Mad Madge: a bawdy, campy feminist rom-com
16 Apr 2024 - Photos by Dahlia Katz

Margaret Cavendish, the "Mad Madge" who gives Mad Madge its title, was simply born in the wrong era. In the 17th century, becoming famous without any discernible talent or skill was a daunting task. Particularly for a woman. In one of the many anachronistic quips that pepper Mad Madge, Margaret claims that she wants to be an influencer, centuries before the concept was common currency. The alternative, marriage and subservience, is unthinkable, so Margaret sets out to become famous announcing that "I'm destined to be adored by not just one, but by thousands." Her journey, as written and essayed by Rose Napoli (Wildwoman, Heart of Steel), is a bawdy comedic romp chronicling the self-creation of an unlikely and improbable feminist icon. Margaret did have one advantage, notoriety—fame's disreputable little cousin or, ladder rung #1—can be achieved in contemporary times through sex tapes, sordid liaisons, radical shocking image changes or even hard work and talent. All of which take time and effort. Margaret merely had to bare her breasts in order to become an all-consuming scandal and overnight sensation.

This is not to imply that she didn't put in a lot of hard work during the first act. Margaret wangles a job as the official "shit bucket" to Queen Henrietta just as the queen and her court are forced into exile. Our plucky and persistent heroine soon transcends transporting buckets of feces to become a self-proclaimed "best friend" lady in waiting and an eccentric hat designer. She then decides to write a book as "words are dangerous, they are immortal. People may die but words live forever." In two weeks she has created a novel novel and the problem then becomes getting it read and taken seriously. A task complicated by her gender, her insistence on relentless self-aggrandization in the pages, and a refusal to be concerned with spelling or narrative coherence. The historical Margaret Cavendish is credited with creating science fiction, the Margaret Cavendish in Mad Madge has to struggle. Fortunately those struggles are hilarious if of dubious value. As much as we are charmed and cheer for her success, we are constantly aware, and reminded, that the shallow pursuit of fame for fame's sake is morally questionable.

Napoli and director Andrea Donaldson (Betrayal, Beautiful Man) have staged Mad Madge as a restoration comedy gone berserk. Characters fly on and off the stage in elaborate costumes or states of undress, lugging milk crates as scenery and spitting out lines at a breakneck speed. The seating surrounds a raised central stage, much like a wrestling ring where the patriarchy is to be pinned, and the characters enter from all corners of the theatre. While this has a circus-like visual appeal, it unfortunately allows some of Napoli's witty lines to be swallowed by the soaring ceiling when a character's back is facing whichever quad one is seated in. However much is conveyed in physical shtick and elegant clowning, so little beyond appreciation of a good one-liner is missed. Mad Madge is impeccably cast with a delicious disregard, except for the romantic leads, for type, age, gender or verisimilitude. Nancy Palk (Prodigal, Withrow Park, Queen Goneril, King Lear, Wormwood) may be typecast in her role as the regal royal who also revels in a raunchy and kinky sex life, but she also convincingly plays an 11-year-old child and a drily condescending Samuel Pepys. 

Farhang Ghajar is a subservient servant, a sexual plaything and a television host, while Wayne Burns is an effeminate and wise brother to Margaret while also one half of the scene-stealing vaudevillian mean girl team of Trudy and Judy. Izad Etermadi (Box 4901, The Beaver Den) is Judy, but also Margaret's flamboyant social climbing and happily widowed mother. His dramatic swoons and seductions are pure camp drag queen in overdrive and is a crowd-pleasing delight. While the roles may seem disparate, there is a thread that links them all, giving each actor a through line to string variations and comic commentary upon. In that manner Napoli's script is cunningly subversive, refusing to take sides on the value of Margaret's endeavours while simultaneously conning us into being invested. And it is brazenly scatological to use shit as a metaphor with the queen's bowel troubles, references to the stench of the 17th century attempts at effective plumbing, and Pepys use of Margaret's pages all resonating and echoing in literal toilet humour as subtext. But when in the midst of the madcap adventures, one just hangs on for the ride, the cleverness and symbolism surfaces in little bursts of pleasure or in satisfied hindsight.

And then a further ambiguity. Disguised as an ironic catharsis. Margaret is spunky and determined, and Napoli bravely pushes the character to the edge of pushy and annoying, relying on her own abundant charm and the script's wit to keep us from turning on her. She also narrates through the fourth wall, letting us into her inner thoughts, no matter how savagely solipsistic they are. Her status as a proto-feminist becomes conflicted when her anti-marriage stance is complicated by the arrival of William in the persona of  Karl Ang (Monster, Cockroach, Lear). William is a compassionate and understanding poet, Ang is a true romantic lead, and the sexual tension between the two is palpable and steamy. It helps that Ang baring his pecs is as alluring as Napoli with her dramatic pasties. But is a love story, as driven by lust and comic conflict as it is, a fitting finale for a feminist icon? In this case yes. Margaret Cavendish, through sheer force of will and determination, carved out a new space for herself in an otherwise rigid society. Why shouldn't she get to be in a rom-com as well? Napoli/Cavendish claims so saying, "Love does not mean giving up your dreams, love makes dreams possible."