(32) King Lear

I really liked this one, in all its dark nihilism. This one breaks bad really fast, and stays bad, and then gets worse. It’s the most tragic tragedy I have yet read, darker and more bleak than Hamlet, devoid of the love and romance of Romeo and Juliet, empty of the somewhat uplifting martial pomp of Julius Caesar. This play is about death…lonely, meaningless, empty death, with a little betrayal and cruelty sprinkled in, for good measure. Hey ho!

To summarize: King Lear decides to retire and divide his kingdom between his three daughters. However, he demands that they profess their love for him first to “earn” their share. The two eldest profess their love (falsely), in the most flattering language possible, and are rewarded for their lies. The youngest (the great character Cordelia), refuses to play along (although she loves him most and is his favorite) and is thus banished from the kingdom. No soup for you! It’s all downhill after Cordelia gets the boot, a tale of usurping sons and gouged out eyes, of disturbing madness and unmitigated disaster. And a very foolish Fool (but more on that in a minute).

There’s so much interesting symbolism and imagery in this one, all so well placed and perfectly integrated. For example, the famous storm, in the middle of the play, that confronts Lear after he’s been turned out of his daughter’s house (there’s a lot of “turning out” in this one. Come to think of it, there’s a lot of everything in this one. With this play especially, it’s easy to see how someone could make a career out of studying a single Shakespeare play. It’s that full).

This storm, and the immortal line “Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!” spoken by a half mad, enraged Lear sure seems to me to be Shakespeare at the top of his game. It all comes together in this one and it’s the kind of thing that you can turn over and over in your mind, while waiting in line at the grocery store or painting the kitchen, considering and reconsidering what this and that means or does not mean, what this line says and doesn’t say. Probably more so than any play, I can guarantee I will be reading this one again. It seems like the right thing to do. A requirement.

One other thing I found really interesting about this one (and along the lines of what I am ranting about above) is the Fool, perhaps the most interesting and creative Fool I have yet come across (save Falstaff, if you count him a fool). Lear’s Fool is all black comedy, winding words and images into twisted diatribes against everyone and everything. As an artistic vehicle, he’s just really great, an effective foil and provocateur, setting up and knocking down (and about) themes, motifs, and plot like a bull in a china shop. And, he’s in the play a lot, or at least it seems that way. Take, for example, these lines in the Act I, Scene 4, a very “fool-heavy” act (and therefore one of my favorite Acts in the play):

Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for
her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better
than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art nothing.
[To Goneril] Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your face
bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum!
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.
[Points at Lear] That's a sheal'd peascod.

Here’s the No Fear Shakespeare “translation,” as a helpful reference:

(to LEAR) You were better off when you didn’t have to care whether she frowned or not. Now you’re a big zero, with no digit in front of it to give it value. I’m better than you are—I’m a fool and you’re nothing.
(to GONERIL) Yes, I promise I’ll shut up. That’s what you’re telling me with that expression on your face, even though you don’t say anything. Mum, mum,
The man who gives away his crust and his crumbs
Will discover that he needs some crumbs back.
(pointing at LEAR) That guy is an empty pea pod.

He’s like this throughout. Shakespeare has the Fool speaking to many and none, calling out and gesturing, riddling and rhyming, all over the place. It’s really something, a command performance, and I am leaving this play (for now) with a distinct memory of him. As much as all the death and tragedy, of all the daughters and fathers, of all the plucked out eyes and tormented souls, the Fool really sticks with you as much, if not more, than anything.

Happy Birthday!

Happy 450^th birthday old man! You were the greatest writer to ever live and your works changed the world. Although we don’t exactly know when you were born, the 23^rd of April (St George’s Day in England) has been the traditional date used throughout time (it’s a pretty educated guess actually and has the added bonus of being the date of his death as well, in 1616. So there).

King Lear at the Zaatari Refugee Camp

I found this Times photo essay both sad and wonderful. I wonder what the full story is behind this? It is a curious choice, King Lear. Given the circumstances, is it wise to chose one of Shakespeare's most tragic tragedies to show to a bunch of displaced refugees? Perhaps there's solace in affinity. Also, apparently it wasn't a totally faithful production in that "a few scenes from “Hamlet” had been spliced in with “Lear,” making the story hard to follow." That's quite alright. They are surely forgiven. They can splice in scenes from Baywatch if it makes them feel better. Poor people. Whatever it takes.

Sorry for the long break in posts. Life intervened. Hopefully I'll be posting shortly on Lear as I am just finishing it (and watching the movie). Then it's on to the last few plays. Also, the BIG news of course is that tomorrow is the Bard's 450th birthday. Happy birthday eve you old coot! Perhaps a post on that tomorrow as well.

(31) Timon of Athens

Timon of Athens is perhaps one of the easiest Shakespeare plays to summarize (Oh, and a quick side note here. Timon rhymes with Simon, not Seamen. I ran around like a dope for a week thinking the title character’s name rhymed with the latter. It doesn’t, so don’t make my mistake. It’s “Tie-mon,” got it?). Anyway, a summary: Timon, a generous man, gives away his entire fortune to his “friends,” eventually going into debt. To get out of debt, he calls these same guys back to ask for loans. They refuse and Timon goes nuts, transforming in extreme from an altruistic gadabout to a cantankerous misanthrope. Finally, he dies, miserable and alone. Happy times!

For me, the play was a cautionary tale heavily centered on the idea of choosing your friends wisely, or, more accurately, understanding and properly dealing with the people around you, especially when you have power (in this case, power in wealth). I saw a really great live production of this play first, and then read it, reversing my typical approach (see, then read as opposed to read, then see). I’m glad I did it this way, especially with this play. It saved it for me, enabling me to understand the merits of the play much better (and easier) than I would have if I had only read it, or even read it first. Because this play had such a singular message, more so than most of the other plays I’ve read, I may have gotten lost a bit in the repetitive nature of the theme. But, at the risk of stating the obvious, the live version, among many other things, served to expand the boundaries beyond the page, an important thing in this case, adding layers onto the seemingly simple and straightforward message so as to enliven it and make it more real. Plus, the costumes were cool.

The play is rather bleak (it is a tragedy after all). Although there was certainly more to it that just one theme (for example, the idea of a shared responsibility for dysfunctional friendships, or an examination of the madness of extremes), for the most part, I couldn’t get past the laser-like focus on false friendship’s ruin of a generous man. Because of this (and other) reasons, I agree with the general consensus that this is not one of the Bard’s strongest plays. Besides its single-mindedness, it appears that parts of it are unfinished and in need of editing, especially in the later acts. Strange, out of place references and unpolished language litters the final scenes, causing some awkward moments for sure (There also the co-authorship thing. Most experts think Tom Middleton pitched in a bit). But, the first folio guys included it back in 1623, so there it is, Official Shakespeare. For me, I’m glad they did because the text isn’t by any stretch worthless and the live performance I got to see was, by every stretch, excellent.