If Hamlet had a Facebook Page...

Now this is worth a look. Lol! Not quite like Facebook, though, since you can read the comments in order from top to bottom, rather than bottom up--but it's more convenient that way ;)

Clip of the Day

What fun! See if you can name all the plays:

Picture of the Day

Here's Christian Bale in The New World--when I see him like this, I can't help thinking he'd make a great Hamlet. Heck, when I see him act in just about anything, I can't help thinking he'd make a great Hamlet...

Picture of the Day

Now that's a slash pic! Ok, it's not really. But it should be! That's Christian Bale and Rupert Everett in A Midsummer Night's Dream. I found this screen shot at the best Christian Bale site I know of...

Richard's Cunning Seduction

I do love Richard III. Yeah, yeah--I still think this play is a travesty as far as history goes. But that doesn't change the fact that Richard makes for a delicious bad boy.

He's not a pretty boy, though. He's 'deformed' and, by his own estimation, so unsightly that dogs bark at him. No matter--he might despise his hunched back, his withered arm, his limp and his looks, but that doesn't stop him from playing them up for sympathy.

Even Anne--a woman who has every reason to despise Richard--can't resist his charm. Anne is the widow of Prince Edward, the son of Henry VI. She knows full well that Richard helped kill Edward. And she knows that Richard murdered her father-in-law. So when she prepares to escort her beloved father-in-law's body to its final resting place, Richard is the last person she wants to see.

And yet Richard stops her and manages to seduce her--even with her murdered father-in-law's corpse in the room!

Ok, he doesn't bed her right there and then. (What a scene that would have been!) But he makes it plain that he wants to bed her and he offers her marriage. And by the time the scene is over, Anne is wearing his ring. That's got to be a record of some sort.

The seduction goes off so well that even Richard is astonished. Once he's left alone on the stage, he stares after Anne in amazement and congratulates himself for pulling it off:

Richard: What, I that killed her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of my hatred by,
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I no friends to back my suit at all
But the plain devil and dissembling looks?
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
Ha!

Richard is so impressed with himself here that he jokingly wonders if he is, perhaps, prettier than he had supposed. He decides to take another look in the mirror and order up some new garments:

Richard: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marv'lous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking glass
And entertain a score or two of tailors
To study fashions to adorn my body.

I can't blame Richard for patting himself on the back here. He deserves it. And I can almost forgive Anne for falling for him--I fall for him too. It's a guilty pleasure to see such a master at work.

Richard convinces Anne that he killed Edward for her sake--he was entranced by her beauty and wanted her for himself. That he not only desires her but loves her--and that his love far surpasses whatever passion Edward might have mustered. And that he never cried except for her sake--not even at the deaths of his brother or father.

And for his most blatant manipulation, Richard hands Anne his sword, kneels before her, tears open his shirt and bids her to stab him in the heart. When she hesitates, he offers to do the deed himself should she command it.

Anne can't bring herself to kill him or to order him to kill himself. She falls for his act and seems to believe that he would rather pay for his crimes with his own death than breathe another moment without her.

It's possible that Anne allows Richard to seduce her because she's worried for her future. She just watched two sides of the Plantagenet family--the House of Lancaster and the House of York--battle for the throne. Anne's side lost. Her Lancastrian husband and father-in-law are both dead. Perhaps she thinks it would be prudent to hook up with one of the York boys. In that sense, Richard is a catch. His older brother appears to be securely on the throne.

But I think Anne's indulging in a fantasy. She imagines that her love and correction will reform Richard. That must be what's going through her head as he slips his ring onto her finger. But his reformation will never come to pass. Richard will dispose of Anne when she no longer suits his needs.

I feel sorry for Anne--but she ought to spurned Richard. He was still the man who killed her father-in-law and husband, no matter what flattery he employed or even what security he offered. I can understand Anne's weakness for a charismatic bad boy--but there are limits.

That Play

Richard III

I once promised myself that I would never read or see that play. I had just finished reading Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time and I was convinced that Richard III was nothing but vile Tudor propaganda. The real Richard III, it seemed to me, was innocent of the hideous crimes that Shakespeare's villain commits.

I still think that the historical Richard III was likely innocent. But I got a glimpse of Shakespeare's Richard when I watched Henry VI~Blood and Roses at The Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey. He shows up toward the end, struggling to help put his father or brother on the throne. To that end, he even murders Henry VI with his own hands.

Richard is cunning and malevolent but also vulnerable. He despises his ill-formed body. He mocks himself and his disability, winning himself some sympathy from the audience. Derek Wilson played the part with an awkward brace on his leg and another on his arm to show Richard's handicaps. It worked beautifully--even if the real Richard was not a hunchback.

I found myself smiling: what a perfect villain! Perhaps--perhaps the real Richard wouldn't mind being transformed into a such a delicious bad guy. I wouldn't mind, if I were in his shoes.

The Richard III Society has an excellent website giving the evidence for Richard's innocence. It's well worth a look. But Shakespeare's villain is worth a look too. Yes, I shoved my scruples aside and dove into the play. The results were worth the pangs of conscience!

Shakespeare's Vocabulary

Here’s a list that I’ll keep adding to. I’m keeping track of words and expressions in Shakespeare that had additional meanings in his time or have since fallen out of usage. It’s a short list now, but I expect it to get longer and longer.

I know these may be painfully obvious to some folks, but most of them are new to me. And if you have any words to add, please let me know!

all the world to nothing—against all odds

an—if.

anon—at once; immediately; directly.

country matters—sex; copulation. Perhaps city people imagined country folk rolling around in haystacks all the time.

cozen—cheat.

dear—expensive. This use of the word still exists, just not in American English.

denier—a French coin of low value.

have done!—enough! stop!

how now?—hey, what's up? what's going on? what have we here? what's happening? The exact meaning of this phrase depends very much on context.

lay by!—lay aside your arms!

leaping house—a brothel.

marry—an exclamation or mild swear that referred to the Virgin Mary.

nunnery—a convent or slang for a brothel.

prithee—I pray thee.

sack—a strong, light-colored wine. Falstaff drinks a ton of this stuff.

shrift—confession.

sirrah—a term of address for men or boys who are below your social class. You use it for guys you look down on, lol.

thou / thee / thy—the familiar form of ‘you.’ Although ‘thou’ sounds stilted and formal now, it was the opposite in Shakespeare’s day. You would use it when addressing a friend, lover, family member or someone who was your social equal or inferior. (In Spanish it would be ‘tu’ as opposed to ‘usted.') ‘Thou’ is the subject, ‘thee’ is the object and ‘thy’ is the possessive—just as ‘he’ is the subject, ‘him’ is the object and ‘his’ is the possessive.

wag—a young man. When Falstaff calls Prince Hal “sweet wag,” he’s calling him “pretty boy.”

what a devil? / what a plague? / what a pox?—these expressions all mean ‘what the hell?,’ as in ‘what the hell does that have to do with me?’

wherefore?—why?

A Lesson from Prince Hal

Whenever I sit down with Shakepseare's Henry IV, I have to admit that Hal captivates me even more than Jack Falstaff does. For a while I wondered why that was. Hal, as I’ve mentioned before, is cold and calculating. From the first we know that he’s only using Falstaff—although, to Hal’s credit, he forgets that fact at times. His affection for the brilliant, fat, old jester is genuine, but that only makes his final rejection of Falstaff more devastating.

So what am I seeing in Hal? Hal’s a shrewd politician—far shrewder than his father Henry Bolingbroke. But I don’t particularly like politicians. And I certainly don’t trust them.

You can argue that once Hal gets the throne, he can’t be the sort of king he needs to be—he can’t be the king England needs—if Falstaff is still in his life. I’m sure that’s true. Jack Falstaff is far too warm and chaotic to suit Hal’s needs as a monarch. His jests and cowardice and harmless crimes might even seduce Hal away from the ruthlessness he needs to maintain as a ruler.

No doubt that’s why there’s a cruel desperation about Hal when he rejects Falstaff. He can’t even bear to let Falstaff get a word in edgewise. Hal can’t take the chance of falling for Jack in earnest—he can’t risk forgetting, once again, that he was only using Jack.

But those facts don’t endear Hal to me. So why am I so enamored of him?

The answer came to me when I tried to look at the characters from an author's point of view. I was wondering if Shakespeare identified with Jack Falstaff; but then I realized that he more likely identified with Hal. Not that Shakespeare, as a man, was as cold and ruthless as Hal—but as a writer he had to be.

As a writer, Shakespeare had to be cold enough, ruthless enough and cruel enough to reject one of his greatest creations. Shakespeare couldn’t have been the playwright he was if he hadn’t been prepared to do that.

I stand in awe of Shakespeare's ruthless streak--it's so easy to shelter a character. I had a terrible time of it when I tried to figure out what to do with Reuben, my first-person-voice in For Want of a Brother. I got so attached to him that I wanted to protect him from all harm! At the very least, saying goodbye to a character can lead an author to soul-searching ruminations (as my friend and fellow blogger Jim Cooney found out.)

It must have cost Shakespeare something to be so ruthless with his characters. After all, rejecting Falstaff cost Hal his sharp wit, his sense of fun and his boyish pranks. His crown didn’t come without a price. The ability to reject Falstaff is part of what crowns Shakespeare as the greatest author ever known—but I’ll bet he paid as dearly as Hal did, even if we don’t know what currency he used.

Someone once said that an author has to be prepared to murder his darlings. I don’t think I ever understood that lesson until Prince Hal taught it to me.

One Generous Moment

You don't have to read far into Henry IV, Part One to understand why Prince Hal prefers the company of Jack Falstaff to that of his father. Falstaff may be a shameless rogue, but his sharp banter and whole-hearted affection more than compensate for his faults. Hal matches him in wits and basks in his adoration--and sometimes even forgets that he's just using the fat old man.

Meanwhile, Henry Bolingbroke sees only the worst in his son. He has no idea that Hal is a shrewd politician, well suited to rule. In fact, Bolingbroke wishes that young 'Hotspur' Percy, and not young Hal, was his son and heir to the throne. He sees Hotspur as the embodiment of nobility and courage and makes his preference plain.

But Hal sees Hotspur for what he is: a brash, reckless, killing machine. While Hal is slumming in a tavern, he sums up Hotspur to one of his drinking buddies.

Prince: I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North, he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work!'

But to win his father's approval, and to prove his worth, Hal knows that he too will have to play his part in battle. So when Hotspur helps lead a rebellion against Henry Bolingbroke, Hal is determined to best him.

Hal gets his wish. He meets Hotspur on the battlefield at Shrewsbury--in single combat, no less--and kills him. But here's the twist:

While Hal was fighting Hotspur, Jack Falstaff was fighting one of Hotspur's allies. Falstaff plays possum rather than die. And so when Hal finishes off Hotspur, he turns to find Falstaff's 'corpse.'


Prince: What, old acquaintance! Could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell.
I could have better spared a better man.

He continues in that vein, never forgetting for a moment that Falstaff was an old hand at lying and cheating. Does Hal know that Falstaff is shamming death? I think not--I think Hal truly believes that Jack is dead.

Hal must feel as if a noose has been taken off his neck. He's known all along that he would abandon Falstaff once he inherited the crown. But now Falstaff is dead in battle--now Hal will never have to reject him. He's free to mourn him instead and remember him as an amiable devil.

But Falstaff is very much alive. Once Hal leaves, he jumps up again with a witty and curiously profound speech on counterfeiting death. He then looks over Hotspur's corpse and stabs it himself. But he's not done--he picks up Hotspur's body and begins parading it about.

Hal is astonished to see Falstaff alive and well and carrying Hotspur's remains. Falstaff assures him that not only is he alive--he is the great hero who defeated 'Hotspur' Percy!

Prince: Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw the deed.

Falstaff: Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath, and so was he; but we rose both at an instant and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock.

Hal gives in with good grace and allows Falstaff all the glory of the kill. I picture Hal laughing despite himself:

Prince: (to Falstaff) Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back.
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

It's hard to remember that Hal is still ruthless and calculating. Here we have evidence that Hal truly loves Jack Falstaff. Hal had already proved himself in battle that day, but his defeat of Percy was his crowning glory. Think what it would have meant to him to show his father that he could outfight the mighty Hotspur.

It's a beautiful moment of generosity that goes a long way toward humanizing Hal. But it's an isolated moment. Nothing has changed. Hal still means to reject Falstaff. And when he finally cuts his ties with the old rogue, Falstaff will die in earnest--of a broken heart.

Banter and Deceit

I'll say one thing straight off about Shakespeare's Henry IV, Parts One and Two: Prince Hal--the pretty young man who becomes Henry V--is a ruthless, calculating bastard. I like him well enough regardless, but only because I'm imagining Christian Bale in the role.

We first meet Hal when he's hanging out with Jack Falstaff, who turns out to be a fat, comedic rogue. I can't help but picture Zero Mostel in the role--albeit with an English accent. Hal and Falstaff like to banter back and forth, teasing each other as they match wits. But while there's whole-hearted affection on Falstaff's side, Hal's feelings for Falstaff seem to be affection mixed with contempt.

Hal makes it clear to the audience that he's only using Falstaff and his crowd. He's playing the part of a dissolute youth so that he can astonish everyone by turning out to have a good head on his shoulders. He seems to resent the fact that he's going to inherit the responsibilities of a crown, so he's determined to live as wildly as he can for now. But once the crown is on his head, he'll wash his hands of his present companions.

I'll own that Falstaff isn't a sterling character--he's a crook, after all. But that doesn't make it easier to watch Hal use him. Falstaff is really taken with this kid. He's not in it just for laughs.

Is Falstaff's love entirely disinterested? Probably not. He keeps mentioning the crown that Hal will eventually wear and he loves to imagine the day when he will be the best friend of the King of England. That day will never come--and in a shocking bit of roleplaying, Hal makes that plain. But Falstaff refuses to recognize the roleplaying as truth.

The relationship between the two men is the best part of the plays. I can't figure out the boundaries of that relationship, however. Are they lovers or aren't they? I'm leaning toward yes, despite the difference in their ages and looks. Better men than Falstaff have robbed the cradle--and he's so damnably charismatic that Hal might not care that he's no super model.

Most critics see it only as a father-son relationship, with perhaps a bit of longing on Falstaff's side. That's certainly possible. I see a flirtation in the banter between Hal and Falstaff, but perhaps I'm imagining it. Or maybe it's there, but it doesn't mean as much as I think it does.

I'll say this much, though: Hal is ruthless enough to make Falstaff adore him as a son or a lover--despite the fact that he knows he's going to dump the old man.

A Reason to Go On?

Hamlet …Horatio, I am dead.
Thou livest: report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.

Horatio Never believe it.
I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:
Here’s yet some liquor left.

Hamlet As thou’rt a man
Give me the cup. Let go! By heaven I’ll ha’t!
O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me!
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart
Absent thee from felicity awhile
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story.

Whenever I watch a film version of Hamlet, I always skip ahead to the end. The first thing I want to see, before I watch the whole of it, is how the film handles this scene.

Does Hamlet, already stabbed and poisoned, have to wrestle the venomous cup away from his friend? Or does Horatio hand it over upon Hamlet’s request? I don’t mind either way; I just want to see the interaction between the two men as Horatio makes it plain that he would sooner die than live without Hamlet.

Hamlet gives him a reason to go on. It’s not clear whether that reason is permanent—in theory, he could be saying, “My friend, if you love me stay alive long enough to tell my story; make sure the truth gets out. Then by all means join me in the oblivion of death.” But that’s a cynical take. I suspect Hamlet knows that Horatio will not finish telling and retelling the tale until he reaches the length of his days.

I find it interesting that Hamlet doesn't argue the Roman notion that death by suicide is acceptable and even respectable. He doesn't remind Horatio that suicide is against their faith.

Yet earlier in the play, when dealing with his own grief and misery, Hamlet had wished that “the Everlasting had not fixed His canon `gainst self slaughter.” Either Hamlet himself no longer takes his faith into account, or he knows that his friend is too Roman in thought and character to be swayed by an appeal to the God of Abraham.

In either case, the result is the same: Horatio will go on living. This may be a harsh world and Horatio may indeed draw his breath in pain—especially as he thinks on the loss of Hamlet. But his mission to tell Hamlet’s story, to set the record straight, will give his life purpose.

I’m of that same mind. This world is every bit as harsh as Hamlet says--but as long as there's a story to tell, life is still worth living.

Pesky Classifications

I've always wondered why Julius Caesar isn't counted among Shakespeare's 'history plays.' I finally discovered the reason, thanks to an on-line discussion group: only Shakespeare's English history plays are reckoned as such.

Huh? Then why not categorize them specifically as Shakespeare's 'English history plays'?

And, of course, the plays aren't strict history. Look at Richard III: the real Richard might not have murdered his nephews. And look at Henry IV, Part One: the real Hotspur was the same age as Prince Hal's father--not a teenager with Hal. And Hal himself might not have had the wild youth that Shakespeare describes.

Oh well. Shakespeare wasn't after literal history--history was just a jumping off point for his dramatic genius.

That said, his histories are accurate enough to give you an idea of the events they describe. I was always baffled by the War of the Roses before I read Shakespeare--now I have a rough idea of the different players in the House of York and the House of Lancaster.

For the record, here's a list of the history plays: King John; Richard II; Henry IV, Part One; Henry IV, Part II; Henry V; Henry VI, Part One; Henry VI, Part Two; Henry VI, Part Three; Richard III; and Henry VIII.

No Julius Caesar...sigh. But I've promised myself not to get hung up on these pesky classifications. Besides, it seems silly to try to pin Shakespeare down. He'll always defy our efforts to categorize him.

A Grave Man

Leonard Whiting as Romeo & John McEnery as Mercutio (Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet, 1968)

I'm working my way through Romeo and Juliet with a seventh-grader that I'm tutoring. She's a delight--she throws herself into each part. And the story is fresh to her, so I feel as if I'm reading it for the first time too.

Oh, she knows that Romeo and Juliet both die--we learn that much from the opening lines--but Mercutio's death shocked her. ("Oh my God! He dies?!") I understood her reaction; his death shocked me too, even though I knew that it was coming.

Despite the opening lines of this play, Shakespeare lulls us into a false sense of security. Yeah, Romeo and Juliet are just a pair of kids who don't know the difference between love and lust. But they are cute together. And Mercutio-- with his vile, lewd puns and his constant mocking of love--seems to balance out Romeo's excessive passion.

So we feel that things can work out for the best. Who knows? Romeo and Juliet might make it as a couple, despite the fact that they fell too hard and too fast. And the Capulet and Montague feud? Well, that can sort itself out. Old Capulet seemed well enough disposed toward Romeo at the feast. Mercutio, meanwhile, will have a field day with his friend's romance. But Romeo will put up with the ribbing.

But Mercutio never learns about Romeo's marriage. He dies in that damned duel with Tybalt--a duel that might not have turned deadly if Romeo hadn't tried to stop it.

Mercutio shouldn't have died. I agree with the way the 1968 film choreographed the fight: Tybalt, who pretends to be so blood-thirsty, didn't mean to make it a killing matter between himself and Mercutio. And poor Romeo doesn't realize, at first, how badly his friend is injured. How could he, with Mercutio still making jests? "Ask for me tomorrow," Mercutio says, "and you will find me a grave man..."

The whole tone of the play changes when Mercutio dies. The light-hearted feel is gone. Now we know that things are going to spiral out of control. The rest of the play feels like watching a train wreck--you know it's going to be a bloody mess, but you can't take your eyes off of it.