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.