This is (I think) the only Shakespeare play that I approached from the model of an adaptation; given my age, it’s not surprising that She’s the Man happened upon me before I had a chance to read Twelfth Night. But I think there’s value in adaptations, so bear with me as I tackle this play a bit differently.
Adaptations do a lot to distill Shakespeare’s plays; as a matter of necessity, they cram a play with hours and hours of dialogue and pacing and situational humor into about an hour and a half in the modern day. Inevitably, things get left out — and those things which get left out generally make or break the adaptation.
Twelfth Night applies itself more generously to adaptation than, say, The Merchant of Venice, because of its broad application of tropes. Think about it — a crossdressing girl, identical twins, love-wet members of a higher social strata, etc etc — there’s not a lot that depends on the Elizabethan mores for the play to make sense, and this particular story is better for its evergreen qualities. Julius Caesar (and even Taming of the Shrew) does not operate outside itself without some heavy lifting — too integral to the structure of the play is the sphere in which it takes play. And while excellent adaptations can be made of these plays (see 10 Things I Hate About You), it is not without a complete facelift.
Twelfth Night doesn’t need this; it is both a blank slate and an intensely relatable experience. While we may not be a crossdressing twin working for a duke we’ve fallen in love with, most of us have felt the almost extravagant hopelessness (and pseudo-masochism) of keeping oneself in close proximity to one we love who loves someone else. We’ve all stood back, like Molovio, and watched the world descend into what must be lunacy, only to be accused of madness ourselves. And we’ve all, like Sebastian, walked into a situation where everyone was intimately familiar with us but we had no knowledge of them — and thus are forced by social niceties (and possible greed) to play along and say “Yeah…I remember you! Of course!”, even as we reach for another cup of punch at our high school reunion.
These are intensely relatable circumstances, and these situations are where the strength of Twelfth Night stands.
And, as for me, I think that’s something to scream about.
Something to Scream About 