In reference to article by Lupton, Julia Reinhard. “Creature Caliban.” Shakespeare Quarterly, Vol. 51, No. 1 (Spring, 2000), 1-23.

Synopsis:

Lupton introduces her essay with various definitions of creature. She then discusses the relationship of Caliban with the likes of Adam and Leviathan – the extremes between human and creature. Throughout her article, Lupton follows the creation of Caliban not only through the composition of Caliban, but also the capacity for change in Caliban.

Lupton throws out ideas that appear to be incredulous, but brings in the support two to three pages later. This style makes for a difficult read because she creates doubt first and then proves her point before repeating the cycle. After absorbing her entire argument, I like the way she started with the Latin breakdown of creature as “creat- indicating the ordered composition of humanity and the –ura¬ signaling its risky capacities for increase and change, foison and fusion” (2). Lupton rightly describes a creature as a slave to its Creator, but equates Prospero with Caliban’s creator. Prospero does become Caliban’s master, but cannot be seen as his creator. Prospero facilitates the learning process of Caliban, yet is not responsible for the origin of Caliban.
Prospero describes Caliban as an “earthen creature,” giving Lupton the liberty to compare Caliban to Adam. She tries to directly link Caliban to Adam through a “thing made of earth” philosophy, raising, however, an objection to her own statement later in the same paragraph stating that Caliban “bears no obvious resemblance to his Creator” (8). In this passage, referring to God as the Creator, Lupton relies on the Biblical theory that man is created in the image of God. Two thoughts come to mind: 1) Caliban cannot be equated with Adam because Caliban is not human and does not resemble Adam, meaning Caliban cannot resemble his Creator, and 2) Because God does not take a form, it is implied that every and all beings are created in his image (God is in all) – in this case, Caliban does bear resemblance to his Creator. Either interpretation leaves a hole in Lupton’s argument. Through an erroneous argument, she is right in both cases.
Lupton contradicts herself when she states that Caliban is a creature “without a reflex toward the Creator and also without recourse to a subjective or sexual relation” (13). She later discourses on Caliban’s attempt to rape Miranda and “desire to have ‘peopled . . . / This isle with Calibans’” (18). I agree that Caliban is destined to be alone, but his dialogue shows that he has a desire to leave a legacy. Leaving a legacy would add meaning and legitimacy to Caliban’s life (reminiscent of Shakespeare’s theme in the “young man” sonnets). Lupton then notes, “Caliban shares Adam’s sexual passion, but like Leviathan, never finds a mate” (21). In doing so, she has conceded that Caliban does have sexual desires, and he could have had a sexual relationship with a human. However, she draws a comparison of Caliban to a monster, Leviathan – away from any comparison of Caliban to a human. Her logic shows that because Caliban is commanded not to have sex with Miranda, his only female option on the island, he is associated with Leviathan, a male beast that has no possible female counterpart anywhere in the world. The loophole rests in the possibility that Caliban could have had sexual relations with Miranda. Lupton’s process could be applied to a priest – is he a monster to be compared to Leviathan because he has been commanded not to have sex?
After seeing a performance of The Tempest, I was interested in studying more about Caliban – who he really is. Lupton answered a few questions for me while raising even more questions. In reading this article, the disagreements that I have in Lupton’s views forced me to create my own views on Caliban, and I thank her for inducing that effect in me.

Shakespeare in the park – Tempest - Summer 2005

The performance of The Tempest in St. Louis was wonderfully produced to appeal to all ages. Although the set was of a minimalist design, it was perfect for the production. The wrecked ship was placed upon its side and at a diagonal angle with the bow in the air – approximately half of the ship was missing. The deck was facing the audience, and the mast had been broken off at the base. A hinged panel on the ship dropped down to display the inside of Prospero’s dwelling. When the ship was in the scene, the lighting was a golden brown hue. At all other times the ship was cast with white light, making it appear as the gray face of a cliff. Two small water pools were incorporated into the front edge of the stage, and stage right was comprised of an eight to ten foot mass of rock with a trail leading upstage and off. Prospero made his “hidden” entrances from the peak of the ship’s bow, which was approximately twenty feet above the stage. The actors also incorporated the audience area as part of the set.
Prospero was performed commandingly as should be. The performance of Ariel demonstrated the love and loyalty that she had for Prospero. Trinculo was performed in a loony manner that contained hints of the Three Stooges and the Marx brothers.
The only characterization that bothered me was the portrayal of Caliban with a Lenny (Of Mice and Men) voice – or, more closely, the Warner Brothers cartoon dog that spoofed Lenny. Caliban is an intelligent creature, but the Lenny voice created a dumbing down effect. The children at the performance enjoyed the characterization of Caliban, but I felt that it detracted from the drama almost as much as the creepy “Muahh, ha, ha” laugh of the guy sitting in front of me. Caliban was also depicted as a hairy centaur-like creature instead of a fish-man – once again probably to make him more appealing to the children in the audience.
Overall, I left the experience with the tingly feeling that I had hoped to achieve. The language flowed from one character to another when it was necessary, and it sounded conversational in parts that required it. Trinculo and Stephano play off each other perfectly – demonstrating the smoothness of Shakespeare’s language. Trinculo’s wit and banter appealed to me the most – the actor adding in grunts and sighs appropriately. The minimal lighting effects (changes in color only) did not create the magic, but the poetic language and the blocking of the scenes. The slow motion and/or freezing of actors during Ariel’s magic brought reality to the performance.