What's Done, Is Done

It’s time to finish this thing. As jolly old Lady Macbeth would say, “what's done, is done.” I must admit that I enjoyed the ride, probably more than I thought I would. I really liked having this blog on the side, as it were, a sideline activity in an area I always wanted explore in greater detail. So, to finish up, I thought I would list some general thoughts and impressions (bear with me…you made it this far):

1) In some ways, this project has done one main thing for me, that is, show me how ignorant I really am on all things Shakespeare. As I have said before, you could spend a lifetime studying one play, or only one act of one play even, which I’m sure countless people have done (without ever “finishing” of course). So, first and foremost, I now know that I know hardly anything, but at least now I can claim to have some sort of clue, which is something more than clueless.

2) Taking the above observation a bit further, I found that Shakespeare, the idea of Shakespeare, is an idea that extends well beyond the boundaries of his plays, so you have to deal with that expansiveness right away, or be swept off. It is a larger-than-life domain, occupying such a huge space in this world that, when you dive into it, you are confronted by what feels like an endless universe. This is both good and bad. You get a really cool sense of almost total artistic vibrancy, which is good. However, it’s almost always coupled with a strong sense of hopeless, down-the-rabbit-hole ambiguity. Beyond the “actual” plays (actual in quotes here because no one can agree about the exact Shakespearean actuality of any of the plays), there are endless myriads of related books, books about books, experts, expert experts, colleges, professors, theaters, actors, directors, movies, movies about movies, movies about plays, plays about movies, websites, discussion boards, blogs, podcasts, and on and on and on. A huge space. Enormous. Navigating it was daunting but, as I realized early on and as with many things in life, it serves you well to keep it simple. Read the play. Watch a version of it. See it live if you can. Get what you get. Move on. That’s Shakespeare, at least for me, and that’s life, at least for us all, right?

3) Concerning the Shakespeare space, I found two main camps dividing this space: the academics and everyone else. Often, I found that these groups were at odds with one another, while overlapping all the time, in various ways, which was an interesting (and sometimes contentious) dynamic. For example, when friendly, uber-knowledgeable professors would give free lectures to non-academics like me, that was good (great even) but when opinions were offered as valid simply because they were coming from behind a degree, that was, well, not so good. There is this scholarly thing going on with the Bard, and a significant (or just overly vocal?) number of non-academics seem put off when confronted by this sort of snobbery. This I think has led to the perception, hopefully limited, that Shakespeare is only for classrooms, which kind of stinks, however limited, because it diminishes the Bard, making him into something he is most certainly not. If any truth has come out of this project for me, any single learning, it is that Shakespeare is most definitely meant for everybody. The depth and breadth of the Shakespeare universe can (and should) accommodate everyone, no problem, with lots of room to spare. It’s the whole point really, this idea of inclusion. It’s what all great art does. No one owns anything and everyone is invited to the party. This should be obvious, but unfortunately it seems to some extent to have been lost in the shuffle.

4) Speaking of obvious, I didn’t realize how much I would learn about Renaissance Theater and the Elizabethan/Jacobean age. I should have expected this but oddly I didn’t. This was pretty cool, getting a real feeling, however slight, of what it was like to sit through a play in the Globe (or Blackfriars) or having an idea, however limited, of what it was like to live in the England of the 1600’s. The life and times of Shakespeare. Now I know more about this, which I like.

5) There is absolutely no substitute for seeing some version of a play. You can’t just read each one and get everything. Not even close. This also should have been obvious, more obvious than anything probably, but for some reason it wasn’t when I first set out (see the name of this blog). Maybe it’s because I’m an introverted reader-type and, to me, words on a page equal books to sit and read alone. Unfortunately for me, this project would have quickly failed in read-only mode (assuming that it hasn’t failed for the billions of other, wholly valid reasons). Without any exceptions, I would have missed a great deal if I had only read each play, so see them all if you can (in a theater, if possible). I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Shakespeare never personally published anything, so nothing was meant for just reading. Everything he produced was for theaters, to act out, in front of real people, live. These were things to be seen and heard, not just read.

6) The daily references to Shakespeare that started popping up everywhere, all day, every day, was an excellent surprise and just so cool. Like I said before, you don’t have to look for them, they just happen. This, probably more so than anything else, showed me the tremendous impact that this one man has had on all of us, in so many ways, expected and unexpected. The dude is everywhere.

7) One of the main goals of this blog was to force me to critically analyze each play through a reasonably coherent blog posting, so as to sharpen my reading and writing skills. I didn’t want to embarrass myself (not sure I succeeded there), so I worked at it a bit. There was (and is) an importance to these entries for me personally, and I treated them seriously. This blog made a forum for discussion (mostly personal, which was fine actually) where I could seek understanding and clarity on a complex thing…and I liked it, a lot actually, all that thinkin’ and figurin’ and stuff. Although I have mixed feelings about the overall quality herein (re-reading some of my entries…oy vey!), I can say with satisfaction that I tried to write well and think intelligently and by trying, have hopefully become better at it. One can dream, eh?

8) All of my posts were written in another document first and then copied into this blog. That document reached 72 pages and about 36,000 words. That’s pretty good. Like half a book almost (but not really). I like that, the idea that I have produced something with volume and substance, at some level, on the side, in off hours. It bodes well for the future in terms of finding the discipline to put something together writing-wise of maybe greater substance and ambition. Oh, and the time frame was almost exactly 19 months, just to fill out this bit on metrics.

9) Except for some notable blackouts, I got a good rhythm going, especially towards the end. The attainable goal I found, with all the other life things going on, was about one and a half plays a month, at most. That felt just about right, like I was moving at a decent pace, not slacking, but also not racing. In the beginning I was definitely moving too fast and I should have paced myself better. Maybe next time (yeah right). Bottom line: Two or three a month is too much, especially when you need to study all those ancillary things like watching the movie, or (and?) seeing the play, or (and?) reading someone’s critical analysis, or (and?) attending a lecture at a library.

10) I advertised this blog lightly, for the most part keeping it to myself and just a few close friends and family. Early on I noticed little to no interest in this thing when I would mention it (For good reason. I’m under no illusions. Who would really want to read some no-name blither on about Shakespeare?). When it did come up (rarely), it would usually elicit the same reaction, which was no reaction, usually just awkward silence. To varying degrees, I almost always got a strange why-would-anyone-do-that vibe or even worse, a feeling that I was being pretentious (a thought that really bothers me). So I stopped talking about it and it worked. Back to normal, but still in business. It’s all good and I get it. Shakespeare can be boring, really boring if you’re not into it, especially if you perceive the whole thing as something you should only be doing in school (see above). And you didn’t like school. I can respect that for sure. Different strokes for different folks (thankfully). It’s what makes the world go ‘round.

11) That being said, for me, this project was great fun. Really. I can’t explain it. It just worked for me. For example, I can say with certainty that, without fail, at any point on any day I could think about something in a given play I was reading, then think about what to write about that given play, turn it all over in my head a few times…and it would make me feel happy. Every time. So there, one of the keys to life: Read Shakespeare and write a blog about it. You’re welcome.

So there it is. Thanks for reading. I really enjoyed this project (did I say that enough?), but it is certainly time to move on. So, adios and farewell, my good old faithful Shakespeare blog, and farewell especially to anyone who followed along! Bard, blog, and readers alike were so good to me that I must end by saying that, unlike this blog, my appreciation is sincerely without end.

Some Favorites

Favorite Plays
Hamlet
Much Ado About Nothing
Richard III

Favorite Movie Adaptations
Two versions of Much Ado About Nothing (2013 Wedon and 1993 Branagh versions)
The Taming of the Shrew (1967 Taylor/Burton version)
The Hollow Crown (TV series)
Coriolanus (2013)

Favorite Movie About Shakespeare
Al Pacino’s Looking for Richard

Favorite Book About Shakespeare
Shakespeare: The World as Stage (Bill Bryson)

Favorite Live Plays
Much Ado About Nothing (The Philadelphia Shakespeare Theatre, Philadelphia, Pa., Saturday, April 6, 2013)
Cymbeline (Fiasco Theater, The Folger, Washington, D.C., 2014)
The Tempest, Act I, Scene I (Glen Ellen Theater, Glen Lake, Michigan, 2014)

Favorite Theaters
Blackfriars Playhouse

Favorite Shakespeare Websites
Shakespearences
Folger Library
Get Insulted by the Bard

A Few Favorite Quotes (Forgetting Many)
“Laud we the gods, And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils, From our blest altars.” - Cymbeline

“Now is the winter of our discontent: Made glorious summer by this sun of York” - Richard III

“If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here, While these visions did appear.” - A Midsummer Night’s Dream

"Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once." - Julius Caesar

Favorite Stage Directions
[Exit, pursued by a bear] - The Winter’s Tale

"What, you egg!" [stabbing him] - Macbeth

So Long Mr. Williams

As a tribute to one of my favorite entertainers of all time, I'm posting this interview by Carson on the Tonight Show back in the day where he spends a good bit of time riffing on Shakespeare. Funny stuff, really funny. Truly a great artist and an unbelievable talent that I grew up watching and admiring. He will be missed.

Ranking the Plays

Believe it or not, I have been ranking each play in a running list since I started this thing with the aim of publishing, at the end, the full list, from most to least favorite. So here it is. Yes, I know such lists are totally dumb, but I couldn't help myself and it was fun to try and place each one as they were finished, to build out the list, one at a time, as an act of progress. So there.

Hamlet
Much Ado About Nothing
Richard III
King Lear
Richard II
Macbeth
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Henry IV, Part 1
Othello
Henry V
As You Like It
The Taming of the Shrew
The Tempest
Julius Ceasar
Pericles, Prince of Tyre
Henry IV, Part 2
Measure for Measure
The Winter’s Tale
Romeo and Juliet
Anthony and Cleopatra
Coriolanus
Henry VI, Part 1
Henry VI, Part 2
Henry VI, Part 3
The Merry Wives of Winsor
Love’s Labor’s Lost
The Merchant of Venice
The Two Noble Kinsmen
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
All’s Well That Ends Well
Twelfth Night
Timon of Athens
Troilus and Cressida
The Comedy of Errors
Titus Andronicus
King John
Henry VIII

Coriolanus - The Movie

I saw an excellent movie version of Coriolanus last night, an adaptation for sure, but a good adaptation, an interesting and provocative take on the Shakespeare original. What did it have going for it? All (and only) the best lines were picked out and used (deftly used, with great delivery by great actors), long and interesting action sequences were created to forward the plot, character, and theme (yes, stuff blows up), and interesting, modern-day sets and scenery were included (with a cool sort of CNN-media-war-coverage thing threaded throughout). But, as any adaptation must do, big parts were cut out, including my favorite patricians-are-the-stomach speech and, most notably, some key bits at the very end.

However, even with these (and other) parts excised, the story still remained, and a great story it is, full of great Shakespearean nuance. As any good adaptation should do, it enhances the original version without really changing anything, a difficult magic trick for sure, especially when you’re dealing with Shakespeare. This one did that, to a tee, which in turn helped me understanding the play way better. Indeed, I feel like I missed some things in the initial reading, like maybe I was wrong about Coriolanus the character, just a bit maybe. Although he's still mostly a jerk, the movie explores why he is the way he is, in a believable and relatable way, which builds sympathy for the guy and makes me like him, and the play, much more. So I liked this movie a lot, especially in the way it helped me appreciate the play. So kudos to them. The Bard would have been proud I think.

(38) Coriolanus

Coriolanus is a play about power, namely, the origins of power, how power relates to class, and the way in which power is gained and lost (and, in the case of this play, gained and then lost again, really lost, like dead lost…but more on that in a minute). As a tragedy, I think it holds up reasonable well, but it really doesn't compare to some of the other tragedies in the canon (but, given the competition, that can’t be too surprising, right?). My main complaint is on the main character Coriolanus: a character of only one dimension, he’s the same guy throughout and doesn't change one bit, at any point. You know who he is right away and he stays that way. Arrogant, inflexible, ridiculously proud, and utterly disdainful of the lower classes, I didn't like him very much at all I guess, which is probably a big reason why he (and this play) holds up only “reasonably well” in my humblest of estimations.

An oversimplified summary: Coriolanus saves Rome by defeating his arch rival Aufidius in battle. He is lauded as a hero by the patricians (upper class) but essentially dismissed by the plebeians (lower class). In reacting to this dismissal, he says the exact wrong things, basically intimating that, as a member of the upper class, those in the lower class can pretty much just suck it. He says this over and over, even when called upon specifically to unsay it as apology and in order to gain the consulship (so even when a lot is at stake). He's like the worst politician ever. The anti-politician.

Not surprisingly, the people of Rome expel him, which sets him off to no end. In his anger, he gathers a huge army to invade Rome. All seems lost for the Romans until his wife and family persuade him to call off the invasion. He agrees, is accepted back into Rome, but is betrayed, right at the very end, and killed (what did you expect?). In typical Shakespearean fashion, everyone immediately realizes the horror of losing such a great man and he is carried dead off stage, with much pomp and lamentation.

To read this play is to experience, in full force, the idea of the “body politic.” Shakespeare explores this concept extensively in this play, perhaps more so than any other I have read (and I have read them all…first time I can write that!). To review: the body politic is what it says, a concept that likens the political nation to the human body. The head is the king and the body the people, with endless permutations on each part as it relates to the other. Indeed, in this play, that is exactly what happens, with countless references to human body parts sprinkled throughout, including Menenius’ famous speech to the plebeians to calm them after one of Coriolanus’ many arrogant insults, a speech where Menenius likens the upper class to the stomach, which distributes nourishment to the plebian “body,” magnanimously taking only the leftovers as nourishment, after the body has had its fill. A great speech, as good any in Shakespeare, and for this alone I was glad to have read the play.

This idea of the body politic, or more accurately a “diseased” body politic, is so thematically prominent in this one that it seems overdone at points. The likening of the various parts of the nation to human body parts was apparently quite popular in Shakespeare’s day so perhaps he’s just pandering to the crowd. The king is the head, the nobility the limbs, the lower rebellious classes the “great toe of this assembly” and thus “o’ th’ lowest, basest, poorest” of people. Simple as that, the lower you go, the less your social esteem. As a monarchist (as Shakespeare most certainly was), you could see the appeal of this message, to him and to his audience, the extensible idea of body as nation, hierarchical and rigid, safe and straightforward. Religiously right. Appealing in his day for sure, and as appealing (perhaps more so), in ours?

So there it is, my last play “analyzed.” The goal has been reached. I have read every play so this project is over…but not quite. I have a few more “wrap up” posts in me I think, things like favorite lists and lessons learned and whatnot so bear with me. Just a few more, but not many, as I am more than ready to move on. It’s been a blast but enough is enough, right?

(37) Pericles, Prince of Tyre

I liked Pericles, Prince of Tyre. I liked it much more that I thought I would, given all the negative press it has garnered from critics over the years (oddly though, it was very popular in its day and was in fact the very first Shakespeare play to run after the Restoration, when the theaters reopened). This play follows the noble adventures of Pericles, who looks for and finds a wife, has a beautiful daughter by her, loses both at sea, and then is finally reunited with them, tearfully, in the end, all in that so-familiar-now artful and adept Shakespearean way.

I like it in some ways simply because it comes across as such a play, if that make any sense. Unlike many of Shakespeare’s other works, this one feels like clear drama, through and through, full of purely dramatic elements, like for example the so-called “dumb show”. Anything but dumb, these are dramatic interludes spoken by some orator (in this case, the historical poet John Gower) directly to the audience, sort of a running commentary on what’s up. Often in rhyming couplets, Gower recaps plot points, predicts future events, and generally clues you in to all the action, often with candid alacrity and sly humor. They are fun, these dumb things, and make for an artful framing of and pacing to the play, regulating the flow perfectly so that things unfold exactly, in a way the feels exactly right. Instead of say, something like Macbeth (a study of evil), Hamlet (a study of sanity/reason), or Romeo and Juliet (a study of romantic love), Pericles is just a play. Does that make sense? I guess I’m trying to say (trying being the operative word) that this one comes across as more captive to its form and thus more to point or to purpose, which I noticed, and appreciated (with nothing against those other plays of course). It’s different, this one, in a good way. So there.

Another thing this one has going for it is the story. It’s a great tale of adventure, with a big heartwarming ending, and some funny scenes thrown in involving pimps, prostitutes, and a brothel. And great characters too, especially Marina. Pure Shakespeare, this character. Funny, complex, and powerful, she’s great, trust me. Read this one for her lines alone.

So that’s that. One more to go: Coriolanus. I actually have a bit of a background on this play. It was one of the few I studied in some depth in college (I even unearthed an old paper I wrote on it way back then. I thought for sure I would sound like a blithering idiot in this paper, but when I reread it I found that I was actually making a little bit of sense, here and there. I even got an A on it. It’s written right on the back, by my teacher. Really.). Anyway, maybe I’ll share some of it in my next post. Or not. One more to go, kids.

Hermetic Magic

I attended my last Shakespeare seminar in the city over the weekend and was quite impressed with the final session and the class overall. The seminar dealt with magic in Shakespeare. One of my favorite aspects of this discussion was that it often delved into the reality of Shakespeare’s world, helping to fill out a detailed picture of what these Elizabethans and Jacobeans were all about. If I learned anything, I learned that a good understand of this (or at least some understanding of this) is key to a good understanding of Shakespeare.

One of the specific things we discussed along these lines was the influence of Hermetic magic and the hermetic worldview in Shakespeare’s day. Hermeticism is a belief system based on the ancient writings of Hermes Trismegistus (I know, great name, right?). Complex and overarching, it is a holistic, encompassing religious philosophy based (among other things) on the so-called three parts of the wisdom of the whole universe: Alchemy (the exploration of the spirituality of matter), Astrology (the movement and influence of the planets on the natural world), and Theurgy (divine magic). It is singularly monotheistic and presents a worldview where God is the ultimate reality, standing apart from the Universe, the main force who gave us, many eons ago, a singular theology that predates all other theologies. It is a protean religion.

One of the central aspects of Hermeticism deals with science, namely, the idea that humanity can connect to, control, and influence nature through scientific experiment and “magic” (I put magic in quotes here because it’s important to differentiate and define it. It means the occult in this context, not a simple card trick or a Disney movie. Magic as a real thing.). The Hermetic worldview takes a step towards science then, claiming a connection to the unnatural world through, natural, scientific means.

So, what does this have to do with Shakespeare? Although still a complete novice in this stuff, these ideas do seem central to Shakespeare, serving as the backdrop for so many of the actions and themes in his plays. From Prospero to the Weird Sisters, from Hamlet’s ghostly father to the living statue of Hermione, this relationship between (and access to) the natural/unnatural world is woven intricately throughout so many of his works, a science-meets-religion aspect that gets at the divine through concrete, scientific efforts, through natural means, through things like specific ingredients used in a witches’ brew (Macbeth) or an all-powerful magic book (The Tempest). This relationship, this hermetical ying/yang, would have not only been understood by his audience, but accepted, believed, and even looked for. So it’s not all that strange, this strange world of the Bard, when you look at it through this lens. It’s rather natural actually.

Kill Shakespeare

A colleague recently recommended the graphic novel Kill Shakespeare. It was a great recommendation. Having limited familiarity with this genre (graphic novel), I was pleasantly surprised by all of the action, artistry, and drama that this medium affords. The story is simple. Many of the villains of Shakespeare’s plays (Richard III, Iago, and Lady MacBeth, for example) have banded together to kill the Bard, or more accurately, steal his magic quill and thus steal his power, which is the ability to control the world. They are opposed by the “good” characters (Hamlet, Falstaff, Othello, and Juliet, among others), who have allied to oppose them. The story unfolds in truly great comic book fashion, with lots of honor, blood, battles, and glory, with a fair bit of homage paid back to the Bard (in the form of references, quotes, specific plot points, etc.). These graphic novelists pull it off, avoiding the “cheese” factor (for example, tired Shakespeare quotes all over the place) as well at the ivory tower factor (for example, brainy, obscurely academic Shakespearean references all over the place). It works.

One thing I loved so much about it was the way these characters were made into such total badasses. In this graphic novel, Juliet is a complete force of nature. Othello? Forget about it. Complete. Ass-kicking. Warrior. This is cool, and does not debase what Shakespeare is about (which is a criticism I have heard). Why not show these characters in all their strength and potency, which is what they are. Why not take that ball and run with it, especially when you can do it such justice in comic book form? Such larger-than-life casting, perfect for a comic and perfect for the Bard. Shakespeare would have loved it I’m sure.

(36) The Tempest

The Tempest is a pretty darn good play, but you probably knew that already. It begins with a really cool shipwreck and then moves on to a vengeful, all-powerful wizard and his sweet, innocent daughter. Next comes all sorts of magic and mayhem, followed by…you guessed it, a wedding, right at the end (well, really an engagement, not an actual wedding, but close enough). There are some great characters throughout this one (Prospero, Miranda, Ariel, and Caliban, for starters) and it just generally moves along about as well as anything I have yet read. The final epilogue, spoken by Prospero, is one of my favorites in any of the plays, reminding me of Puck’s excellent final soliloquy in Midsummer. Just some really great lines there.

Speaking of epilogues, there’s something interesting going on with this one. Legend has it that The Tempest was the last play Shakespeare wrote, suggesting that this epilogue is thus his final words, his farewell to the theater, his retirement and swansong. In it, “Prosperospeare” asks to be released from the stage by the audience, through their applause, so that he can move on (“But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands”). It certainly seems like something someone who is retiring would say (side note: some productions go so far as to have these lines spoken not by Prospero but rather by an actor dressed as Shakespeare, coming out as a surprise, to fully drive home the Prospero-as-Shakespeare point).

So, is this a retirement speech to us from old Bill, a tearful sendoff to his admiring friends? Seems like it, right? Not so fast. To assume that Shakespeare threw down his pen at this moment and marched off into some sort of literary sunset is just way too overly dramatic for me. In fact, many believe he still wrote (co-wrote actually, as a contributor) a number of additional plays after The Tempest. This idea then, this final parting, seems to be complete fallacy (but fun fallacy). This is a clear case of us reading between the lines, of us hearing what we want to hear, of us making what we want out of his words, which we are free to do of course, because it’s all ours, not his, really, which is (if I have learned anything) exactly what the world of Shakespeare is all about.

So, speaking of endings, only two more plays to go and then finis (or exeunt) for me and this blog/project. The end (beginning?) is near.

(35) Cymbeline

I finished reading this play last week and was lucky enough to also catch a live performance in DC. I really liked both. I guess the main thing that struck me was how much recycled material seemed to exist in this one. So many of the same devices seen in previous plays reappear, for example, a really villainous lead character, a gender-switching disguise, an utterly innocent heroine, and a stormy transformative moment (there are more). As a result, this one came across as a bit of a retread. Is this a function of an uninspired Bard or, seasoned veteran as I am, am I just too used to him at this point (obviously, taken singly, this play would seem quite singular)? Or, is Shakespeare returning to his old stomping grounds in this late play (it was one of the last he wrote) because they are important to his art and work so well, on so many different levels? Probably.

Concerning the live performance, it was part of a two play tour I was again lucky enough to be able to do (I recently saw this one, and then saw Othello at the ASC). Both were excellent, but especially Cymbeline, where six multi-talented actors played all the parts, with an exceedingly great degree of skill. Once again, I am convinced of the obvious point that there is absolutely no substitute to seeing a live version if you really want to “get it.” You gotta see to believe.

I do have one really minor gripe about this Cymbeline production though, something that probably only bothered me, namely, that they removed my favorite lines. They are spoken right at the end by Cymbeline, when he jovially proclaims how great everything is (remember, this is a romance, not a tragedy):

Laud we the gods,
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars.

Isn’t that great? Unfortunately, like I said, in the production I saw (unless I missed it…which is possible), they left these lines out. No big deal of course, but just something I noticed. This happened to me one time before, right at the very beginning of this project, when I went to see Much Ado About Nothing at the Philadelphia Shakespeare Theater and noticed the absence of one of my favorite lines (“No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, / nor I cannot woo in festival terms.”). I guess that’s how it goes from time to time. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that emendation happens all over the place with Shakespeare. It’s part of the game, a necessary part even, a part almost certain to disappoint someone at some point. Oh well. I guess the idea is to back up such choices with appropriate and well-considered reasoning.

Shakespeare References – A Record

I thought this could be fun as an extrapolation on my last post: a specific record of all the references to Shakespeare that I ran across in a typical day. So I picked yesterday. I probably missed a few but there were four confirmed sightings (okay, maybe three and a half, the first may be a bit of a reach). Check it out:

• 7:20am - Reading the Staunton, VA Visitor’s Guide:
  Advertisement for the “All’s Well” Massage Center. All’s Well…get the joke? It’s a “happy ending.” Or am I reaching?
• 11:14am - Listening to a Radio Podcast:
  Podcasters mentioned the movie Shakespeare in Love and that this movie was Joseph Fiennes “best role.”
• 5:11pm - Looking at an old picture of my Brother-in-Law’s beer can collection:
  Contains a beer can called “Falstaff.”
• 10:14pm - Watching the HBO Series Generation Kill:
  
  Sgt. Brad 'Iceman' Colbert quotes Julius Caesar (Act III.1):
  
  Sgt. Colbert: Once more into the great good night. Cry 'havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war.
  Cpl. Person: Man, when I get home I am gonna eat the f - - - out of my girlfriend's p - - - -.
  Evan 'Scribe' Wright: Is that Shakespeare?
  Lance Cpl. Trombley: Shakespeare wrote that? [Wright nods] About his girlfriend's p - - - -?

Funny how bawdy (implied and overt) these references are. Shakespeare would have approved. So at the risk of beating a dead horse dead, there it is. See what I mean? He's everywhere. Kind of a silly exercise, but hey, why not.

The Ubiquity of the Bard

One of my more interesting and even startling discoveries while working on this project was the realization that Shakespeare, in so many interesting and often surprising ways, wholly invades our everyday life, well…every day and in (almost?) every way. The size and scope of this ubiquity still baffles me, the way this one individual is institutionalized into our culture (world culture?) to a level surpassing anyone (anything?) else. It’s quite amazing actually, if you think about it (check out this excellent (although dated) New York Times article if you don’t believe me. It does a good job discussing this idea).

And for some reason I really love seeing the guy everywhere, like a literary uber-where’s waldo. It’s great, seeing the Bard’s pop up in some random advertisement during the ballgame or on a highway billboard, or hearing a friend say, almost word for word, a quote from one of the plays, without even knowing it. There’s something almost subversive in this heightened awareness, like being on the inside of an inside joke, and I can almost feel the Bard next to me, sort of jabbing my ribs with his elbow, pointing and laughing at some sign, picture, commercial, or whatever and saying quietly: Do you see that? Ha! (and yes, given what little we know about the guy, he would probably be more surprised at this than I, for sure).

So I love it, this omniscience. And trust me, I’m not crazy (at least not about this), it happens every day. The dude’s everywhere. The guy redefines ubiquity.

A Lecture

Of the few people that I have mentioned this project to (reading every play), a significant number of them have asked the same simple question: Why? At first, this question caught me off guard a bit. It’s just something you should do, right? A decent idea. Why not? This reason seemed deficient when I first used it, and for good reason…because it is. Nobody seemed to buy it, including myself, so I thought about it some more, and continue to do so. It’s a damn good question, so I think it deserves a damn good answer (or at least a damn good attempt at a damn good answer). At the risk of sounding like a pretentious bore here, I would like to write a little bit about where I am on this question then, this question of “why,” because it’s fun, because it seems worthwhile, and, well, because it’s my blog and I say so. So bear with me.

A Shakespeare lecture I recently attended has helped me to develop the following theory: reading Shakespeare confirms our humanity and, by doing so, brings us together and in turn elevates us to something greater. The Shakespeare canon contains the full range of human experience and can serve to affirm and strengthen our shared human condition. It is of us and in us, made for us and by us. It is US, we, the human, perfectly expressed, and thus inherently valuable as a roadmap to real meaning. This notion, if you think about it, is powerful, perhaps all-powerful, and really has legs if you get into it (again, bear with me).

Check this out: The lecture the other day partly focused on Shakespeare as a redemptive force. There is some energy these days behind this idea, with many examples of good people trying to use Shakespeare’s plays as therapy, as an uplifting experience, as a path to freedom from evil. For example, one could cast and direct a play at a troubled intercity school, or perhaps stage a play at a prison, using convicts as actors. Simply stated, the idea is that we can help someone be better through the words of the Bard.

I like this, and hope for its truth, but, interestingly, the lecture actually spent more time analyzing not how this can be done but rather what it means to put forth this idea in the first place. Why would this be true, Shakespeare as a redemptive force? How could this work? What are these plays actually doing that heals? Is the text itself redemptive? Or, is it what we bring to the text that makes it powerful (probably). So who is doing the work then? If a convicted murderer reads the passage from Hamlet where Claudio prays to God for forgiveness, what can that do for the murderer/actor? Can it help them? Why? Most interestingly, the idea that this is perhaps a misreading of the Bard was explored in the seminar (an idea I am still working out), with us readers imposing all sorts of meaning on the text so as to get to where we want (need?) to be. As such, are we then hijacking Shakespeare?

Sorry for all the questions (and sorry if this is trite, obvious, boring, or otherwise unbearable; like I said, it’s my party and I can do what I want to), but I like these ideas, especially since it dovetails nicely with something I have been turning over in my mind for a while now, namely, the assertion that literature is perhaps the greatest form of art because it helps us share our world, most notably our inner world, with greater force and fluency than any other form. This inner world (soul?) is us, our being, making a great bit of writing a form of “worship” perhaps (never have quotes been more useful around a word), an aid in transcendence from the physical to the spiritual. If indeed “we are islands to each other” (to quote a favorite artist of mine), bridging that gap is maybe then the most important and worthy goal of any artist, and books do it best. Again, simply put, when we link together, really link together, the world is a better place. Shakespeare facilitates this as well (better?) than anyone or anything, helping to reveal this inner world in all it glorious facets and helping to close the gap of singular self-consciousness. So that’s why I’m reading the guy (for those reasons, and for all the jokes of course). Seems like a good reason to me.

(There’s something else we touched on in the lecture that I found very interesting: the idea that there is something else going on here besides simply the words, namely, that there is a rhythm to the text, an iambic pentameter, a music in these lines, and that is perhaps moving us as much as anything. When you pull the car over and lift up the hood, is the poetry the engine, is that doing the work? One of my favorite writers once said (I’m paraphrasing big time here) that, although a firm and deeply convinced humanist/atheist, the only times he ever questioned this was when he heard some really great music. Indeed. Notice how I said earlier that literature is perhaps the greatest form of art? Is it music? Or, is it all one and the same, as we see in Shakespeare, and ourselves)?

(34) Othello

Othello is an excellent play, a masterful exposé on love, race, jealousy, and total betrayal. In this play, Othello, a powerful Moorish general, marries the beautiful and innocent Desdemona, a nobleman’s daughter, who loves him (as he does her). Iago, the penultimate dastardly villain, despises Othello (everybody?) and decides to ruin him by convincing him that Desdemona has been unfaithful. Tragically, he succeeds.

The character Iago in this play is an evil paragon. A great Shakespearean villain, he’s a real jerk, right from the start, plotting and planning to take down Othello (who of course totally trusts him) in the harshest way possible. Innately evil, his motivations seem to spring not from the typical justifications for bad behavior we have seen before in Shakespeare (say, justice, or honor), but from some other, way darker place. Indeed, the reasons he gives for his evil plotting is bitterness over being skipped for a promotion and a totally unsubstantiated suspicion that Othello is banging his wife, Emilia. These are hardly reasonable excuses to wantonly lie, cheat, steal, and kill.

Iago is the fountainhead for most of the action of this play, relentlessly driving theme, character, and plot. It’s a juggling act par excellence, a literary bob and weave, and it’s quite fun to follow, Iago as ringmaster, all the way to the end. And speaking of the end, I loved how Shakespeare exits this great character by having him take a total vow of silence after his villainy is exposed (“Demand me nothing: what you know, you know: From this time forth I never will speak word.”). No more words, Iago’s main weapon removed, but by his own choice (last laugh?). Perfect.

And what about the handkerchief! Sheesh! Shakespeare makes quite a big deal out of this thing. It is a key prop, maybe the most central prop of any Shakespeare play, and it seems to signify and punctuate most of the action of the later acts, both directly and indirectly (rather than describe it all here, take a look at this page. It does a good job of describing its prevalence and significance). Highly valued by Othello, it is given as a treasured gift to Desdemona, who loses it in a roundabout way to Iago (uh oh), who in turn skillfully plans to plant it on another man, also in a roundabout way (don’t you just love Shakespeare?!), all to prove Desdemona’s infidelity.

Othello absolutely loses his mind over this handkerchief, torturing himself and others about it at every turn. When he discovers it as missing he takes it as irrefutable evidence of Desdemona’s adultery, and this “evidence” eventually pushes him over the edge. He keeps mentioning it, over and over, throughout the latter parts of the play, variously and in multiple contexts, as tangible proof and testament of his cunning, cuckolding wife (Which she isn't. In fact, she’s pretty much the opposite. Almost over-the-top sweet and innocent, all the way to the end). It’s the king of all props, this handkerchief, and Shakespeare works it perfectly, passing it around (and also passing a copy of it around for good measure…again, don’t you just love this guy?!) throughout the play, so that it becomes a sort of floating, common touchpoint, a thematic home base. Trust me, the dude gets a ton of mileage out of this little piece of cloth. Analyzing and puzzling through its role in Othello has surely been the basis for many a doctoral dissertation.

Anyway, there it is, the second to last tragedy on my list. Only Coriolanus remains in that genre, then it's on to a few more Romances and I’m through. I plan on sprinting to the finish here, with a number of live performances (Cymbeline, Othello, and The Tempest) in the queue as well as some other stuff. Stay tuned, I plan to finish strong.

What, you egg! (stabbing)

This line from Macbeth, complete with stage direction, is spoken at the zenith of one of the most horrible and brutal scenes in all of Shakespeare. It has always intrigued me, this line. It’s spoken by an assassin (sent by Macbeth, of course) as he kills Macduff’s young son. It’s weird, right (not the killing, that’s pure evil, I mean the words)? What kind of insult is this? What does it mean? The only thing I can guess at is that he’s calling the kid something “worse” that an infant, like a kind of a pre-infant, undeveloped and immature? So that’s bad I guess.

(33) Macbeth

Macbeth, Shakespeare’s shortest tragedy (and almost his shortest play. I think The Comedy of Errors is his shortest, in case you were wondering), is a tight, dark exploration of evil, fate, politics, and terror. I've probably read this one more times than any of his other plays, and I can tell you, it doesn't get old. From the opening scene (the shortest opening scene in all of Shakespeare), things take off, with witches brewing and plotting, and a vicious battle, where our hero Macbeth has just cut a man in half, or in Shakespeare’s words “unseamed him from the nave to th' chops.” The action of this play is all business, and proceeds quickly and with purpose. Macbeth, the mighty warrior, buys into a prophesy spoken by the famous “weird sisters” that he will be king. Consumed by this ambition, he and his wife (the great character Lady Macbeth) become the ultimate tyrants, murdering more and more people (children even!) as they and their kingdom spiral out of control. From murder to civil war, to madness and to death, this play is brutal, complex, and strikingly brilliant.  It’s a great read.

One of the ideas that I think this play is trying to convey is the concept of fate versus freewill. We discussed this recently in a reading group I joined, the way this plays out in the play, the dichotomy of these two competing ideas. On the one hand, you can make the argument that Macbeth is charmed by the witches, right at the start, and thus not responsible for his actions. Indeed, everything changes (for the worse) after he runs into the three sisters and hears that he will be king of Scotland. Evil magic, he’s under a spell.

Too simple, right? So is it really a matter of freewill, Macbeth acting out under his own misbegotten desires? Are the weird sisters simply an excuse for him to pursue something he already wanted, just water on the seed, so to speak? Grist for the mill? Perhaps, but it is interesting to point out that the witches tell him all sorts of things throughout the play, describing in vivid detail a number of strange and bizarre prophesies. Macbeth buys into them all and Shakespeare, in his wisdom, makes each and every one of them come true. From what I can tell, everything foretold in this play comes true. What does this say? Is fate responsible for everything then, is it the only driver, the culprit and the cause of all things? Or not? Or both (is both even possible…does even the slightest bit of fate nullify all possibility of freewill…or vice versa)? And, does predicting something automatically indicate fate? Beh! My head hurts, and sorry for all the questions. The Bard can make that happen from time to time.

(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.