This Beaumont and Fletcher collaboration starts out great and ends up rather disappointing. Whether this is due to the division between the playwrights - if, say, Beaumont wrote the beginning and Fletcher the end, or vice versa - I don't know and I'll resist looking it up until after I've finished writing this review. Philaster has some good verse, some interesting characters (the libertine Pharamond is particularly good value) and a fascinating set-up: in some ways it's obviously a re-writing of Hamlet but with a bit of Twelfth Night and maybe a hint of Coriolanus, and with a focus on lust and sexual scandal that feels akin to Jacobean city comedy. However, Philaster himself is a bit of an idiot, and things start to get silly in Act 3 and sillier in Act 4. Fletcher himself famously defined a tragicomedy as a play that "wants deaths, which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet brings some neere it, which is inough to make it no comedie"—but the "neere it" here consists of some histrionics and suicide threats from Philaster, and an exchange of flesh wounds between three characters, two major and one minor. The resolution (enter the citizenry) has been set up well in advance, but the mob itself feels like it has been parachuted in from another play: a poor man's Henry IV, perhaps. The Arden editor, Suzanne Gossett, writes that, if performed today, "with a little inventiveness Philaster can still please"—but I can't see it being a big hit.
Division of authorship? Seems to have been split up throughout the play. Oh well.