Cyrano de Bergerac: Poets, words, and truth

 Cyrano de Bergerac: the pen is mightier?

When I came across Cyrano de Bergerac I was struck by how self-consciously contrived it was. It’s a work of fiction, yes, but it’s actually not very often we find stories that are aware of their fictionality, let alone lean into that element. Musical theatre might be an example of a genre which embraces its own fictionality and asks its audiences to do the same - to let go of reality and fully escape into fiction. With Cyrano what we have is a story which at its core makes use of poetry as a means of communication, with all the characters speaking in verse and narrating through poetry. Since this story is a play, we can also think about the particular conditions of the theatre: actors performing roles, having memorised their lines and their cues, whilst wearing costumes and make-up. Everything about the play suddenly becomes very self-conscious. Cyrano’s circumstances (cursed as he is with an abnormally large nose) and his complex around his apparent ugliness take on a whole other dimension when we understand the importance of words and poetry in this story. If a person’s true nature can be divined from their words, then surely beauty comes from within!

“Beauty comes from within.” A problematic phrase, when you think about it, because it’s so essentialising. Let’s not ignore the fact that some people really are nice to look at! Cyrano’s words have real beauty and express true feelings of love, but the means by which he deceives Roxanne and Christian are twisted with betrayal. Cyrano may have beauty in his true self, but his poetry cannot be all we rely on to assess his character. What about his motives, his belligerence, his ego, his anger? Can he be beautiful with these things too? He’s honourable, fiercely loyal, selfless, and principled. Those qualities might make him a better man than some, but are they “enough”? 

Words, perhaps, are not enough. Words can be a means of accessing something deep within the self - perhaps a true self, free from the trappings of the body. Words can be constructed into poetry, into love letters, into playscripts, novels, and screenplays. Words can speak truths we dare not speak aloud, but they can also tell lies. Words do not always say what they mean, and they often fail us. Words are not always reliable. Where else, then, might we find a person’s true beauty? Cyrano seems not to know, and is unable to give us a concrete answer. Words are important - of course they are - but maybe what Cyrano tells us is that we mustn’t place such weight on words that we forget to live outside of our minds and become trapped, lost in letters, words, and sentences. 

Given the self-consciousness of poetry and poets in Cyrano, it should come as no surprise that Joe Wright thought it proper to create a musical film adaptation of the story. I have to say that as far as musicals go, it could be better, but it’s the decision in the first place I’m more interested in because it reveals a strong connection between music and poetry, not just in expected ways. For people who aren’t fans of musical theatre, the main problem is often that musical theatre feels too unreal, and the songs take the viewer out of the story, and that’s a valid criticism. Nothing about bursting into song in the middle of an intense death scene feels particularly real, but in Cyrano I think that actually really works. What’s under scrutiny is the futility of words and the inefficacy of expression. How can a song - poetry to music - really encapsulate the raw emotions of a grieving lover, or unrequited love, or the anguish and heartbreak of betrayal? These are things we can give a name to but can’t necessarily describe. They escape description.