Editor’s Note: The below is derived from a piece about two theatrical productions, including The Originalist (of course), in the current issue of National Review.
When you walked into the theater, they handed you a copy of the Constitution. They don’t do this at every show — not even Hamilton (as far as I know).
The show was The Originalist, a play about Antonin Scalia, the late Supreme Court justice. It was first staged in 2015, a year before Scalia’s death. According to news reports, he never saw it — by his own choice. Since its premiere, the play has been staged all over the country.
I saw it in New York a few weeks ago.
There has also been an opera about Scalia — or rather, about Scalia and Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg both. They were good friends and fellow opera lovers. The opera about them is Scalia/Ginsburg, by Derrick Wang (who serves as both composer and librettist, à la Wagner).
The Originalist is by John Strand, a playwright with an obvious taste for politics: Another work of his is Three Nights in Tehran, about the Iran-Contra affair. The Originalist is set late in Scalia’s career, specifically the 2012–13 Supreme Court term.
Let me complain a little (as well as praise).
The Originalist opens with a bit of opera — the Brindisi from Verdi’s Traviata. Scalia enters, pronouncing it “exquisite.” This is an odd word to apply to a rollicking drinking song, but be that as it may. Scalia then says that opera is “the most complete and demanding art form.” Again, a little odd: Most of us think that opera is pretty loose and flexible, but . . .
That discussion is for another day.
There is more music in the show, not all of it operatic. Kreisler’s Liebesleid, for example. And a bit of the German Requiem (Brahms). And Mozart’s Mass in C Minor, used to dramatic effect.
In this opening scene, Scalia is talking to a group of law students and related others. He says,
“A great opera by Verdi or Donizetti must always be only what it is. Oh, you can interpret the meaning in different ways. But there is a sanctity to the score. The notes are the notes. They are exactly what the composer composed, now and a hundred years from now.”
The kicker: “That is precisely how I view the Constitution, and thus, the law.”
Nice.
In due course, Scalia is interrupted — practically heckled — by a member of his audience. She asks him challenging questions. Scalia responds tetchily, telling her to shut up and wait her turn, basically. He even appeals to the professor who is responsible for the evening, whinily.
I don’t think the real Scalia would have handled the situation this way.
Eventually, the play’s Scalia engages with the young woman — his heckler — but not as effectively as he might. For example, she brings up abortion, talking of “a woman’s right to do what she wants with her own body.” I don’t think the real Scalia would have let this pass, as the play’s Scalia does.
That was my problem throughout the play: I kept wanting to answer for Scalia, or, even better, have him answer for himself.
The young woman, who challenges him, is Cat, a recent graduate of Harvard Law. She is black, gay, and left-wing. She applies to be Scalia’s clerk — and he accepts her, in part to have a sparring partner. “The term we use here is ‘counter-clerk,’” he says. “Every once in a while, I like to have a liberal around.”
And so the term begins. He will have an effect on her, and she will have an effect on him. It is an excellent idea for a play. And yet Scalia regularly says things that are — hard to imagine out of his mouth.
“Liberals lack ruthlessness when the stakes are high. It is one of the greater flaws in their character.” Really? What an odd thing for a conservative to say. Usually, they (we) complain that liberals are all too ruthless.
At one point, Cat says to Scalia, “What if your own children were gay?” He answers, “Never happen.” “Why not?” she says. He answers, “Because they’re my children.” Cat is stunned — as she should be. How can Scalia be so obtuse? The real one was anything but.
(You may remember that Phyllis Schlafly, the late social-conservative leader, had an openly gay son.)
For my money, the worst part of the play is Brad — another recent Harvard Law grad, whom Scalia has called in to assist Cat with research. He was president of the Republican Club, and he is a perfect ass: scheming, unprincipled, money-grubbing, and nasty. He is not so much a person as a cartoon — a cartoon villain. The contrast with the good and admirable Cat is a mean trick of the play, in my view.
In a shouting match, Cat calls Brad a “neocon,” obviously having no idea what the term means — which is okay, because almost no one else does either.
Cat wants to know what makes Justice Scalia tick, what makes him the right-wing monster he is (according to her law-school friends, among others). Does he have a heart? Is he genuinely human?
I can hardly imagine having such questions about Antonin Scalia, that famous lover of life, singing through the American Songbook (when not at the opera).
When the play was new, its director, Molly Smith (who continues to be its director), said, “This is a boxing match. What the play does is what any good play does: It humanizes the combatants.” Well and good. I guess I’m just a little offended at the idea that Scalia needs humanizing.
There are people who roll with this. While vice president, Dick Cheney liked to say, “They call me ‘Darth Vader.’ I asked my wife why they do this. She said, ‘It humanizes you.’”
Anyway, Cat wants to know what makes Justice Scalia tick. She tells him, “If you were a character in an opera, the audience would be asking: What’s he hiding?” Does the justice perhaps have father issues? Maybe. But Cat and the play zero in on something else: In 2005, President George W. Bush nominated John Roberts to be chief justice instead of elevating Scalia, as he might have done.
The play’s Scalia has very negative things to say about Bush. “Something of a buffoon. Well-meaning, but a shallow thinker.” “He’d always been friendly. But you looked in his eyes, there was nothing there, just . . . He reminded me of a stuffed animal.”
Did Scalia think these things about Bush? I don’t know. I would be surprised.
Back to the play’s theory, or contention, about the “darkness” of Scalia: If not becoming chief justice did it — if failing to become chief justice in 2005 turned Scalia dark — what was he before 2005, i.e., for almost the whole of his career? Little Mary Sunshine?
Even more problematic is this: The play implies that Scalia thought Bush owed him the position of chief justice. Why might that be? Scalia’s vote in Bush v. Gore — quid pro quo, you know.
In a 2015 interview, the playwright, John Strand, was asked about this scene. How had it come about? He answered,
“Part speculation on the playwright’s part, although the topic is explored in Joan Biskupic’s excellent biography of Scalia, American Original. Our character Scalia needs to appear vulnerable at some moment, to have suffered a disappointment, to earn an audience’s empathy.”
I certainly understand Strand’s answer. But, to me, the scene in question makes Scalia look like a petty jerk.
When another playwright, Shakespeare, wrote Richard III, his subject had been dead for more than 100 years. Did Shakespeare use license? No doubt — but Scalia is so recent. He was here about two seconds ago. We know him. And that is why I sat so uncomfortable in my seat.
The play comes to a head over the issue of gay marriage. It seems to me that Scalia is Cat’s foil. The bias of the play is toward gay marriage, I think — and Scalia comes off (in my eyes) as a more learned Archie Bunker.
Till now, I have made no comment on the performance I saw in New York: It was superb. The direction of Molly Smith was ungainsayable (as Bill Buckley might say). So was the portrayal of Scalia by Edward Gero.
Back in 2014, the actor had lunch with the justice. Afterward, Gero said, “His mother’s family and my mother’s family came from villages that were about 10 kilometers apart in Italy, so we don’t have to go too far back to be sharing DNA.” Also, “We’re both from New Jersey. We’re both Roman Catholic.”
A British actress, Tracy Ifeachor, portrayed Cat — superbly. With quickness, charm, and poignancy. (Killer good looks are no hindrance.)
Edward Gero and Tracy Ifeachor in The Originalist (Joan Marcus)
And the guy playing Brad? Well, the character is essentially a cartoon, in my view, so it doesn’t particularly matter.
People involved in this play think it is a triumph of evenhandedness. They have said as much, repeatedly. Val Day, the artistic director of 59E59 Theaters, where The Originalist played in New York, said,
“Whether you come to The Originalist as a conservative or as a liberal, I think you will see that it really doesn’t take sides, but rather portrays a vigorous, aggressive, passionate disagreement in a context of admiration and increasing rapport. It accepts muscle and triumph as agencies of success, but decency and compassion as better measures of a person.”
The director, Smith, said,
“Our country has come a long way politically since The Originalist premiered in March, 2015. Justice Scalia passed away in February, 2016. We have a new President and administration, and nationally the political atmosphere is on fire. We are more polarized now than we were three years ago. Is the dream of finding a middle ground simply naïve?”
No doubt, they have had liberals say that the depiction of Scalia is too generous. And here they have me, a conservative, carping from the other direction. I will concede that the depiction of Scalia could have been much, much worse — more negative. Maybe this is as good as it gets, from the theatrical world. Still, I left the theater thinking that the play had flipped a middle finger at us (at us Scalia-admiring conservatives).
Let me end flippantly (no pun intended). You know what the name of the relevant production company is? “Middle Finger Productions”!
