In Shakespeare's bloody tragedy Titus Andronicus, one of the main events that spurs the actions of the play forward is the rape and mutilation of Lavinia, daughter of title character Titus Andronicus and the wife to Basinius. Throughout the play, Lavinia is portrayed as a demure and quiet woman who follows along with the will of the men around her; she is without agency even before her ability to communicate is stripped from her. Upon arriving at the 7 Stages theater to view the female-centric retelling of Titus Andronicus, newly titled Tit, I was anxious that I would be seeing Lavinia discounted as just another toy for the more active characters. Directors Elizabeth Dinkova and Jesse Rassmussen exceeded my expectations, however, by making Lavinia the narrator, thereby giving her a voice and autonomy that is strikingly poignant, especially in contrast with her original role.
In the original play of Titus Andronicus, Lavinia never appears to make any decisions of her own and has no agency over what happens to her. Her marriage and all life choices made thereafter are decided for her by her father, husband, and enemies, leaving no room for Lavinia to speak her mind even before her tongue is removed. Even her death comes about only as a means for Titus himself to feel better about the shame that he feels in regards to Lavinia's rape and mutilation. Titus exclaims, "Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee, / And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die," (Titus Andronicus 5.3.__), indicating to readers that those surrounding Lavinia did not view her as a being capable of purpose beyond their own uses for her. In Tit, however, Dinkova and Rassmussen establish Lavinia as not only a person with a voice of her own, but the person who embodies the voice of Rome itself.
Throughout Act One, Lavinia is the character who most often steps forward to express her innermost thoughts through asides and songs written specifically for Tit. Complementing melodies, repeated rhythms, and echoed lyrics draw ties between Lavinia's conflicted heart and the divided political state of Rome, and between the deterioration of Rome and Lavinia's own sufferings. These analogies lead the audience to understand that Lavinia is meant to be a parallel to Rome itself; in other words, Lavinia is the voice of Rome. Thanks to the directors change of course, Lavinia's character is no longer merely a pawn to be passed around by the major players of the story, but rather the main character who embodies the values and the ideas that are being examined within the context of the story, while her newfound voice amid her suffering acts as a conduit that affords the audience a glimpse into a character that formerly went unheard.
Far too often, the suffering of women within literature and classic texts is glossed over or used merely as motivation for other characters deemed more important. Tit masterfully defies this trope by putting Lavinia in a central position on stage and in the story. The decision to give Lavinia a voice and an outlet for her internal conflict and external sufferings transforms the play and puts a heartrending perspective on a character who had otherwise been used as a prop for others' motivations. Thanks to said decision, the play is transformed from one of senseless violence to one that contemplates the internal mindscape of those caught up in such violence. Lavinia's role change transforms the entire play, and this transformation is only more stirring when compared to the original play.
