Antonin Artaud, in his seminal book The Theatre and Its Double, writes that the raison d’être of theatre is to revive our repressed desires. Theatre expresses strange actions through a poetic, brutal, and wild language to unveil the deep, untamed forces that lie dormant within us. Artaud believed the world around us lulls everything into sleep and stillness, whereas true theatre is so alive that it can awaken even the dead. A stage actor, in this sense, can violently tear through the surface of things, destroy them, so that something enduring may emerge from within.
Thus, theatre becomes a performance of the truth of life. According to Artaud, we are not merely recording devices for life; rather, it is theatre that must assist us in shaping a fearless and unrestrained human being—someone capable of mastering, or even creating, a reality that does not yet exist.
By inducing a delirious state in the soul, theatre must stir dormant energies into frenzy and eliminate the suffocating stillness that permeates our senses. This is how we become aware of our own power and develop an active presence in the face of fate. Artaud was formulating these ideas in the 19th century, with the intention of saving humanity from barbarism through what he termed the Theatre of Cruelty.
For Artaud, cruelty is not sadistic action, but a psychological state in which the spectator is confronted with themselves and with reality. However, this essay does not aim to delve into Artaud’s concept of the Theatre of Cruelty or its staging techniques. Artaud discusses a powerful example of performed cruelty in this book and uses the play ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, which profoundly influenced him, to clarify his concepts.
The central question here is: why is the depiction of explicit violence in a theatrical work important—and why does it remain so today? And how did writers of earlier eras, particularly during the Elizabethan period, detach violence from its social context to redefine it in service of their dramatic intentions?
In the 17th century, John Ford, an Elizabethan/Jacobean playwright, wrote a significant tragedy: ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore—a domestic drama centered around the romantic relationship between a brother and sister that leads to a chain of vengeance and killings.
The incestuous relationship, the bloodshed, and the eventual murder of each character—culminating in the sister’s death and the unborn child she carries during a passionate kiss—make the play one of the most controversial works in English literary history.
Although the taboo relationship forms the core of the drama, it actually reflects the decay of the society in which this narrative unfolds. Each character defines the law according to their own interests, even if it means others must die. Importantly, instead of highlighting the protagonist’s conscious or unconscious mistake, the play emphasizes the collective destructive forces among individuals.
The audience is not provided with a predetermined moral judgment. They are constantly evaluating the sincere yet forbidden love of the siblings against the jealous, hypocritical, and vindictive behaviors of society. Despite having clear moral frameworks, spectators struggle to wholly condemn the forbidden love they witness.
By placing the audience at this crossroads between sympathy and judgment, Ford manipulates and activates their engagement.
Artaud sees in this play the embodiment of a determined will—one that does not shy away from anything in pursuit of its goal—transforming the protagonist into a fearless and bold hero. For the lover, nothing matters except the beloved and the fulfillment of their desire. The play’s extreme violence affirms the lovers’ devotion as they stand fully against fate and society. Ultimately, one of them eliminates anyone who tries to punish their love and rushes toward death.
Here, theatre summons forces to return the soul to the source of its inner conflicts. Authentic theatre has the power to identify the sources of cruelty in a society or individual and, like lancing a boil, bring forth and purge the festering fluids. For Artaud, a performance of freedom means portraying a character who, through unwavering will, becomes a passionate and majestic being.
Freedom, for him, is always entwined with love, eros, and the dominance of one force over another. Hence, the greatest and most valuable myths are often depicted in dark and bloody settings.
When audiences, numbed by their stagnant existence, witness this kind of violence—violence interwoven with life itself—they are stirred to a new awareness of their condition.
Such violence is abundant in Elizabethan theatre. For example, The Spanish Tragedy by Thomas Kyd in the 16th century was a major popular success and led to the development of the “revenge tragedy” genre—an influence so significant that the play is often considered a precursor to Hamlet.
In Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II, one of England’s earliest historical dramas, we again see the raw portrayal of violence. The play vividly shows how external pressures shape Edward II, a king unable to attain his personal desires.
Another tale of forbidden love emerges here, where the monarch is tortured and punished, and the accompanying violence evokes both pity and revulsion in the audience. Even in Faust, we see intense inner turmoil expressed in soliloquies that deeply affect the viewer.
Shakespeare, too, presents abundant violence in his works, but what stands out is not merely the acts themselves, but his deeper concern: evoking empathetic, compassionate responses from the audience while broadening their perspectives. His tragedies offer spectators a vantage point that allows them to comprehend the intricate web of relationships and destructive forces on stage.
This grants the viewer a privileged insight, one that contrasts with the limited perspectives of those involved in the events.
In all successful representations of violence in Elizabethan theatre, one common outcome is evident: the audience deeply understands the protagonist’s experience and—by seeing their decision-making context—gains insight into the contradictory values and structures shaping this bloody scenario.
For these tragic heroes, there is a moment of anagnorisis—a recognition scene—that transcends text and performance, captivating the audience.
At this moment, the character finds meaning in what has happened to them, as though they, too, now share the audience’s perspective—judging or mourning their own actions.
But beyond the accomplishments of these plays, what makes Ford’s work stand out in its depiction of cruelty and violence?
Ford’s innovation lies in his refusal to use extreme experience as a vehicle for a simplistic moral lesson or to generate a single emotional response to tragedy. His play features two protagonists, and thus, two moments of recognition—each representing a completely opposing viewpoint.
The tragedy produces a distinct insight in each central character: Annabella (the sister) adopts a repentant stance aligned with Christian morality, while Giovanni (the brother) maintains personal conviction and resolve, standing against those very values.
This tragic contradiction forces the audience to choose. Since the metaphysical structure of the play avoids endorsing either stance, the viewer may see religious morality as passive but wise, and the personal stance as compelling yet counter to dominant norms.
Thus, this Jacobean tragedy reads like an indictment of both individual and society—dragging both the heroes and the values that have manipulated them into question.
Shakespeare, in his later works, attempts a similar tension not by strengthening antagonists but by separating the perspectives of protagonist and audience. He does this by eliminating soliloquies, distancing the viewer from the protagonist’s inner world.
As a result, while the hero remains central to the action, the surrounding people and events hold secondary importance.
In these plays, violence is not used merely for emotional manipulation or to satisfy a voyeuristic craving for brutality. Instead, the authors aimed to confront opposing ideas at their most intense, highlighting the destructive forces in society that strip humans of agency, reason, and action.
Their protagonists might pursue freedom and personal desire with determination—even at the cost of their lives, or by actively choosing self-destruction.
Perhaps Giovanni’s glinting dagger can rouse a dreaming spectator—one who dreams with open eyes—from their slumber.