Texas Shakespeare Festival’s Cymbeline

The cast of the Texas Shakespeare Festival production of Cymbeline

Shakespeare’s Romances are truly some of his most mature and compelling works, made all the more relevant and beautiful by a truthful and skilled retelling.  The Texas Shakespeare Festival’s Cymbeline, directed by Deb Alley, closed with it’s matinee performance on Saturday, but it’s run certainly did justice to Shakespeare’s epic story and characters.   I expected as much; last year’s staging of The Winter’s Tale was miraculous and poignant.  In this year’s Romance, the brilliant cut of the script flowed effortlessly and the production managed to lighten up a play that truthfully could be very dark, though I think a bit more of the tragic element would have increased the cathartic experience.  With mastery of words the actors embodied the characters and the world of the play, including the two lovers, who showed me a version of Imogen and Posthumus that I did not expect.  This production answered some of my questions about Cymbeline, and raised new ones.

You might recall from my reflection on our discussion of Cymbeline that this play secured it’s place at the top of my favorites list early on as we were reading through all of Shakespeare’s plays.  Cymbeline is one of Shakespeare’s later, mature works known as the Romances, which encapsulates the best pieces of his prior work and all of his genres in one.  It is a romance, a comedy, a tragedy, a history play, and a war play.  And I cannot describe my excitement when I learned I would finally get to see it.

Emily Brown as Imogen and Thom Miller as Iachimo in the Texas Shakespeare Production of Cymbeline

Having now witnessed this work brought to life on stage, I understand the challenges that often steer directors away from taking on this epic tale.  But I also have seen how well it works!  It’s true, Cymbeline is a challenging play to stage.  There are many characters and plots and, while things don’t get too complicated to follow along, there are characters we don’t see a whole lot of, most notably the title character Cymbeline and the lover Posthumus.  The play is mostly balanced, but I was aware of how long we went without touching base with these two, respectively, and can better understand the challenges this play presents.

This challenge was partially overcome by the brilliant cut of the play.  The internal cuts were flawless.  I love this play and I barely noticed some of the missing pieces.  The Deus ex Machina scene in which Posthumus is visited by the ghosts of his family and the god Jupiter was cut, and not missed.  In fact, I felt the play was more grounded than it might otherwise have been without it.  The Queen, though evil, did not use magic in her schemes, but rather earthly potions and manipulations.  So with the cutting of the supernatural scene we were left with just human beings, Shakespeare’s favorite subject.

Emily Brown as Imogen and Tim Heller as Posthumus in the Texas Shakespeare Festival production of Cymbeline

The two human beings at the center of the play are also two of my favorite Shakespeare characters.  When analyzing the play, I viewed Posthumus and Imogen as two lovers who start off rather immature; their love is passionate, but rebellious.  In reading the play I saw them grow and develop as betrayal, loss, and war changed them, until they were reunited having grown stronger as individuals and coming to fully understand what they meant to each other.

In the TSF production, both characters came off as mature at the beginning.  Passionate and impulsive, but I didn’t see the naivety I expected to, and I was left wondering where these characters had to go from here?  No matter where one begins, betrayal, loss, and war will always be transformative, and I enjoyed watching these mature, strong versions of the characters grow.  Posthumus started out so sure about his love’s loyalty and chastity, and through a journey during which he was broken and guilt-striven, he ended up being sure about his love for Imogen and her innocence all over gain, but in a new way.  Imogen who defied her father and showed strength against adversity proves to be clever, gentle, forgiving and yet firm, defying her husband in the end:

“Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?

Think that you are upon a rock, and now

Throw me again.”

I was fascinated by this unexpected portrayal of Posthumus and Imogen, and I loved it!  The characters clearly do not have to start out in a naive or immature place to transform and mature tremendously.

Tim Heller as Posthumus and Thom Miller as Iachimo in the 2014 Texas Shakespeare Festival production of Cymbeline

The actors were simply brilliant.  Andi Dema, who portrayed Cloten had a mastery of the words and used every single one of them to highlight his characters foolishness and nail unforeseen comedic moments.  Emily Brown as Imogen also used Shakespeare’s words wonderfully, had great energy, and embodied the strength of one of Shakespeare’s strongest female characters.  Tim Heller as Posthumus was passionate in his love, hurt, and hate (I wish he had had his moment of forgiveness at the end.  It was a shame that his lines forgiving Iachimo, which in turn inspire Cymbeline to forgive his enemies, was cut).  Thom Miller was an enjoyable Iachimo to watch, well motivated, clear in his decisions, and poignant in the last scene.  Micah Goodding was endearing as Pissanio, loyal and true.

Andi Dema as Cloten in the Texas Shakespeare Festival production of Cymbeline

All of the actors did a marvelous job not only with their own characters, but also in coming together to lighten up the story.  Personally, I hope one day to see a production of Cymbeline that has a bit more of the tragic element, and takes us to those deeper, darker places, so that the light is more refreshing when it returns.  Cloten’s foolishness led his scene plotting Posthumus’ murder and Imogen’s rape to read as a dim-witted man forming a stupid and clumsy plan.  At first, I was uncomfortable with the audience’s laughter during this scene, but the actor led us through Cloten’s thought process and seemed to show us that there was no real danger to fear from him, giving us freedom to laugh at his scheme.  The murder and beheading of Cloten also prompted some laughter when a dummy body and bloody head was revealed.  I’m not sure how the silly aspects of this scene could be avoided entirely, and this production wasn’t trying to hide those elements, but I struggled to experience the reality of what was happening and immerse myself in the danger of the story when the comedic rather than tragic elements were highlighted in these moments.

I loved this production, don’t get me wrong!  It was perfect for the vision that was being put forth.  I just look forward to seeing other versions of Cymbeline that have different takes as well, to compare and to enjoy.  After all, that’s part of the brilliance of Shakespeare’s works.  There are so many ways to bring his stories to life, and each production brings something new.  I am saddened that Cymbeline is a play not often embraced by Shakespeare companies, but I am certainly glad the Texas Shakespeare Festival was bold enough to produce it this year.  I had high expectations seeing my favorite Shakespeare play on stage for the first time, and I was thrilled by the production I witnessed at TSF!

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Rediscovering Lear

I’m very grateful that this was not the first time each of us had read King Lear. We all read it when we studied abroad in London in 2010. The four of us were also lucky enough to see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform it when we visited Stratford-upon-Avon for Shakespeare’s birthday. I say I’m grateful because this play is so complex and heavy and awesome that reading and seeing it multiple times makes such a difference that I feel compelled to reiterate this perhaps obvious yet important notion of how repetition is vital with Shakespeare.  Okay, I got that out of the way, whew! Now, I will continue on with the meatier parts of our discussion and my reflection.

There are many elements that I feel we picked apart and that I understand better this time around. For starters, I felt like I finally got a grasp on understanding the characters of the Fool and Edgar, Gloucester’s legitimate son who disguises himself as a crazy, homeless man named Tom. What struck me most about them this time is seeing both serve as representations or markers of Lear’s diminishing mind.

We see the Fool partway through the beginning of the play, after Cordelia’s banishment. It is at this point where Lear has truly made a foolish mistake by giving away his power and land to two of his daughters, who do not have his best interests at heart, and sending his true and loyal daughter into exile. The Fool tries to make Lear realize his mistake through repetitions of little ditties and jokes. In fact, the role of the fool, historically, went beyond simply entertaining and amusing. The fool was expected to criticize his master along with their guests. Fun Fact: “Queen Elizabeth is said to have rebuked one of her fools for not being severe enough with her” (from The New Cambridge Shakespeare, editied by Jay L. Halio). That is the responsibility and the little power the Fool has with his master. But Lear does not fully acknowledge the Fool’s elucidations. The Fool sticks with Lear through the most intense of storms, trying to care and guide his king to safety. Then shortly after the storm, the Fool leaves and does not return for the rest of the play. Tom, the crazy beggar, stays with Lear, continuing to lead Lear along with Kent, a loyal subject to the King. Along with the transition of attendants, Lear transitions from foolishness to madness.

Greg Hicks, with Kathryn Hunter in The Royal Shakespeare Company’s production at the Courtyard Theatre, Stratford upon Avon

More fun facts: We found out that in Shakespeare’s time the actor who played Cordelia doubled as the Fool, which was not only practical but also would add another layer to that character’s relationship with Lear. Also, some productions have insinuated that the Fool could possibly be Lear’s illegitimate child, which would also be interesting given that the play is largely about the relationship between sons and daughters, legitimate or not.

In our discussion we really tuned in to the importance of Lear’s relationship to Tom. Edgar completely strips away his identity to take on the role. Lear, who has also been stripped of his identity and belongings, recognizes himself  in the beggar. He sees them as equal, and, even though he is losing his mind, he shows us what being human is without the adornments that have come with civilization: “Thou ow’st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. . . thou art the thing itself. Unaccompanied man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art” (3.4.93-97). Lear views himself in his true nature.

Nature is one of the more poignant themes of Lear. We see it referenced all over the place in a variety of ways including simply witnessing the realities of being human. We all know that each of us will keep continuing to age until we die. We all share that same fate. This play forces us to think about our own mortality and our own fragility. I think if this play is done well we are taken in and made to feel the same amount of vulnerability as Lear feels at the end of the play. That is one of the many reasons why this play is so difficult, moving, uncomfortable, and ultimately so important.

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All the World’s a Stage

“All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players.

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts.”

– As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7

One of Shakespeare’s most famous lines is delivered by Jaques in the comedy As You Like It.  Jaques goes on to describe seven “parts,” each one a stage of life that we experience, but this quote is explored not only in terms of mortality, but also in terms of self-discovery in this folk tale of a story.

I do believe we play different roles for different people at different times in our lives.  At work, I’m a young professional with a customer service orientation and hard-work attitude.  With my closest  friends, I’m an absolute geek obsessing over Shakespeare, Marvel movies, and Doctor Who.  With my family, I’m a little of both.

As You Like It (2006) Movie Poster

What do we learn about ourselves in these roles?  In each role some of our true nature is revealed to others, and to ourselves.  We can mask our true identity but reveal our true self.

We discussed this whole concept of true self a lot in our discussion of Henry IV, Part 1 and Part 2, and Henry V.  Hal was both a young ruffian having a good time and a prince destined to be king.  He would goof off with the lowlifes at the local tavern and then lead an army into battle alongside his kingly father.  Which was his true self, and which was the act?  Or is there truth in both?

And maybe in one of our roles our truth attracts another “player.”  Hopefully the role we are playing at the time is our most sincere part.  When we meet this other player, he or she improvises with us.  Then we stay in these roles and draw it out until we’ve produced a full-length play.  And we stay in that beloved role until the curtain closes, “sans everything.”

In As You Like It, Rosalind plays a role that allows her freedom of speech and opinion.  As Ganymede, she can say what she wants and do what she wants because, for most of he play, her love doesn’t know it’s her.  She can be her true self and in that guise gets the chance to know her love.  She can test him, she can crack wits, and she can broach subjects more directly than she would if her sweetheart knew it was her with whom he was conversing. Her disguise releases her of limitations, and her true self shines.  Ganymede is confident, witty, fun-loving, and very forward.

Ryland Thomas as Orlando and Kalen Harriman as Rosalind in As You Like It. Photo by Bob Goodfellow.

Now one of the difficulties of this role Rosalind has taken on, and one of the difficulties of the play which greatly disturbed some of our book club members, is the slightly perverted idea that a grown man is pretending a young boy is his love and wooing “her.”  I think the awkwardness stemming from a man playing couples with a boy can be reconciled in a few ways if it’s played correctly.  First, their interactions can be cheesed up as true play-acting.  Orlando is playing along with Ganymede the same way an adult might play house with their small niece or nephew to pass the time and spend time with them.  They’re playing around.  Cheese it up!  What else are they going to do in the middle of nowhere?  They improvise to entertain themselves and are goofing around.

I think a remarkable way to play this relationship would be to show a real friendship forming between the two.  Nothing creepy, but a genuine affection.  How often do we hear men or women say that when they find that special someone, they want the other person to be like a best friend?  Or a couple say they are each other’s best friend?  If Orlando and Rosalind (as Ganymede, of course) form a open, honest, and fun friendship, it could be a tremendous way to build the relationship so the union at the end is truly expected and a genuine progression of their friendship into something more lasting.

And what about the small possibility that Orlando knows the whole time who Ganymede really is?  I’m not sure the text really supports this, but it’s an option that might be fun for a production to explore.

All of this is just to demonstrate how Orlando and Ganymede playing acting can be just that: playing.  While there has to be hints of truth, I believe it can be done in a non-creepy way.

As You Like It production at Shakespeare’s Globe (2010) with Jack Laskey as Orlando and Naomi Frederick as Rosalind

In fact, what excites me most about this play is all of the possibilities!  The above is just an example.  In this play, an actor gets to chose when exactly Orlando figures out Ganymede’s true identity.  Is it at the beginning?  Is it in Act IV, Scene 1, as was decided in the 2010 Shakespeare’s Globe production directed by Thea Sharrock?  Or does Orlando learn the truth only after Oliver makes the discovery in Act IV, Scene 3 (“You a man! You lack a man’s heart”)?  Or does he truly not get he hint until the finale in Act V, Scene 4 (“If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind”).

The roles can be played in different ways, as can our own.  While many of Shakespeare’s plays involve disguise and misidentity, none are as performative or explore our everyday acting as explicitly as As You Like It.  The freedom Rosalind finds as Ganymede isn’t beyond our own reach.  We can mask our true identity but reveal our true self.  If all the world’s a stage, we should enjoy trying out different roles, explore who we are and who we can be, and if we’re luck, find another “player” to play along with us.

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Love’s Labour’s Lost: A Bittersweet, Fitting Performance

I had the pleasure recently of seeing Love’s Labour’s Lost performed by Seattle Shakespeare Company. I wasn’t sure what to expect. This play isn’t exactly known for having a great storyline . . . or a plot. Okay, it has a plot. It’s just not very complicated. I was excited, though, because while I was reading the play I had wished I could see actors speak the long, flowery lines in hopes that I’d be able to better understand what the heck was going on.

The performance was everything I had hoped for. The actors speak well enough to make the text meaningful and direct. The director brings interesting spins which add depth to the play. The set is simple yet effective. I was very pleased.

This production set the play in the 1920s. As the audience enter, the main male characters are indulging in alcohol and dancing and frivolity. Once in a while one or two of them come to the audience and offer a drink or start a light conversation. As the play begins with their hungover morning, it seems as though the king’s edict is almost in response to their revelries rather than a result of their already studious behaviors. While I was a little taken aback, I realized that it emphasized the fact that these guys really aren’t going to make it through a vow like this.

The secondary characters are really quite intriguing. For instance, Costard’s character comes out as an abused figure. In reading, I hadn’t seen how much he gets mocked and shafted. He really isn’t a well-loved character. But to keep us from pitying him, he’s played as a perverted, bitter drunkard. Yes, it’s dark, but it somehow works without being too over-the-top for the play itself. He almost makes me consider him justified at the end when he exposes Armado’s sin.

Armado is played very melodramatically. He takes himself so seriously, with dramatic Spanish music playing in the background during his monologues, yet he is obviously not the great man he thinks (or wishes) he is. It’s easy to laugh at him, and at the other minor characters, for that matter.

Yet everything is turned upside down in the second half of the play. And I believe it’s this second half that makes the production as great as it is. Before I go on, if by chance you are from the Seattle area, I’d suggest you go and see this play yourself before reading the rest of this post. If not, read on.

Throughout the first half of the play (up to the lovers declaring their idea of pursuing the women), there is a strange butler standing in the background. He’s in almost every scene, just watching. He never speaks, and his only action is at the beginning of the play when he makes a gesture which brings up the lights and starts the play. He is well-built and powerful in appearance, almost eerie. Yet once everyone returns from intermission, he is gone. I had an inkling of what would happen, but wasn’t sure.

As the play progresses, the four suitors become more and more ridiculous. (Their Russian dancing is hilarious, by the way.) Then, when we see the play-within-a-play, we see the brutal side of their humor. Their wit becomes progressively meaner and meaner; the women grow quieter and quieter. Every secondary character whom you could so easily laugh at before is now an object of pity under the nobles’ cruelty. By the time Costard and Armado are about to duel, everyone is one tangle of bodies and shouting and fighting, except for the four noblewomen. These women are cowering stage left, appalled by what’s happening.

Then, at the height of the chaos, a boom sounds. The blue, flowy fabric of the background falls and hits the floor, revealing blackness and falling snow. The lights dim to shadows and a few spotlights. The ominous butler returns. He is the messenger coming to tell the princess of her father’s death.

You never see the frivolity or lightheartedness of the earlier scenes again. Everything is dark. While each couple has their parting, you can’t get a clear idea of what awaits their future. What’s perhaps saddest is Rosaline and Berowne’s goodbye—no kiss, just one hand clasping the other’s. As the nobles leave, Moth plays a bittersweet parting song while Armado and Jaquenetta and Dull slowly put white sheets over the furniture. We began with revelry, color, light; we leave with darkness, white and black, bitterness.

It all fits.

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William or “Shakespeare”

Admittedly, I have not yet begun to read our latest play, Henry VIII, but I have just finished reading about it. That’s something, isn’t it? Before beginning each play, I like to read short introductions from the 1974 Riverside Shakespeare. It was from this edition that the professor of my college Shakespeare class taught, and he required us to read the introductions from it even if we used another version to read the plays. I greatly respected this professor – he couldn’t turn on the VCR to save his life, but he could quote from Dante’s Inferno in Italian – and thus I have adopted some of his procedures as I undertake this great project. The Riverside introductions are short but informative, providing dates, possible sources, and controversies surrounding the play in question, making them perfect for my serious-yet-casual reading.

The four-page introduction for Henry VIII, written by Herschel Baker, deals with the authorship controversy for nearly two pages. I won’t go into the details, but in short, some scholars think that Shakespeare wrote the entire play while others think that he co-authored the text, perhaps writing less than half of it. The headache I got from this discussion isn’t entirely new: we ran into the same issues when exploring Pericles, and others surely will puzzle us as well. With both of these plays, I faced not only the problem of authorship but also a problem about the problem of authorship. Part of me wanted to just throw the question aside and analyze the play on its own – I’ve always been somewhat partial to formalist criticism – but another part of me started panicking. What if Shakespeare didn’t write this? Can I really read this play the way I would another, certainly-authentic play? Does this play even matter if it isn’t Shakespeare? Does it make me snobbish if I answer that last question, “No”?

A few weeks into our club, I had a more encompassing crisis when I watched Anonymous for the first time. I struggle with historically-based movies, even those not as controversial as Anonymous, because I, like the good English major I am, suspend my disbelief and take everything as fact. Unlike ordinary movies, though, the knowledge that certain characters and places did exist makes it difficult for me to remind myself that I must end the suspension. In short, although I don’t agree with what the film proposes, it too inspired that panic in me.

This all leads into a philosophic quandary (literary philosophy, yes, but still philosophy). Suppose Shakespeare didn’t write this particular play or any of the plays that bear his name. Does it matter? Do we care at all about William Shakespeare the human being, or is he merely a handy tag? There have been times when I have forgotten that Shakespeare has a first name and think of him as a Homer or Moses, eternally singly-named. I have been to the town in which Shakespeare was born, the houses in which he and his wife lived, and the reconstructed theater at which he acted, yet none of these locations influence the way I read Hamlet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. For many people, I know, these things do matter. When I took that college class, the professor asked each of us what we were most interested in, and one student replied that she really wanted to know more about Shakespeare’s life. (The best friend whose name I can’t recall in Ten Things I Hate about You, while fictional, also leads me to believe that there are people out there who adore Shakespeare on a personal level.) For me, however, I’m not sure I do care. I know and appreciate Shakespeare through the situations, characters, ideas, and poetry of his plays, none of which need any support or life other than those plays. If it turns out William of Stratford didn’t write the words, the beauty of a certain phrase and the resonance of a particular theme remain the same for me. Historically speaking, if I’m interpreting an action or turn of phrase as a way to understand the past, as long as someone from that time period wrote the words, it doesn’t much matter who specifically. “Shakespeare” is more a category than a person.

Yet the question lingers in the periphery of my thoughts: how would our reading of Shakespeare change if we discovered our idea of Shakespeare wasn’t true?

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The Merchant of Venice on paper and in film

Following our discussion of The Merchant of Venice, I borrowed the 2004 movie adaptation, directed by Michael Radford. I saw it several years ago and remembered only a few random scenes as I was reading the play, so it was interesting to revisit it with more educated eyes. (Be warned that there are some spoilers, mostly of the movie, below).

Before we go further, you should know one key fact about me: I love Jews. Religion. Culture. Language. Ritual. Holidays. Humor. Some food. Also, as a history major in college, I chose to do most of my choose-your-own-topic projects on Jewish history, so I know a fair bit about Jews in England at the time of Shakespeare’s writing as well as Jews in Italy at the time of the plot of The Merchant of Venice. Thus I had a difficult time with this play: my first instinct at many points in the text was outrage, but I tried not to let that cloud my interpretation too much. The others and I had argued about prejudice a bit in our discussion last week – with me uncharacteristically taking the role of nonacademic firebrand – and after evaluating our talk and the handful of critical pieces I’ve read, I think that Shylock and any anti-Jewish issues are not actually at the heart of the play. The title “merchant” is Antonio, and the play is ultimately about him and his adaptation to his friend’s new life. Where Shylock does appear, he is overwhelmingly (though not entirely) a villain in stark contrast to the Christian virtue of some of the other lead characters, imperfect as that virtue may be at times.

The film, on the other hand, makes Shylock and his Jewishness much more central and human. An explanatory note about the Jews’ legal and social position in Venice in 1596, interspersed with shots of grave-looking friars and flaming Hebrew manuscripts, precedes the lines that begin Act I, Scene 1.  Both this introduction and choices of costume and setting highlight some of the historical realities of being a Jew in Venice, namely, wearing a red hat and living in the ghetto. To some degree, this drive to be accurate betrays the original text: the red hats and ghetto setting aren’t harmful, but the first scenes suggest that Antonio and his companions are religious fanatics or spies for the Dominicans trying to destroy the Jews out of pure zeal. This motivation neither appears in Shakespeare’s writing nor is substantiated through the rest of the movie.

I do, however, approve of the way that Radford makes Judaism and Jewish identity more essential to Shylock’s character. Aside from a few comments about Father Abraham and “those” Christians, the written Shylock’s Jewishness is evident mainly in his profession and apparel: for the most part, he is a Jew simply because he is a Jew. But on screen, Shylock worships at the synagogue and is seen with fellow Jews on the street, quite a contrast to his isolated original. When the sentence that he must convert to Christianity comes down, he breaks down in the middle of the courtroom. Wealth is still clearly important to Shylock; some words of Shakespeare’s can’t be reinterpreted. Yet Shylock doesn’t seem concerned about money before everything else, and when he speaks of his daughter, the acting suggests that he truly feels robbed of a beloved family member. Even the business with the bond, about which Shylock clearly becomes more upset after Jessica leaves, fits into a perception that Shylock is the victim. Venetian society – which in Radford’s film does not hesitate to show its carefree luxury and decadence – has made him what he is through its consistent discrimination and cruelty towards him and his people. The film doesn’t demonize Portia and the others (as I would be inclined to do), but it doesn’t it exalt them, either.

The final scenes seal this interpretation. As the two newly-wed couples go off to their respective wings of Belmont, Radford presents a series of wordless pictures of where the other characters end up. Antonio seems a little sad and lonely (making it clear that the happy ending belongs to Portia and Bassanio). Shylock, freed from his red hat and its restrictions, looks on mournfully as the other Jews file into the synagogue. And Jessica, who hasn’t seemed very happy since arriving at Belmont, watches two men (one of whom I assume is her husband) fishing near the house. She looks down at her hands and her father’s turquoise ring (which, though unspecified in the text, is a Jewish wedding ring here) as though feeling the sting of something that she has lost, too. That loss, I believe, is her Jewish heritage and family – an ending I personally like more than Shakespeare’s original.

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Shakespeare Exhaustion

Tonight is one of those nights that I’m ashamed of myself as an English major but proud of myself as a generally smart person.

According to the schedule (and I’m all about schedules), we should be done with our current play, Henry IV, Part 2, on Monday – a little over a day from now. I began the play last Thursday but got through only one act. All day today, I’ve been trying to push myself to read, as I didn’t particularly have anything else to get done, but, well, it didn’t work. What I’m trying to say is I don’t want to read Shakespeare tonight.

Let me be clear: I like Shakespeare. I like poetry in general. Sometimes I wish I had a pretentious circle of friends so that we could sit around drinking wine and reciting poetry. Sadly, I do not like wine, and most of my friends hate poetry. So it goes. But there are times where trying to decipher several pages of poetry that tell a perhaps complex story, full of obscure words and phrases (many of which I can actually understand on my own, but my edition thinks that I won’t so it has a little symbol next to the word, and I just have to see what the editors have to say, thus interrupting the flow of my reading for no reason), just sounds exhausting. My mind wanders.

I knew this about myself, and that’s why I made sure to have some friends with me on this. On my own, I definitely would have quit – or rather, postponed indefinitely – by now. To be honest, halfway through the second play probably would have been my breaking point. With the book club (which couldn’t be more official, since we have a blog), however, I will read a bit now, after midnight, even though I’m teaching Sunday school in the morning, and spend my afternoon tomorrow reading more.

A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities.

Julius Caesar, IV.ii.140

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Braving the Tempest

Now that you know why we started this little adventure into Shakespeare’s world, I thought I’d tell you a bit about where we’re starting.  The first play we have chosen to tackle is The Tempest.

Personally, I know nothing about Tempest except that I saw the trailer for the 2010 movie at some point.  The trailer intrigued me and I always meant to pick up the movie but never did.  To be honest, because of the darker tone of the trailer, I assumed Tempest was a tragedy.  It’s not.  So now I’m trying to shift my mindset as I dive into Shakespeare’s last comedy.

Now, multiple people have asked me “Why are you starting with Tempest? That’s the last one he wrote!”  I know.  But it is listed as the first play in the First Folio, so we went with that.  I’m actually really excited to dive into Shakespeare’s final work first and here’s why:

None of Shakespeare’s plays is so “baffling and elusive as The Tempest,” wrote Peter Brook, the director of four remarkable productions of this comedy.  But its power is as noticeable as its mystery, and Brook also believes that this is Shakespeare’s “complete and final statement, and that it deals with the whole condition of man.”  Unlock this puzzle and a world of understanding may lie before you. – John Russel Brown

That’s a bit from the introduction of my copy of the play.  After reading that, I was eager to get started!  I’ve studied several of Shakespeare’s plays and have been amazed at the poetry, the exploration of human nature, the thrilling drama!  I obviously love Shakespeare a lot given I’m embarking on a quest to read all of his plays.  So I’m insanely curious!  How good was his final work?  How much different is it really from his other plays?  What themes did he decide to explore in his final years of writing?  Truthfully, I don’t think I could wait until the end of our journey to read his last play.  I want to explore it now!

We probably have our work cut out for us tackling this “baffling and elusive” play.  I suppose you’ll just have to keep following us to see how we manage.

But I think between the five of us we can brave The Tempest.

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Here is where the story begins.

Once upon a time, I thought it would be fun to take a semester to study in Britain. My main consideration was the sheep. There are sheep around where I’m from, but Oregon sheep aren’t as great as English sheep. If I went to Britain, I could see some English sheep, and perhaps even Welsh and Scottish sheep. So I went.

There were some sheep. They were great. Here are some of them, through a hedge on the side of the highway leading to Jane Austen’s village:

I also encountered a few human beings on my British adventure. One of them shared my room, another my house. Some others lived elsewhere in my section of London. (None of these people, by the way, are British. They, too, were studying abroad.) We went to museums, had tea, rode trains, and walked along the highway to Jane Austen’s village together. Most of all – except perhaps the tea, as we drank quite a bit of tea – we went to plays. We saw plays with our classes, plays on our own, good plays, horrible plays, musical plays, Restoration plays, modern plays… and Shakespeare plays. And that’s where this project began.

I didn’t like Shakespeare much when I read his work in high school – because we had to read it in high school. In college, though, it was an option, one which few of my fellow English majors chose. Since I didn’t like most of my fellow English majors, I began reading and liking Shakespeare in keeping with my rebellious nature. In London, however, these wonderful people I discovered in my room, house, and neighborhood turned out to be a new kind of creature: people whom I like and who like Shakespeare.

Now in the winter of my discontent (known to many people as “life after college”), I have to come to the disappointing realization that I can’t even name half of Shakespeare’s plays – first-world problem, but problem nonetheless. What kind of English major was I? Not a very dedicated one, as it turns out, but that’s another conversation. The solution, of course, is to read them (or, I suppose, memorize all of the titles; it wasn’t so much that I didn’t know the plot lines as that I didn’t know the names), but thirty-eight plays on my own with no due dates or professors? I couldn’t do it on my own. Enter Katy, the most drama-happy person I know who doesn’t drive me crazy, also in the winter of her discontent though ironically less dramatic about it. “Will you read all of Shakespeare’s plays with me, Katy?” I asked. We needn’t go into the details of that Facebook exchange; let it suffice to say that we discussed the issue, and eventually enter Liz and Hannah.

It won’t be easy, but I work pretty well under peer pressure. Approximately seventeen months from now, this particular problem in my life will be eradicated and we can move on to the next small-order concern.

Enjoy.

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