Director: Anthony Asquith
Country: United Kingdom
Year: 1952

BACKGROUND

Oscar Wilde was born in Dublin, Ireland in 1854. His mother was a successful poet and an Irish Nationalist, and his father was Ireland’s leading ear-and-eye surgeon. Oscar was educated first at Trinity College, Dublin, and later at Magdalen College, Oxford. While at Oxford, he began “wearing his hair long… openly scorning so-called ‘manly’ sports, and… decorating his rooms with peacock feathers” – all the tell-tale signs of a poofter.

According to legend, fellow students trashed Oscar’s rooms, dunked him in the River Cherwell, and – the ultimate indignity – tossed his china in the hallway. Critics charged that Wilde’s poetry “eclipses masculine ideals… under such influence men would become effeminate dandies.” Despite this antipathy, Wilde’s outrageous attire, ambiguous sexuality, witty banter, poetry and erudite writings on the Aesthetic and Decadent movements won him a growing legion of fans.

In 1882, Wilde embarked on a lecture tour of the United States. Upon arrival, he (reportedly) announced to the customs officer that he had “nothing to declare except my genius.” Incredibly, though Wilde was satirized mercilessly by some U.S. publications, he found a warm response in working-class communities like Leadville, Colorado. During this same trip, Wilde met one of his heroes: “I still have the kiss of Walt Whitman on my lips,” he boasted in a letter to a friend.

Back in Great Britain, Wilde married the semi-wealthy Constance Lloyd in 1884. In 1885, biographers now believe, Wilde became fully aware of his own sexual orientation during an affair with painter Bob Ross. Though the dates are a little off, I’m assuming this is the same guy who had the show on public television. How many Bob Rosses can there be? Soon after, Wilde began having regular sexual encounters with young male servants, newsboys, hustlers and other rough trade that he met in underground gay bars – an experience he likened to “feasting with panthers.”

In 1891, Wilde met Lord Alfred Douglas, who he nicknamed “Bosie.” Over the following six months, their friendship grew into love, and they lived more or less openly as a couple for several years. Bosie’s father, the 9th Marquess of Queensberry, was not at all happy about this relationship, and angrily confronted Wilde and Bosie on several occasions, to little effect.

Which brings us to The Importance of Being Earnest, which premiered in February 1895. The fuming homophobe Marquess planned to attend opening night and to humiliate Wilde by tossing a bouquet of turnips at him. Apparently, back in 1895, tossing a bouquet of turnips was quite a cutting insult; very similar to drunkenly screaming “queerbait!” today. Wilde was tipped off, the Marquess was denied admittance, and Earnest went on to become Wilde’s greatest success. Sadly, the growing controversy forced the play to close after 83 performances. Foiled in his turnip-throwing plot, the Marquess brought legal charges against the playwright which eventually led to Wilde’s downfall and imprisonment. He never wrote another play, and died, destitute, in November 1900.

Wilde’s tombstone featured a neat art-deco angel with prominent genitalia. Unsurprisingly, the concrete genitalia were quickly broken off and used as a paperweight by the cemetery-keeper. In 2000, the artist Leon Johnson performed a ceremony titled Re-Membering Wilde (clever!), in which replacement genitals – this time cast in silver – were affixed to the tombstone.

One final note about the play: Many have suggested that “Earnest” is code for “gay” as in “Is he… Earnest?” Likewise, many have speculated that “Bunbury-ing” (a term used by Algernon in the play) is code for “anal sex.” Sir John Gielgud, encyclopedic repository of theatrical lore, one of the first actors to have played Jack/Ernest Worthing, and a poofter himself, said otherwise: “…absolute nonsense; I would have known.”

The director of this week’s film, Anthony “Puffin” Asquith, was the son of British Prime Minister Herbert Asquith, who had signed the order for Wilde’s arrest, and Herbert’s socialite wife Margot. “The love affair between Margot Asquith and Margot Asquith is a joy to behold,” commented Dorothy Parker, queen of the acidic bon mot. At the age of seventeen, Puffin (so dubbed because of his hooked nose) traveled to the United States, where he lived with Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, and was mentored by neighbor Charles Chaplin.

SYNOPSIS

The film begins with a couple taking their seats at a performance. They open and look at a program, which, luckily for us, contains the opening credits.

Act 1, Scene 1: Ernest Worthing’s room in the Albany…

Ernest is taking a bath when his friend Algernon Moncrieff arrives; much witty bantering ensues.

Ernest announces his intention to propose to Miss Gwendolyn Fairfax, but is disappointed to hear that she will be joined by her mother, Lady Bracknell (who also happens to be Algernon’s Aunt Augusta). “There’s nothing romantic about a definite proposal,” smirks Algernon. “Why, it may be accepted! It usually is, I believe. Then the whole excitement is over.”

In any event, Algernon tells his friend, a marriage with Gwendolyn is impossible. “She is my first cousin. And before I give my consent, you must clear up the matter of Cecily…” It seems that “Algy” (a decidedly unpleasant diminutive) has come into possession of Ernest’s cigarette lighter, which bears an inscription from “little Cecily” to her beloved “uncle Jack.”

Ernest clumsily tries to explain away the inscription, but he botches the job badly, and Algy is not convinced. Under duress, Ernest admits that he has been leading a double life: Respectable Jack (or John) Worthing, morally upright guardian of little Cecily, while at his country estate, and hedonistic social gadabout Ernest Worthing (ostensibly Jack’s troubled younger brother) while in London.

Later, Ernest repays his friend’s impudence by arriving unannounced at Algernon’s home, just prior to the arrival of Gwendolyn and her mother, the terrifying Lady Bracknell (or Aunt Augusta, or Augusta Fairfax – it’s all quite confusing).

Algernon creates a diversion, giving Ernest an opportunity to propose, which he eagerly exploits. Gwendolyn accepts, adding that it has always been her heart’s desire to marry a man named Ernest. In fact, she says, no other name will do. Which might be a problem, since we now know that Ernest’s name is actually John. Gulp.

Lady Bracknell, upon hearing of the engagement, sends Gwendolyn out of the room, so that she may question Ernest and determine his suitability as a son-in-law. He answers her questions satisfactorily until they get to the part about his lineage. Ernest admits that he doesn’t know his family; he was found in a handbag at a railway station. Lady Bracknell is horrified: “To be born – or at any rate bred – in a handbag… seems to me to display contempt for the ordinary decency of family life. It reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution! And I presume you know what that unfortunate movement led to.”

If the marriage is to proceed, Lady Bracknell decrees, Ernest must produce “at least one parent, of either sex, before the end of the season!”

Meanwhile, “little” Cecily studies German with her tutor, the addle-brained Miss Prism. The conversation turns to their benefactor, Uncle Jack, and the sad story of his troublesome brother, Ernest. “I wish Uncle Jack would allow that unfortunate young man, his brother Ernest, to come down here and visit some time…” Cecily muses, already half in love with the phantom sibling.

To the surprise of no-one familiar with the rules of Victorian farce, Algernon arrives moments later, to fulfill that very wish. Pretending to be the “wicked” Ernest, Algernon puts the moves on Cecily, who is rather excited to be wooed by a villain. Of course, the “real” Ernest (known to Cecily and his country staff as Jack [or John]) arrives shortly thereafter, dressed in black and grieving the untimely death of his no-good brother Ernest. Hilarity, as they say in the trade papers, ensues.

Uncle Jack/Ernest orders Algernon/Ernest to leave the house at once. Algernon/Ernest proposes to Cecily, and she accepts, adding: “it has always been a girlish dream of mine to love someone by the name of Ernest.” Which might be a problem, since this Ernest’s name is actually Algernon. Gulp.

Both Jack and Algernon approach the befuddled local priest (carrying on his own halting romance with Miss Prism), asking to be hastily re-christened as “Ernest.”

Right on schedule, Gwendolyn shows up and is surprised to find the young and beautiful Cecily living in the home of her fiancé Ernest. “But Ernest proposed to ME, not fifteen minutes ago!” protests Cecily. Meow! Catfight!

Ernest/Jack and Ernest/Algernon return, aliases are exposed, engagements are canceled and then un-canceled, friendships are dissolved and then un-dissolved… and then Lady Bracknell shows up, beginning the final scene in which all mysteries are resolved in the most improbable ways, and love, needless to say, triumphs.

WHAT I LIKED

The pace is brisk, some of the bantering is quite funny, and the two male leads in particular deliver their lines with gusto and precisely calibrated comic timing.

WHAT I DIDN’T LIKE SO MUCH

This is a stellar example of this type of Victorian farce, rife with mistaken or false identities; romance threatened by misunderstandings; improbable coincidences; and absurdly pat resolutions in the final act. Very similar to Shakespeare’s comedies, come to think of it. Also similar to Shakespeare’s comedies, this movie made me grind my teeth in irritated frustration. The theatrical mugging, the strained double-entendres, the frantic pace, the obvious pauses in expectation of audience reactions, and the logic-defying plot mechanics all induce a kind of fatigue and anxiety in me, as if I’m trapped with a desperate street mime who is standing too close, drenched in flop-sweat, and performing frantically for my applause and/or bus fare.

Oddly, back in high school, I acted in similar plays (Charley’s Aunt, to name one), and enjoyed the experience immensely – at first. As time went on, however, I began to detect in myself a sort of unhealthy desperation for the approval of the audience, and began to realize how easy it was to manipulate the audience’s reactions via shameless scenery-chewing, and it all began to ring a bit hollow. All of which is to say that my personal experience acting in this kind of farce is probably a big reason I found watching it so tedious, and Your Mileage May Vary.

SHOULD YOU SEE IT?

Earnest is an archetypal mistaken-identity/true love threatened theatrical Victorian farce. If you enjoy that sort of thing, you’ll probably love this week’s film. If, on the other hand, you are allergic to logic-defying plot twists and painfully elaborated Victorian double-entendres, Earnest is likely to send you into anaphylactic shock.

Next: Ivan the Terrible, Part II