Great Works in Evil Literature: 'The Revenger's Tragedy'

by Lady Unpleasantries

Welcome to the first installment of Great Works in Evil Literature, bringing you the best in unpleasant written work and links to contemporary remakes for those of you too lazy to read the originals. Philistines.

The Revenger's Tragedy.jpg

I dug through my massive library for all of twenty seconds to find today's spotlight. It's an obvious choice. The Revenger's Tragedy, by an unknown author (usually credited as either Cyril Tourneur or Thomas Middleton), published around 1607 or so.

The Duke murders Vindice's fiance Gloriana when she refuses to sleep with him, and Vindice is righteously pissed. Instead of beating the Duke to a bloody pulp at the first opportunity like the rest of us would do, he waits. We're not talking about waiting for a couple of hours while you stock up on garbage bags and shower curtains, we're talking years. While Vindice bides his time, the Duke's youngest son rapes lord Antonio's wife and manages to avoid the noose. The Duchess is busy falling in love with the Duke's bastard son Spurio, because it's totally natural to lust after your husband's illegitimate child while your son is on trial for rape.

Vindice dresses up in the seventeenth century equivalent of velvet and leopard print and calls himself Piato the Pimp (except "the Pimp" is more implied than actually spelled out, but Piato the Pimp is just so catchy) and joins the Duke's court. While undercover, Piato/Vindice offers his sister to the Duke's son Lussurioso so that he can tell the young noble that his mom and step-brother are at it like bunnies behind yonder curtain. The poor guy runs behind yonder curtain with his sword drawn only to catch mom and dad in the sack. The Duke, thinking that Lussurioso is here to kill him and usurp the throne, throws the traumatized youth into prison and meets up with Piato/Vindici to set up some private time with a whore. Vindici agrees and sets up the date, which apparently takes place in a very dark, very perfume-doused room. I make this assumption because Vindice dresses up the several year-old corpse of his fiance and covers her in poison. When the Duke wanders in, he somehow misses the fact that the body he's having sex with is basically a skeleton with a little bit of skin still clinging to it. Vindice reveals the delightful surprise to a no-longer excited Duke, who is slowly dying of either the poison or sheer disgust. He manages to stay alive just long enough to see his wife have sex with his son, though.

While all of this loveliness is happening, the Duke's other two sons accidentally get their younger brother executed while trying to get Lussurioso killed for treason. Whoops.

Vindice shows up at the end and kills everybody except Antonio, who's wife was raped by the Duke's kid back in the beginning, and Antonio arrests Vindice and his brother for being so royally fucked up.

But at least Vindice's sister never slept with Lussurioso, so that's good.

Too lazy to read the play? Watch the movie.

This concludes today's Great Works in Evil Literature. I'd say it was a pleasure condensing one of literature's greatest works for you, but I'd be lying. I hate you all. Pick up a book, you lazy fools.

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Comments

So... Is Vindice the origin of the word vindication, or did he get named Vindice after the word?

The Aristocrats!

Isn't watching the film (not a contemporary remake, but a film version of the play) the most accurate way of experiencing a classic work of Jacobian tragedy (other than seeing it live)?

Are renaissance era plays meant to be seen, or are they meant to be read?

Anyways, yeah, it's a good one.

Plus, Christopher Eccleston.

All of the characters in this play were named because their name means something. Vindice was named because it means "revenger" or "avenger of wrongdoing," his sister is named Castizia because it means "chaste," etc.

As for watching a version of the play live or a film of the play... maybe. I feel incomplete if I don't read the original, but that could be because I'm an elitist ass and I like to make myself feel superior by having read 17th century British literature.

I played one of the Duke's other two (idiot) sons in college. We set the production in fascist Italy, so I got to play a mobster and had a butterfly knife in my hand constantly so whenever I didn't know what to do with my hands I'd just flip the knife open and closed. The director was really insistent on the proper weight of my little brother's head when it was in the sack. "Heads are bloody heavy!"'

All in all a fine choice of evil literature.

Captain Cursor, reading that comment just made my afternoon.

Good article, but what I really want to point out is that your bylines always seem to be misspelled.

I've had low-quality tires on my car before, and as bad as that can be (especially in the rain) I'm guessing "Lady Unpleasantires" doesn't quite put out the right evil vibe.

Fixed, but I think we have to kill you now for noticing and pointing out an error.

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