Treasure Island: What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor?

Hi again, loyal viewers! Blogslave, Dramaturge, Box Office Manager, and Pirate/Drinking Enthusiast Keith Hock here [I gotta trim down my titles, this business card is out of control -KH], to wax rhapsodic about our Critically Acclaimed Treasure Island some more, and to encourage you all to join us for our upcoming shows at our new friends Republic Restoratives! I anticipate a long and fruitful relationship with Republic Restoratives, who were not only kind enough to host our next four performances, but were also savvy enough to create and sell liquor, which I, the rest of the company, most of you out there, and most especially (to at last reveal the topic of today’s blog) pirates and sailors of all stripes, have long been a fan of! Come with me on a brief history of alcohol and the high seas.

As I have mentioned before, sailing was hard and dangerous work, but what may have been even more terrible than working your watch would have been the downtime. Being stuck on a 100-foot-long wooden ship for months on end with a couple dozen other people, minimal opportunities for hygiene, and nothing to do must have been both boring and miserable. It is hardly surprising that sailors would turn to the comforting embrace of the bottle, nor that their captains (and, indeed, the Admiralty) would approve and facilitate this pacifying measure, issuing enough daily hooch to get a sailor good and relaxed but not so much that they could become a liability, either that night or the following morning. Their rationing also gave Management a carrot (otherwise in vanishingly short supply in their motivational toolbox) and an additional stick in their dealings with the crew, in the shape of withholding or offering additional rations. In Treasure Island, Jim mentions that “[d]ouble grog was going on the least excuse” as evidence of how spoiled the crew was, suggesting either that Livesey and (the mysteriously vanished in our version) Squire Trelawney took it upon themselves to keep the crew happy or that Captain Smollett’s hard-edged humorlessness was perhaps more bark than bite.

Celebratory Pirates.jpg

Illustration by Louis Rhead. Image found on Project Gutenberg

Speaking of grog, let’s get an idea of what sailors were actually drinking. A merchant ship’s complement of alcohol would have varied from ship to ship and voyage to voyage, depending on availability, cost, storage, voyage length, and captain’s/purser’s/owner’s preference. But it would usually consist of either rum, arrack (another distillation of sugarcane, more often to be found in the Indian Ocean than the Caribbean) or brandy for the crew, and wine or more brandy for the officers. [To my dismay, beer would be unlikely, being bulkier and more likely to spoil than more thoroughly distilled spirits -KH] Rum gets all the publicity because of how heavily associated it is with both the Caribbean and of the Royal Navy, though sailors and especially pirates would gladly drink anything they could get their hands on (you’ll recall that unfettered access to the liquor stores was a key inducement to many pirates). Brandy in particular I find to be underrepresented in pirate media; it is Israel Hands’ beverage of choice in our story, and as one of the easier and earlier spirits to manufacture it was a common drink to find shipside. I imagine its modern reputation for fanciness, associations with snifters and Couvoisier and velvet smoking jackets, have impugned the reputation of the hard-working, versatile and ubiquitous brandy. But oh boy did I ever get sidetracked just there, and I was supposed to be discussing grog. Grog is a dilution of the daily rum ration, to keep sailors from getting too drunk on duty and to serve its true function of hydration, and consisted of rum, water, sugar and limes. The seasoned drinkers in my audience may notice that those are the exact same ingredients as in a daiquiri, although I imagine the proportions are somewhat different.

The lime is actually the most interesting ingredient on this list, and it is no accident that they feature prominently in the recipe for so many maritime cocktails like grog, Company Punch, and my personal favorite the Gin and Tonic. In addition to being a magic “make booze taste better” fruit, limes, as a citrus, are crammed with Vitamin C and therefore help fight scurvy, which was otherwise rampant on long voyages. While it was not clear exactly WHY limes and other citrus fruit kept sailors from dying by the dozens on long cruises until the end of the 18th century, it was clear that they did, and so its unintentional inoculation became an established sailing practice. The Gin and Tonic is in some ways a medicinal upgrade from simple grog; in an effort to make the antimalarial quinine in tonic water palatable, some of the more industrious alcoholics in the East India Trading Company mixed it with gin and lime juice (see “magic” above), making it a prophylactic to both malaria and scurvy, as well as the myriad horrors of sobriety. As a direct counter to two different ailments I therefore believe that a G&T is the healthiest beverage in existence and that everyone should drink half a gallon of them a day, instead of water. [My doctor, unfortunately, does not agree with my findings -KH]

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“It’s a medicinal fact that rum gets a man’s heart started in the morning. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.” Roy Poole as Stephen Hopkins, 1776 (1969)

In addition to fighting scurvy, malaria, and its overall comfortable numbing, let us not forget that the most important reason for drinking all this watered-down alcohol on ships all day long is to stay at least sort of hydrated. It has been alarmingly difficult to keep fresh water fresh for the majority of humanity’s existence. There is a reason that society originally coalesced around rivers, lakes, and springs; because that’s where the fresh water is, which we need to drink every day lest our blood turns to jelly in our veins and we dessicate into mummies. But water left standing for any great length of time without refrigeration, circulation, or airtight seals will almost inevitably become fouled with algae, bacteria, insect eggs…whatever you got. Alcohol is very good at killing bacteria and other microorganisms, being basically a fun and delicious poison. So any amount of alcohol in your water made it a little less dangerous, a little less likely to go bad. And the more alcohol there was in the water, the more bacteria it killed. But it also meant the less water there was in your water. Booze will keep the bacteria out of your water but it will not hydrate you. Which is why grog was watered down and why wine-drunk Israel Hands was at such a disadvantage in his fight aboard the Hispaniola.

It is my sincere hope that reading this blog got you all excited about the idea of coming to Republic Restoratives this weekend, seeing Treasure Island, and sampling their wonderful spirits. Tickets are available online HERE or will be sold at the door, and they come with a complementary cocktail devised by director/devisor/mixologist Kerry McGee and prepared by the wonderful staff over at RR. I’d love to see you all there, with a drink in hand.

Poe and the Halloween Tradition

Today I want to talk to you about a historic and time-honored Halloween tradition. Something that everyone above a certain age associates with Halloween and Halloween parties. Something you’ll see in many, many Halloween movies. Something that our dear friend Edgar Allan Poe was very familiar with, which he wrote about on more than one occasion. Something that, for many of us, life Halloween would feel incomplete without. I am speaking, of course, of alcohol. So on this spookiest of days, me and this adorable bottle of absinthe I found at the liquor store last week want to share some thoughts about drinking, Poe, our newly adapted Poe piece “A Midnight Dreary”, our upcoming Durham performance thereof, and the way in which those things might be related.

absinthe

Look how little and cute it is!

As I alluded to when last we spoke, Poe had an unfortunate relationship with alcohol. He was unable to control himself in its presence and so he endeavored to teetotal. Unfortunately, the culture of the time regularly found him attending social gatherings where drinking would be expected and he fell from the wagon more than once. While attending these events Poe had a tendency to drink to excess and make a fool of himself, an attribute that he and I share. I can fortunately say that my propensity for blacking out over-imbibing at parties has not seriously damaged my life or prospects, but Mr. Poe cannot say the same, as his drinking problem cost him at least two jobs and twice as many friendships. It is to his credit that he, unlike me (and, hopefully, you), hated the habit and its effect on him and routinely attempted to abstain and distance himself from alcohol, an effort which is no less noble for it having been unsuccessful. I have every confidence that my fine readers can hold their liquor better than poor Edgar, however, and as our upcoming performances are thematically paired with a variety of wines, I encourage you to put the thought of Poe drinking himself to death on the cold autumn streets of Baltimore out of your minds. Contemplate instead how delicious these wines sound, and how appropriately they have been matched by We Happy Few’s Bartender-in-Residence Kerry McGee.

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From Extraordinary Tales, 2013. Directed by Raul Garcia.

First on the docket is The Masque of the Red Death, which is, appropriately for a party, matched with a sparking wine. But not just any sparkling wine. This is a SPECIAL party, to celebrate the end of the world, so ordinary champagne or prosecco would never do (also, there’s nothing scary about champagne, unless you’re exceptionally prone to hangovers). This is an almond-flavored sparkling wine, to give it that extra special decadence, that rich little kick of marzipan. But marzipan isn’t the only thing you can make out of almonds, is it? The more morbid of my readers will recall that the taste or smell of bitter almonds is a telltale sign of cyanide, a popular poison you might recognize as the one that brought down Jonestown but failed to kill famed Russian necromancer Rasputin. While the titular Red Death did not manifest as poison in the wine, but rather as a plague on the countryside, we felt the surprise of the almond flavor in the wine makes a fitting match to the uninvited guest who gate-crashes Prince Prospero’s party.

Next up is The Cask of Amontillado. I will give you three guesses as to what wine we chose for this story.

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That’s right. T-Bird.

Nah, we went with the obvious for this one. Amontillado is a Spanish sherry with a sweet nose that does not exactly translate to the taste, which is much drier than you might expect. The variance between the scent and flavor means that this drink comes with an unexpected surprise, just as the sparking wine did. Similar to the sort of surprise you might encounter if a dear friend had told you about a cask of sherry he had purchased and wanted you to verify the quality of, but then instead he got you drunk and walled you up in his basement. Above all I would say Amontillado tastes like revenge, and much like revenge it is best served cold.

For The Tell-Tale Heart we decided to keep up the bait-and-switch flavor profile we used for the other stories, though the third drink is better known and therefore the twist is less surprising than the others. Our wine of choice for this story is Velvet Moon Cabernet Sauvignon from Trader Joe’s, the #1 store for the wino on a budget. [Trader Joe’s sponsor us please! -KH] Velvet Moon, in the nature of Cab Sauvs everywhere, is fruity and full bodied with a hefty dose of tannins. It has the rich color of arterial blood, the full profile of a satisfied obsession, and the bitterness of regret. That is not to say that you will be left unsatisfied by either the drink or the story, merely that the way something starts is seldom the way that it ends. Sometimes your wine turns bitter on your palate, and sometimes the motiveless murder of a dear friend because he had cataracts results in you shrieking your guilt to the police in an effort to expiate yourself and silence the ceaseless pounding of his impossibly-still-beating heart.

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The Tell-Tale Heart, by David G. Fores.

If these wines sound interesting to you, especially in connection with these chilling stories, brought to the stage by Raven Bonniwell, Kerry McGee, and Jon Reynolds under the direction of Bridget Grace Sheaff, then please join us for “A Midnight Dreary”, to be performed at Spectre Arts in Durham, North Carolina the evenings of November 11th and 12th. For my thousands of readers in the Raleigh-Durham area this should be an easy trip. For those in the greater DC metro area it is a scant four hour drive, and for those of you in the rest of the country and world, I say to you a journey of ten thousand miles would be a small price to pay to see a show of this caliber. If that travel seems a little much for you, however, then fear not! Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, we will have additional performances of this show in January, here in our nation’s capital. Keep an eye on this space and our website and twitter for additional details as they develop. Honestly it would probably be better to just come down to North Carolina on the 11th or 12th, though.

Until next time, I hope you all have a spooky and responsible-drinking good time tonight. Keep your cell phones charged, be sure to check the back seat for killers, and whatever you do, don’t split up.

Keith Hock

Cask of Amontillado: From the Page to the …Bar

Hi everyone! Did you miss me? It’s Keith Hock, We Happy Few’s Production Manager, Technical Director, and, according these new business cards… Blogslave [that can’t be right]. Today I’m here to tell you about something that we did for Halloween. I don’t just want to brag to you about how we did a cool thing that you probably didn’t see (although, in your face, it was awesome), I wanted to talk to you about what we did, why we did it, and how it worked. By the end of this post, if I’ve done my job correctly, you’ll feel like you were really there!

First things first. What did we do that I will spend the next 1500 words talking about? If you would take the time to look at the title of the blog post you’re reading you would realize that it PROBABLY had something to do with The Cask of Amontillado. In point of fact, we performed it, but that’s not all! Not only did we perform Cask, we performed it on Halloween night, and not only THAT, we performed it in Mockingbird Hill, a sherry bar. I would hope that at least the superficial reasons why would do such a thing be obvious, but because I love the sound of my fingers clattering on a keyboard I will explain our reasoning, from the simple to the literary to the practical.

Poe

From a superficial angle, Mockingbird Hill asked us to perform this piece on Halloween because it is a SPOOKY STORY ::wink:: that prominently features a CASK OF SHERRY ::wink, wink::. You would be hard pressed to find a more appropriate choice of story for a Halloween reading for ANY bar, much less one known for its sherry. If you WERE inclined to seek other booze-themed stories to read, however, Poe would probably be a good place to start (much better than that teetotaling racist H. P. Lovecraft). Poe is somewhat of a hero around Mockingbird Hill for his fondness for sherry specifically and drinking in general. He is even more of a figure in his native Baltimore, which seems to have forgiven him for dying penniless, drunk and alone in one of their gutters and has both a football franchise and brewery named in honor of his most famous piece, The Raven.

Poe would be an excellent choice for a Halloween READING, but, as my astute readers may have noted, we did not simply put on a reading, we had a PERFORMANCE, and performances are a horse of a much different color. Poe wrote his stories to be read; at most read aloud. Only once did he set his pen to write a play, and that unfinished, so we must take some liberties and do some adapting to bring his work from the page to the stage. In this, as well, Cask is uniquely suited within Poe’s bibliography for performance. It holds a number of advantages over other stories. It has two characters engaging in dialogue, for example, a trivial-sounding but important mark in its favor. The horror genre being what it is, an investigation of the unknown and unknowable, a mirror in our souls reflecting the darkness surrounding us (or is the mirror on the outside reflecting the darkness within?), stories in the milieu tend to be intensely personal and singly narrated. There is a reason both Lovecraft and Poe preferred to structure their pieces as the diary entries, letters, confessions or reminiscences of men going mad or killing themselves; to fear is to weaken, none would CHOOSE to share their fear unless they had no choice. Even this story, we discover at the end, is a confession of sorts, taking place long after the events described within. However, until it reaches that point, Cask remains more or less a dialogue and, if not unique, certainly unusual in the horror canon, an oddity we will gladly turn to our advantage.

Family Sarnath, by J. Reuter

The Family Sarnath, by J. Reuter, Bill Keane & H. P. Lovecraft

Cask has additional advantages, from a practical perspective; namely, it takes place almost entirely in a creepy cavern, surrounded by darkness and aged bottles of wine, eerily similar to the interior of Mockingbird Hill even before our Montresor, the inimitable Kerry McGee, graced the wall with a handmade banner of the family crest. Compare this setting to The Fall of the House of Usher’s disintegrating mansion, or the overkill oubliette of The Pit & The Pendulum, or The Masque of the Red Death’s seven-roomed Rainbow Party Palace. Creating an appropriate setting can be set aside for a reading, such detail is unnecessary for a reading, but as I’ve said time and again, we put on a PERFORMANCE, and unless your performance is Our Town [never do Our Town], it is useful to your audience to at least create the illusion that your characters are somewhere else than “in a bar on Halloween” or “standing under hot lights surrounded by people”. It doesn’t have to be much (our own Hamlet had nothing more than a box filled with mirrors and some rapidly changing costumes), as long as you demonstrate to your audience that for the next few minutes or hours they are not where they are, but where you want them to be.

From We Happy Few's 2012 production of Hamlet.

From We Happy Few’s 2012 production of Hamlet.

From We Happy Few's 2015 Production of The Cask of Amontillado.  L-R audience members, background Raven Bonniwell, Kerry McGee

From We Happy Few’s 2015 production of The Cask of Amontillado. L-R background Raven Bonniwell, Kerry McGee

But enough about what makes The Cask of Amontillado such an excellent choice for this event. Why, as I have been so insistent, did we choose to do a performance instead of a reading? What was gained by our performing it? Why go through all that trouble?

I am glad you asked. The primary reason is that we are a THEATRE COMPANY, not a literary society. Performances are what we do. This is not to say we are above staged readings, a time-honored tool for approaching and performing scripts that we, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, may be showing off for you in the not-too-distant future. Simply that, in this situation, with this piece, and this setting, it would be a criminal waste of their talent for us to give scripts to Raven Bonniwell and Kerry McGee and then tell them “uh, yeah, just stand there and read it out loud” [Also, I would be fired if I spoke to them that way]. Indeed, Mockingbird Hill HAS in the past simply done staged readings of this piece for Halloween. In the last two years they have realized how much more interesting they can make it by having it staged instead of merely read.

The second, and arguably more interesting, reason, is that it allows us to draw additional meaning from the piece. A cursory glance through the text will tell you that it is absolutely RIDDLED with meaning and references, some more transparent than others (any idiot can suss out the significance of Masonic imagery or the appropriateness of the Montresor banner; how significant is it that it was Carnival, or that the walls are covered in nitre, or that the cask is specifically of Amontillado?  I don’t know, but I would wager that they matter). By staging it we can explore the text more thoroughly, emphasizing some of the meaning and, I dare say, adding some ourselves.

As one might expect from a story that is predominantly set in a labyrinth of crypts and ends with one of the characters entombed behind some fresh masonry and a wall of bones, The Cask of Amontillado trades heavily on a sense of claustrophobia. Time and again we are reminded of the dampness of the environment, the foulness of the air, the bones of Montresors past surrounding, the cramped tunnels and the dreadful solidity of the granite around them. But it is one thing to read of such things, it is another entirely to watch, shoulder to shoulder, crowded in around our actors as they hike through the tunnels into the pit. Barely able to turn around lest they strike an audience member, bound not by their imaginations as to the dimensions of the tunnels but by the reality of their playing space, they bring the audience into the abyss with them, to the point that when they lifted their flambeaux upward to observe the “nitre” on the ceiling, the audience looked as well, though there was nothing on the ceiling but heating ducts! And while the description of Montresor walling Fortunato up in her tomb, laughing and screaming the whole way, is something quite brutal, it doesn’t hold a candle to the finality of a screamed “Yes, for the love of God!” and a door closing on the terrified but very real face of Raven Bonniwell.

From We Happy Few's 2015 production of The Cask of Amontillado. L-R Raven Bonniwell (Fortunado), Kerry McGee (Montresor)

From We Happy Few’s 2015 production of The Cask of Amontillado. L-R Raven Bonniwell (Fortunato), Kerry McGee (Montresor)

In this way we can accentuate what is already there. But what of adding our own meaning, as I alluded to earlier? It is also very doable (I would never lie to you) and in this case it is accomplished by the exact same means; the crowd surrounding them. As you may recall, at the very end we discover that this murder was committed some 50 years before, and that the remains have not been disturbed in that intervening time; indeed would be difficult to even find re-concealed behind the bones. And we have noticed that Montresor is at some pains to conceal her crime; in addition to sending her staff away, she chooses the bottommost crypt in her family’s creepy labyrinth of a wine cellar, and seals Fortunato away behind both a wall of bricks and a pile of bones. Note also that, though she had her rapier, she did not stab Fortunato, simply left her to starve, eliminating the potential for a bloody weapon in her possession. Montresor has completely concealed her crime and, within the context of the story, her explanation at the end is little more than an opportunity to reveal the 50 years twist (with a minor twinge of guilt). With an audience, however, her final pronouncement changes the tenor of the whole venture; her attitude (at least in Kerry McGee’s capable hands) changes to a taunting gloat to an appreciative audience. In other hands, with different motives or a simple framing mechanism (even a different setting or new costumes) it could be a confession to a priest or detective, a confrontation with a new generation of Fortunato, an explanation for a new generation of Montresor, the raving of a lunatic…options as wide as your director and actors’ imaginations.

I hope you all enjoyed my lengthy and pedantic explanation of our choices and methods in our recent performance of The Cask of Amontillado. If you liked this, please let me know! If you hated it, let me know that as well! I’m not going to stop writing these anytime soon, though, in fact you should expect another one later this month. As we expand our wheelhouse beyond the Elizabethan and begin to explore more and different pieces, you will find me there, to ruin the mystery and explain the magic. Until next time,

I have the honor to be, Yr Obedient Servant,

K. Hock