More importantly, though, I think genre sets up certain expectations for us when we engage with a text.  I have used the example in the past of the film The Break Up, which I think is a bit of a genre bender.  If we are expecting a typical Hollywood happily-ever-after romantic comedy, this film might disappoint.  In fact, it treads a little too closely to the “real life” quarrels too many of us face at home day in and day out to be quite funny, after a while.  Surely that undermines our expectations for a nice escape at the cinema, doesn’t it?

That is how genre works.  When I know I am watching an action film, I know what to expect.  When I watch a romantic comedy, I likewise know what I should see even before the film begins (and it better be different than what I see when I watch that action film).  And I think it is these expectations that make Cymbeline (and other plays like it) classified as “problem plays” when it comes to the question of genre. 

Originally classified as a comedy, Cymbeline soon after fell into some problems on the genre front.  I personally prefer the label “romance” to any other that is often used for this play.  Northrop Frye, in his Anatomy of Criticism, ties romance to “the mythos of summer” (p. 186).  In beginning his description of romance, Frye says that “the virtuous heroes and beautiful heroines represent the ideals and the villains the threats to their ascendency” (p. 186).  I briefly mentioned the importance of the relationship between hero and villain  in the play in my last post, so I will just say here that this description of a romance seems to me to line up pretty well with what we see in Cymbeline.  I think that when we adjust our expectations of the play to fit the norms of romance, it becomes a very enjoyable read.

A quick recap, then, of what one might expect from a romance should be useful here.  First and foremost, according to Frye’s very astute description, a romance is about adventure (p. 186).  A tale of a quest is one of the most outstanding features of these romance adventures, and in its most complete form, we see a perilous journey, preliminary minor adventures, the crucial struggle, some kind of battle where the hero or the villain (sometimes both) dies, and finally the exaltation of the hero (p. 187).  Conflict, according to Frye, is the “archetypal theme” in romance (p. 192).  Even a surface knowledge of Cymbeline shows that all of this is precisely true of the play.

For me, I view Imogen as the hero of the play.  Her perilous journey begins when she leaves home.  Imogen’s preliminary minor adventures, her encounters with both Iachimo and Cloten, occur before this and lead up to her beginning her journey.  The crucial struggle is, I think, held in Act 3, Scene 4, where Imogen learns of her husband’s plan to have her killed.  The battle and death occur when Cloten is beheaded, and Imogen encounters the corpse.  The exaltation begins when her brothers believe her dead, but is really culminated in the final scene when virtually all of the characters (at least those still living) have something to say in her praise.

By keeping these genre expectations in mind, I think we take the “problem” out of this play.  It is when we are looking for, say, a “straight” comedy that we will find the play problematic, I think.  Cymbeline bears only so much resemblance to plays like A Midsummer Night’s Dream or As You Like It, which are more clearly defined as comedies.  Even Twelfth Night, which is somewhat edgier and darker than those two plays, is more clearly defined as a comedy.  I think Cymbeline is most easily grouped as a romance with several of Shakespeare’s other late plays, such as we see in David Bevington’s anthology. 

Interestingly, the genres of science fiction and fantasy are often similarly romance-structured and romance-based.  I have found it to be a fun exercise to think about sci-fi or fantasy films and books that bear some generic resemblance to Shakespeare’s late romances.  For instance, when we think of children taken from their parents ultimately bringing order back to a chaotic world, and doing so through a quest story, this can be said to be a description the basic plot structure of both Cymbeline and Star Wars.  A child estranged from his family, only to eradicate the evil from his world  and bring in a new time of peace -- is this not the tale of both Imogen and Harry Potter?  The list could go on and on, but I think the general idea is clear enough.

Cymbeline’s nearest “relative” in the Shakespearean canon, The Tempest, has been masterfully retold as a sci-fi film.  The 1956 (now classic) film The Forbidden Planet does an excellent job recasting the story into a new setting, and even with the twists and turns, it is still a recognizable retelling of The Tempest.  To me, this only serves to highlight the generic kinship between the two texts.

Articles in this series:         [1]         [2]          [3]         [4]

©2007 Shelly Bryant

Frye, Northrop.  Anatomy of Criticism.  Princeton:  Princeton University

      Press, 1957.