasts, and for most other males, an impressive book to show off to girls on your bookcase.
In a recent interview with the New York Times’s Jason Zinoman, Jason Craig, the playwright/star of Banana & Bodice’s madcap production of Beowulf: A Thousand Years of Baggage, expressed a similar sentiment.
“I just saw it on my bookshelf,” he said. “But I had never read it and wasn’t particularly interested in warriors or that kind of thing. Not my bag.”
I’d say that the second part of that statement separates Craig from most of the rest of his generation. With the rise of vampires (Twilight, Buffy), Zombies (Shaun of the Dead, World War Z), Ogres (Lord of the Rings, Shrek) and comic book heroes and mutants of various shapes and sizes, warriors and monsters are about as cool for the young of this era as they have been since the time of Beowulf.
Despite the return of monster popularity, theater, though it has a long tradition of bringing the world the coolest expression of monsters, has fallen behind its film and graphic novel competitors. Craig’s Beowulf, a go-for-broke experiment in zaniness that hits as often as it misses, nonetheless is perhaps the beginning of a return to monster love in theater; I hope to see more of it in theater to come.
Lest you think monster love in theater is a lark, what if I were to tell you it could end up saving theater as we know it for future generations? While Beowulf was by no means the best show I’ve seen in New York in the past year, its audience ranked among the most enthusiastic, with perhaps more tattoos, raucous laughter, and intoxication-on-arrival than any non-improv show I have ever attended. The only grey manes in the audience were either those of critics or parents, and yet the rather large Henry Street Settlement theater was packed to the brim. Unlike most recent shows in New York that have had youth appeal, this show did not trade in idealism, hope, or rage at elders. Rather, it traded in a kind of sarcasm, debauchery, and raucous laughter that only those under 30 are crazy enough to still engage in regularly.
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