“Older women are terrifying” – Meryl Streep, 1998
Streep as Mother Courage in Mother Courage and Her Children
“Older women are terrifying” – Meryl Streep, 1998
Meryl Streep and ‘The Mother’: To what extent does Arkadina in The Seagull and Mother Courage in Mother Courage and Her Children reflect Streep’s commentary on mothers in theatre? An exploration into female ageism on Broadway.
Written by A Robinson
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“Older women are terrifying to everybody in the culture, so… they’re terrifying to women, and they’re terrifying to men, and they’re of no interest whatsoever to young men, you know teenagers. So it’s difficult to find that niche that tells a true story about a fully dimensional woman, and at the same time is screen worthy and going to bring people into the theatre” – Meryl Streep, 1998 (The Meryl Streep Forum, 2011)
The opportunity to play a range of “true”, “fully dimensional” characters is seemingly a self-explanatory, assumed want of any actor (The Meryl Streep Forum, 2011). However, when that actor is female, and categorised as middle-aged or “older”, there seems to be a saturation in the American market, not only in Hollywood, but also in theatre (The Meryl Streep Forum, 2011). This notion of inequality and lack of dramatic opportunity older actresses face is expressed in the above quotation by Meryl Streep; an individual who resides in this “older women” category, presently at 71 years old, yet has maintained a career spanning over four decades and is revered by critics, fellow creatives, and award committees, as “the best in the world” (Thigpen, 2016). Her practise and critical acclaim noted, I became aware of her more present actions, as a trend emerged of her commentary of ageism in the American acting industry, as well as the impact being a mother, specifically, has had on her work – both artistically and pragmatically.
At the turn of the millennium, just passing fifty years old, Streep returned to the Broadway stage. A highly anticipated return after a twenty-year absence, would suggest undertaking a leading role of a certain weight and calibre. None other than Arkadina in Chekov’s The Seagull, directed by Mike Nicols and premiering at the Delacorte Theatre in Central Park on July 25th 2001. Described by critics as “a generous star turn”, the performance appeared no less than a triumph (Isherwood, 2001). Her presence on Broadway was still felt, as five years later she shifted from playing a celebrated, egotistical actress in the role of Arkadina to that of a hardened war profiteer, in the eponymous role in Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children. Translated by Tony Kushner and directed by George C. Wolfe, a Public Theatre production that critics respected, but wasn’t exempt from being dubbed as a “production in search of a tone … is not great, to put it kindly” (Brantley, 2006). Streep’s performance was also subject to conflicting praise and criticism, but the undertaking of the role of Courage herself was no less commended in The New York Times, as Brantley applauds “Ms. Streep so blurs the lines between Meryl and Mother that for once it is hard to distinguish the dancer from the dance” (Brantley, 2006).
The immediate correlation between “Meryl and Mother” is of significance, I believe, as the role of Mother Courage herself is inextricably tied to that of a motherly figure, by name; just as Streep herself is as being a mother of four (Brantley, 2006). A simple notion, however I have found it to be a potent example of the lines blurring between actor and character, in the eyes of mainstream critics. I queried; how equally weighted is Meryl to Mother? What bearing would it have on her process and undertaking of that role if she wasn’t a mother herself? More than this, what is the significance, quantity, and accessibility of the ‘Mother’ on the American stage, specifically, and to what degree does it reflect how the role of the ‘Mother’ is perceived within American society in the 21st century?
In this essay I will be analysing Streep’s performances of both Arkadina and Mother Courage, the productions themselves, and assessing their significance in Broadway’s representation of the ‘Mother’. Additionally, posing the wider question, through a feminist lens, of how rife with ageism is Broadway, and to what extent is that ageism gendered?
In order to assess the significance of a “consummately skilled performer” such as Streep playing Arkadina, whose “chameleon skills” can be argued to lend themselves to a considerable variety of roles, I find it imperative to analyse the role itself, before evaluating what statement is made when a sold-out audience of 1800 at the Delacorte come to witness it as a living, breathing person (Isherwood, 2001; Green, 2004).
Solely identifiable as “an actress” on the list of characters at the start of the play, her secondary, mothering role is then deduced with Konstantin’s following description: “her son” (Chekov, 2002). A perhaps unexpected yet no less welcome choice on Chekov’s behalf, as in 1895 one might perceive it as rare to have a female protagonist listed first, let alone have her sole identifier be that of her profession, as opposed to her familial role – that of a mother or wife.
Pivotal to the core narrative of the play, arguably centring around the trajectory of Konstantin’s creative and personal plights, is undoubtedly his relationship with his mother. Arkadina’s perception of her son and their relationship appears multifaceted and isn’t without significant strain, openly speaking of her son throughout the play as “a wilful, difficult boy”, “he’s a trial to me!”, and ultimately bestowing the considerable insult of “Nonentity!” in Act 3 (Chekov, 2002, 13, 37, 41). These remarks of an insulting nature may appear more heavily weighted in the proportion of Arkadina’s dialogue about her son, due to their frequent and performative nature, and therefore she can be argued to be depicted as a generally unloving mother figure. However, I find there to be a definite contrast, and much greater depth of emotion she shares for her son. Clearly capable of remorse, Arkadina expresses in a quiet moment of reflection “My conscience is beginning to prick, however. Why did I offend that poor boy of mine? I feel uneasy”; the depth of that remorse being shown in its fullest capacity in Act 3 – moments after passing severe insults between them, which causes Konstantin to “weep quietly”, she pleads “My own dear child, forgive me… Forgive your wicked mother. Forgive your unhappy mother” (Chekov, 2002, 14, 41). The potency of that speech, self-identifying as a “wicked” and “unhappy mother” is a considerable mark in humanising Arkadina, aside from her “overwearing egotism” that the playing actor could fall into the trap of having comprise the entirety of her personality (Chekov, 2002, 41; Worral, 2002, xxxvii). Taking into consideration how other characters perceive her, in evaluating the validity of this notion of duality to Arkadina, an example of this being proved is “Konstantin offers conflicting views of his mother as jealous, mean and superstitious whilst also being capable of being a ministering angel” (Worral, 2002, xiii). I emphasise that the plight between both Arkadina and Konstantin is mutual, as although Konstantin is in desperate need of his mother’s approval, given “in this he is prompted first by Arkadina’s rejection of his work”, it does not detract from the equal part they each play in constituting their strong, albeit strained relationship: “Love between mother and son is shown to be both destructive and self-destructive” (Worral, 2002, xxxviii).
Arkadina is written with a certain degree of intricacy and flair – both of which I find to positively contribute to her overall characterisation, thus having the capability to be a “fully dimensional woman”, as per Streep’s initial request (The Meryl Streep Forum, 2011). Her raw humanity is expressed in minor ways, juxtaposed by her overriding sense of theatricality. An actress by trade, her described “typically egotistical fashion” is seen to comprise the vast majority of her presence within the play, as it appears “Arkadina never ceases to be on stage” (Worral, 2002, xiii, xxxvii). Her penchant for melodrama and theatricality has a sense of romanticism about it, however, not just an excess of vanity; as it speaks to deeper, more vulnerable aspects of her perception of self and outlook on life. Aptly denoted by writer Nick Worral:
“Arkadina is preoccupied with the past, with her age – whilst seeming to be fifteen when she is forty-five, with what life used to be like on the estate in summers past. She says she is not prepared to think about old age and death.” (Worral, 2002, xxiv)
This sense of nostalgia and discontent with the present but even more so, the future (“old age and death”) can be surmised to centre around Arkadina’s struggle with ageing (Worral, 2002, xxiv). Far from being uncommon, her heightened awareness of her present age is one of dissatisfaction, the deduced cause being vanity. When considering the events of The Seagull and what might count as a contributing factor to Arkadina’s negative impression of her own ageing, how much is the insecurity her own and how much has it been inflicted upon her? The most considerable event is her pre-existing perception of Trigorin’s increasing attraction to Nina, a young woman at least twenty years her minor. Her suspicions are proven, as Trigorin decidedly leaves Arkadina, albeit without a masterful “attempt to persuade him not to abandon her” on her part (Worral, 2002, xvi).
This event can only be assumed to negatively impact Arkadina’s perception of self and inadequacy of age, when it comes to lack of physical and sexual desirability. This notion is incredibly familiar in American, and greater Western culture, amplified further by constant media exposure enforcing it presently in the 21st century, and has been explored in feminist commentary in conjunction with ageism. In a journal entitled Ageism and Feminism: From “Et Cetera” to Center, writers Toni Calasanti, Kathleen F. Slevin, and Neal King explore the process of ageing and attitudes surrounding it that Arkadina can be seen to inhabit.
“Some attend to Sontag’s notion of the “double standard of aging,” by which women suffer scorn and exclusion as they grow old— “a humiliating process of gradual sexual disqualification” (Sontag 1972, 102). But even studies of women “of a certain age” (Sontag 1972, 99) focus on middle age—a time when physical markers such as menopause, wrinkles, and the like emerge.” (Calasanti et al., 2006, 14)
At forty-five, Arkadina would generally be categorised as middle-aged, whilst still being subject to such “physical markers” and biological changes as listed above (Calasanti et al., 2006, 14). None of these factors should constitute a change in a woman’s perceived sexual desirability, however would struggle to be discredited and unrelated in Trigorin’s case. The impact this has on a woman in Arkadina’s circumstances varies; we never fully know the emotional toll it takes on her, but what we witness is her outward, physical response to the internalised notion that she is lacking in youthfulness.
“Cruikshank notes the “almost inescapable” judgment that old women’s bodies are unattractive; but we know little about how old women endure this rejection (Cruikshank 2003, 147). In light of the physical changes that occur as they age, then, many old people must develop strategies to preserve their “youthfulness” so that they will not be seen as old.” (Calasanti et al., 2006, 16)
We see Arkadina proclaim “I could play a girl of fifteen still”, perhaps less so an example of disillusioned physical appearance, but more so a conflated sense of dramatic ability – regardless, can be seen as a “strategy” employed to combat her true age (Chekov, 2002, 21). However, if examining the act of Trigorin temporarily leaving Arkadina for the younger Nina in isolation as the sole reason for Arkadina’s age-based insecurity, antithesis must be provided. Contrastingly, Nina is described as “spiritually much healthier than [Arkadina]” which would suggest a separate level of attraction Trigorin feels for her, irrespective of her youth (Worral, 2002, xlix). Overall, I do find Nina’s ability to be “spiritually much healthier” than her seniors to be inextricably linked to her youth, as by nature concepts of innocence fade with experiences, which one can only acquire as they increase in age (Worral, 2002, xlix).
This inner conflict surrounding ageing and vanity is central to understanding Arkadina’s motivations within The Seagull. However, given that this substantial, arguably solely female insecurity is to be illustrated on stage for thousands of Broadway theatregoers, the need to interrogate how relevant this trope is, is substantial; does the exposition of female insecurity in a protagonist serve or disadvantage the role itself, or the female actors portraying them?
Compelling comparisons can be made in finding the truth and relevancy of ageism-based insecurity, especially in actors, and how modern American culture can amplify those complexes. Understanding Streep’s own relationship with this prejudice as not only a female, but also an actor who has surpassed the ‘middle aged’ bracket, her experience with appearance and the bearing it holds on career is considerable.
“Partly she survived on her chameleon skills. ''However you first appear in the public mind,'' she said, ''that's the image you have to undermine right away. Certainly when I was younger my looks were very important to my success. What made me emerge, I'm sure, was all that hair and, you know, the perfect skin and all those things...'' – (Green, 2004)
This concept of survival and the considerable link it has to “image” that Streep speaks of is potent in its connotations, but what is of interest, specifically to Streep, is how her survival was constituted more so by her talent, itself – identified as “chameleon skills” (Green, 2004). This notion of Streep’s dramatic skill and adaptability, specifically, being the reason for her professional longevity is developed further; “our Greatest Leading Lady has remade herself as a character actress -- and a character. By doing so, she's found a way to go on making films until she physically can't” (Green, 2004). Keen to assess the validity of this article which is mostly constituted of praise of Streep, I find it important to note any other female actors, of similar acclaim and activity within a similar age demographic, and compare their critical reception to that of Streep. Positioning Streep within a lineage of similar actresses whose main body of work spanned from the 1970’s- 1990’s (approximately), are the likes of “[Jane] Fonda, Jessica Lange, Marsha Mason, Debra Winger, Sissy Spacek, Sally Field”, but were described in this 2004 New York Times article as having “drifted to the margins of the industry”, whereas Streep hadn’t (Green, 2004). I find this statement to lack complete validity, as Field, Fonda and Lange alone have all remained active in mainstream theatre, film and television, and have received recent widespread acclaim, including respective Tony Award nominations and wins from 2009-2017.
Upon reflection, it remains clear that the entertainment industry is rife with female ageism, and an undercurrent of truth is present in the correlation women understand to be true of “looks” relating to “success” (Green, 2004). As Streep herself confirmed this, I find it to validate the character of Arkadina as she comes to play her, despite Arkadina taking a different approach to coping with this inevitable dilemma: “If I’ve kept my looks it’s because I’ve never stopped caring about my appearance, I’ve never let myself go in the way that some women do” (Chekov, 2002, 21). This notion of “letting yourself go” is timeless in its recognisability and relevance, and is emphasised in particular feminist commentary; “Fear of and disgust with growing old are widespread; people stigmatize it and associate it with personal failure, with “letting yourself go” (Calasanti et al., 2006, 16). An unfortunate truth that appears to be universal in its inevitability within the female perspective, however can substantiate great truth when explored on the American stage in such a character as Arkadina.
This complex of vanity, remorse of the past and fierce mothering presence is not only true of Streep’s Arkadina, but also that of Mother Courage in Mother Courage and Her Children. Circumstances of setting differing entirely, strong similarities are shared between both figures, mostly surrounding their relationship with their children and how it impacts their motivations and actions within either play. The term I find to bind them together, is that of “monster mother”, as used to describe Susan Fleetwood’s 1990 portrayal of Arkadina at the Swan Theatre, which correlates instantly to Tony Kushner’s impression of Courage, denouncing a “monstrous” element to her character “her indomitability, her hardiness, come to seem dehumanising, uncanny, less mythic than monstruous” (Worral, 2002, lxix; Kushner, 2009, vii). A harsh term, which supports Streep’s aforementioned notion that “older women are terrifying”, I query the validity of this label in relation to the actions of these characters – why are mothers perceived as monsters? – in order to evaluate if that is a representation of that specific societal group that female actors should want depicted on Broadway (The Meryl Streep Forum, 2011).
Courage herself, balancing her wartime business and her three children, is not exempt from speaking degradingly about her children throughout the play; “Oh I’m an unlucky mother! My womb only ever gave me grief after grief after grief!”, “I’ve got another one, stupid but honest. The girl’s nothing” (Brecht, 2009, 15, 22). However, her depth of care for them is expressed, and important for the actress to mine, as she openly voices her inner desire and goal “I want nothing more than for me and my children to get through all this with our wagon” and, like Arkadina, is capable of tender, compassionate scenes of caregiving to her children that she has previously degraded, in bandaging Kattrin’s wounds in Scene 6; neither of which I find to constitute the label of “monster mother” (Brecht, 2009, 68).
Understanding of Courage’s tragedy and assessing how deserving the label of “monstrous” is, is found in analysing the tragic nature of her wartime circumstances (Kushner, 2009, vii). Oskar Eustis, the Artistic Director of the Public Theatre since 2005, dissects the nature of Courage’s tragedy and flaw in correspondence with Streep’s portrayal of her.
“With Courage it’s exactly the same, it’s her incredible force of will, her absolute refusal to be defeated which is absolutely admirable on one hand but I think in watching the play you completely see that it’s what kills her children” – Oskar Eustis (Theatre of war, 2008)
This absolution of personal fault in the inevitability of her children’s demise works to humanise Courage, and contribute to a “fully dimensional woman”, whilst her actions themselves might appear less compassionate (The Meryl Streep Forum, 2011). However, I submit that to label her motives and characteristics as “monstrous” in nature to be a misunderstanding of what Courage represents; “she refuses to understand the nature of her tragic circumstances… she refuses to judge herself, and we judge her for that” (Kushner, 2009, vii). The opportunity for audiences to judge her is justifiable, but should be understood within the greater context of the play, and the tendency to judge can be debunked when consideration of her given circumstances is afforded.
Imperative to evaluating these mothers to their fullest extent comes with analysing how they appear in performance, in understanding Streep’s personal creative practise when approaching both texts. In Ben Brantley’s comprehensive review following the opening performance of Mother Courage, he does well to evaluate the strengths and misfires of Streep’s performance. Performatively, he writes she’s “burning energy like a supernova”, she “provides a master class in the art of electrified stillness” and “finds her best Brechtian self in song” (Brantley, 2006). Contrastingly, the chief theatre critic for the Times from 1996 to 2017 does well to deconstruct the notion of Streep being heralded as dramatic royalty, exempt from any criticism – soundly noting the performance as “Not great... Nor is Ms. Streep’s performance, dazzling though it is, on a par with her best work” (Brantley, 2006).
In comparison, Streep’s turn as Arkadina brought on a fresh spin to her theatricality that was unexpected, or perhaps not seen on stage before. Her physicality appeared to be prominent and heighten the flamboyancy of character, taking it to extremes of “twirl[ing] across the wooden floor in a cartwheel at one surprising point, to a round of applause that signals the amusing dualities taking place onstage” (Isherwood, 2001). This together creates a testimonial for Streep’s skill on stage; as even in criticism of lack of coherency in comparison to her other roles, her magnitude of skill and core presence in each production is still recognised, as “one willowy human being [able to] lift a 12-ton play onto her shoulders and hold it there for hours” (Brantley, 2006).
This notion of Streep being identified as “our Greatest Leading Lady” or “Queen Meryl” is of course, founded on forty years of critical acclaim and accolades, however I find it of interest to evaluate this label and status that she seemingly possesses, in understanding what work it enables or disables others from acquiring – the result of which could suggest an elitist agenda present in these productions (Green, 2004; Carlson, 2019). Understanding the roles of Arkadina and Mother Courage to be substantially weighted and respected, and therefore, arguably, desirable for a female actor to undertake, the pattern of which actresses have had the opportunity to play them on a similar scale is of interest in noting the duality of their accessibility. As Arkadina, Dame Judi Dench in the 1994 National Theatre production and Vanessa Redgrave in the 1985 Queen’s Theatre production – both hallmarks of British dramatic talent. Not dissimilarly to Streep’s calibre of praise and longevity of career, both Dench and Redgrave hold substantial acclaim and respect in the acting community – Redgrave being notably dubbed “the greatest actress of our time” by Tennessee Williams (The Editors of Encyclopaedia, 2021). In turn, the first British production in 2009 at the Olivier saw Fiona Shaw in the title role of Mother Courage, and made famous in 1949 Berlin, by Helene Weigel – described as having “become a household name in the theatre world” in her own right at the time of production, regardless of being Brecht’s wife (Theatre of war, 2008).
This identifiable trend of pillars of dramatic acclaim starring in these roles might suggest a potential lack or distance in accessibility for the general middle-aged female actor. These productions, produced by the pinnacle of commercial theatres both in New York City and London alike, substantiate great quality of roles in Arkadina and Mother Courage, but seem to only be offered to those recognisable as “the greatest” (The Editors of Encyclopaedia, 2021). In a 2004 New York Times article assessing the factors surrounding Streep’s absence from Broadway (essentially, a desire to be present at home with her four young children), Green projects the following notion about what would await her upon her return: “she also promises a return to the stage, and the rich roles it offers a middle-aged woman” (Green, 2004). The concept of “rich roles” appearing in abundance for middle-aged women would suggest a contrast to Streep’s own notion that those characters aren’t readily on offer to actresses of her age, however can be proven by her own work playing both Arkadina and Courage, in principle (Green, 2004).
Conclusively, what I find to be true is that these two roles, through textual analysis and evaluation of performance, can be perceived as truthful, hearty, and “fully-dimensional” female characters present on the American stage, and would substantiate the argument that Broadway isn’t ageist (The Meryl Streep Forum, 2011). However, recalling my preliminary rubric of ‘significance, quantity, and accessibility’ in assessing these roles in order to determine the degree of female ageism present on Broadway, where I believe these two examples to fall short is through their accessibility. If one is Meryl Streep, Judi Dench or Helene Weigel performing at the Public or the National Theatre, then the richness of the role is undeniable. However, I pose that the opportunity to share in that a wider inclusivity to all those actors in the female, middle-aged demographic, is lacking. Thus, whilst existing as positive examples of inclusivity and representation on an ageist and sexist basis, there is a considerable undercurrent of elitism present on Broadway which a practitioner such as Streep, either inadvertently or not, can be argued to represent. To detract from this assumption, Streep herself has positioned herself in alliance with those tackling female ageism in the entertainment industry; in 2015 she funded an annual script development lab for women over forty in partnership with New York Women in Film and Television, for instance. Nevertheless, Broadway still houses and envelops these roles in “celebrity-riddled productions”, however will seemingly only offer them to actresses identifiable as “legendary”, regardless of age (Isherwood, 2001).
