Okay, so I took the SAT yesterday, and as my brain currently completely drained of anything remotely resembling cleverness or wit, I am postponing my clever remarks on the wonderful Cymbeline until a bit later. Instead, I am celebrating the fact that I only have twenty plays left to go, by listing the ones I've read thus far with a few summarizing remarks.
Two Gentlemen of Verona: way too sad to be considered a comedy.
Love Labour's Lost: I was also lost by about page four. Too many characters, too much wordplay, does not translate well to today's ear.
The Comedy of Errors: Twins are funny--this one has two sets of 'em!
Romeo and Juliet: Just wanted to get it on....I mean, classic tragedy. First ever celebration of teen angst. (I'm mostly kidding. This is one of my favorites, and the 1960s movie is great slumber party fare.)
The Taming of the Shrew: Questionable morals. Kiss Me, Kate was better.
A Midsummer Night's Dream: I like Puck an awful lot, and I kind of want to be Titania. I really like this one.
The Merchant of Venice: See comments on Love Labour's Lost. Add in an astonishing amount of anti-Semitism.
Much Ado About Nothing: I beg to differ--it was definitely about something. When I remember what exactly, I'll let you know.
12th Night: Again with the too sad to be a comedy. I've seen two different productions of this--one traditional and one set in 1960s sitcom world. Not gonna lie--I had more fun when the jesters were cheerleaders.
Henry VIII: Anne Boleyn is unbelievable. As in, everything she said was jaw droppingly full of innuendo and irony. I adored her. (Too bad most of the play is Catherine of Aragon whining. What's she got to whine about? Wait till he sends you to the Tower of London for beheading. Then you can whine.)
The Tempest: I will have to revisit this one. It was so good that it merits its own entry.
Julius Caesar: Tons of fun. I like Cassius--too bad he's doomed for the Inferno.
Macbeth: Is awesome. I love that there is a character named McDuffy.
Antony and Cleopatra: Is an example of why really beautiful people make for bad monarchs. I really like all of Cleopatra's rants though.
Titus Andronicus: Ewwwwwwwwww.
Cymbeline: probably one of my favorites yet. It'll get an entry soon.
Up next for the reading is Richard III. Maybe I'll just rent the movie...
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
If Titus Andronicus...
...were a movie, I would either have walked out sometime during the third act, or sat quavering in my seat and cursing the day I shelled out eight fifty to see it.
I don't like horror movies. I don't like injustices. I don't like unnecessary violence and bloodshed. These are not things I look for in my entertainment. However, if Titus Andronicus were a movie, I bet it'd be a box office smash, especially with a Halloween release date and a splashy ad campaign.
But seriously, to give you the highlights:
We begin with an emperor dying, and the country arguing over who will replace him. Things seem to work out, although for some reason we inaugurate the new ruler with a human sacrifice. But later, the two princes Titus's daughter, Lavinia, and cut out her tongue so she can't tell anyone, and the queen gives birth to biracial child, fathered by her slave-lover, who immediately kills the nurse who birthed the child, and kidnaps it. Too bad his efforts are in vain--they will all die before the play ends.
My personal favorite monstrosity is when Titus is told his sons' lives will be spared if he cuts off his own hand. He does so, and gives it to the messenger. The messenger returns with his sons' heads on a platter. Poor Bloody Stump Titus.
Actually, no, I don't feel that badly for him. After all, he figures out that the princes raped Lavinia, kills them and cooks them into a pie, which he serves to their mother, the Queen. Then he asks the emperor if a father should kill his daughter if she was raped. The emperor says, in general terms, "Hell yeah!" and so Titus proceeds to kill Lavinia and the Queen all at one nightmarish dinner party.
I can't say that I'm a fan of a play in which every major character is killed in sundry horrible ways, but I know that many people are. Much like sex, blood sells. It's just a little distressing to see that this was as true back in the 1580s as it is now in 2007. But there is something to the madness. I read Titus in one sitting, whereas it has taken me three days to wade myself through the comedic banter of All's Well that Ends Well. There is something to be said for sitting on the edge of one's seat.
Ah well, to keep you posted, the current play count is 16/37. I'm working on it!
Molly
I don't like horror movies. I don't like injustices. I don't like unnecessary violence and bloodshed. These are not things I look for in my entertainment. However, if Titus Andronicus were a movie, I bet it'd be a box office smash, especially with a Halloween release date and a splashy ad campaign.
But seriously, to give you the highlights:
We begin with an emperor dying, and the country arguing over who will replace him. Things seem to work out, although for some reason we inaugurate the new ruler with a human sacrifice. But later, the two princes Titus's daughter, Lavinia, and cut out her tongue so she can't tell anyone, and the queen gives birth to biracial child, fathered by her slave-lover, who immediately kills the nurse who birthed the child, and kidnaps it. Too bad his efforts are in vain--they will all die before the play ends.
My personal favorite monstrosity is when Titus is told his sons' lives will be spared if he cuts off his own hand. He does so, and gives it to the messenger. The messenger returns with his sons' heads on a platter. Poor Bloody Stump Titus.
Actually, no, I don't feel that badly for him. After all, he figures out that the princes raped Lavinia, kills them and cooks them into a pie, which he serves to their mother, the Queen. Then he asks the emperor if a father should kill his daughter if she was raped. The emperor says, in general terms, "Hell yeah!" and so Titus proceeds to kill Lavinia and the Queen all at one nightmarish dinner party.
I can't say that I'm a fan of a play in which every major character is killed in sundry horrible ways, but I know that many people are. Much like sex, blood sells. It's just a little distressing to see that this was as true back in the 1580s as it is now in 2007. But there is something to the madness. I read Titus in one sitting, whereas it has taken me three days to wade myself through the comedic banter of All's Well that Ends Well. There is something to be said for sitting on the edge of one's seat.
Ah well, to keep you posted, the current play count is 16/37. I'm working on it!
Molly
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
It's a fine, fine line.
Oh, how to begin?
So I was reading The Two Gentlemen of Verona the other day, and I started thinking about the nature of comedies and tragedies.
First of all, I would like to say that I think this play has an unfairly bad reputation. Despite having a slightly implausible plot line, the writing really affected me, and I found it much more entertaining than some of its more highly regarded fellows (*cough*Love's Labour Lost *cough* Justonelonggameofwordplaywithwaytoomanycharactersandnoplot). However, I would not have classified it as a comedy. Now, I am aware that the classic definition of comedy is a bit more inclusive than the happily ever after tale we get nowadays.
But let's lay it out here--Julia is madly in love with Proteus, he is forced by his father to go off to Milan to "expand his mind". They exchange rings, have tearful goodbyes, etc. Now Julia is stuck at home in Verona thinking about how much she misses Proteus. Meanwhile Proteus is livin' it up in Milan, falling in love with his best friend's gal, Sylvia.
Julia misses Proteus so much that she decides to dress up as a boy and travel to Milan just to see him. Bam. She gets there and he's courting someone else. So poor Julia is stuck in Milan, with no money, dangerously disguised as a boy, and desperately in love with this skeevy guy, who doesn't even recognize her when she goes to work as a page in the house where he's staying. He actually asks her to deliver the ring she gave him as a gift to Sylvia. Wanna know how Julia is revealed? She essentially "walks in on" Proteus trying to rape Sylvia and faints.
The play would be a horrible tragedy if he didn't suddenly recognize her and go, "Oh yeah, I'm actually in love with Julia" which is, basically, what happens, and because it is the sixteenth century, Julia has to be all "Yay! Proteus likes me again!" Now that's tragic.
Compare this story to Romeo and Juliet. Teenagers fall in love at a party, realize their families hate each other, so get to have lots of fun sneaking around scenes. There's some mad gossiping, a lot of she loves me she loves me not-ing, and a whole pack of comedic side characters. There's even the classic Shakespearean misunderstanding, which we are just waiting to be resolved so the kids can get together and everyone can be happy.
Except it isn't resolved. People start to die, and all of a sudden our happy-go-lucky teenagers are dealing with real grief and real anger and the real need for revenge. Turns out Mercutio is less of a party animal when he's bleeding to death in the street.
So who's to say what's a comedy or tragedy anyway? It's like life, all mixed up together.
Molly
So I was reading The Two Gentlemen of Verona the other day, and I started thinking about the nature of comedies and tragedies.
First of all, I would like to say that I think this play has an unfairly bad reputation. Despite having a slightly implausible plot line, the writing really affected me, and I found it much more entertaining than some of its more highly regarded fellows (*cough*Love's Labour Lost *cough* Justonelonggameofwordplaywithwaytoomanycharactersandnoplot). However, I would not have classified it as a comedy. Now, I am aware that the classic definition of comedy is a bit more inclusive than the happily ever after tale we get nowadays.
But let's lay it out here--Julia is madly in love with Proteus, he is forced by his father to go off to Milan to "expand his mind". They exchange rings, have tearful goodbyes, etc. Now Julia is stuck at home in Verona thinking about how much she misses Proteus. Meanwhile Proteus is livin' it up in Milan, falling in love with his best friend's gal, Sylvia.
Julia misses Proteus so much that she decides to dress up as a boy and travel to Milan just to see him. Bam. She gets there and he's courting someone else. So poor Julia is stuck in Milan, with no money, dangerously disguised as a boy, and desperately in love with this skeevy guy, who doesn't even recognize her when she goes to work as a page in the house where he's staying. He actually asks her to deliver the ring she gave him as a gift to Sylvia. Wanna know how Julia is revealed? She essentially "walks in on" Proteus trying to rape Sylvia and faints.
The play would be a horrible tragedy if he didn't suddenly recognize her and go, "Oh yeah, I'm actually in love with Julia" which is, basically, what happens, and because it is the sixteenth century, Julia has to be all "Yay! Proteus likes me again!" Now that's tragic.
Compare this story to Romeo and Juliet. Teenagers fall in love at a party, realize their families hate each other, so get to have lots of fun sneaking around scenes. There's some mad gossiping, a lot of she loves me she loves me not-ing, and a whole pack of comedic side characters. There's even the classic Shakespearean misunderstanding, which we are just waiting to be resolved so the kids can get together and everyone can be happy.
Except it isn't resolved. People start to die, and all of a sudden our happy-go-lucky teenagers are dealing with real grief and real anger and the real need for revenge. Turns out Mercutio is less of a party animal when he's bleeding to death in the street.
So who's to say what's a comedy or tragedy anyway? It's like life, all mixed up together.
Molly
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Simply play on and "Lay on, Macduffy!"
Well, I just finished reading Macbeth. Wowee. I certainly wasn't sure what I was getting into with this one. You see, my immediate association with Macbeth was an old and strong theater superstition, which has filtered down and is still present, even in the community theaters where I practice the craft. It is simply that you cannot say the word Macbeth in a theater. Not in the audience, not on stage, not in the lobby, not anywhere. There is supposedly a strong curse connected to "the Scottish play" (as it is referred to by all theater type folks), and saying the title will bring accidents, ill-fortune, and all around bad vibes to your production.
There are many proposed sources of this superstition (see: http://www.angelfire.com/fl3/Defymcbeth/Super2.html) but I personally like the idea of the Weird Sisters and Hecate releasing their wrath on all thespians.
So basically I didn't know much about the actual play, except for the vague sense of dread that comes with the name. After reading it, I have the same sense, but for more substantial reasons. This play, my friends, is Shakespeare done Alfred Hitchcock-style. A murder has gone down, and the suspense is rising. Add in a background war and political power struggle, as well as some crazy potion brewing, and you have the best Halloween movie EVER.
But seriously, after Macbeth murders the king (a guest in his own house), he grow paranoid, and starts killing off everyone who might be suspicious. He sees ghosts, and if that weren't enough, his wife goes crazy. I actually read somewhere that Lady Mac is a predecessor to modern obsessive-compulsive disorder, with her constant hand washing. She's convinced that the blood from the murder is still visible--that she will never be clean. It's rather like "The Tell-tale Heart", but with sword fights.
Personally, my favorite bit is the witches song:
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
And there's more where that comes from, ladies and gentlemen. Actually there are rumors that the witch's songs and parts were enlarged substantially in the printing of Macbeth, and not by Shakespeare. Of course, all of his plays are surrounded by a veritable fog of...unveritifiable-ness. But I want to just imagine William Shakespeare, regular guy, sitting in the Globe, or in Stratford, scratching out play after play. I don't like conspiracy theories, and feel that in relentless searching for the honest-to-God-Discovery-Channel-truth, people tend to forget the real point, the reason why they like these plays in the first place.
Well, that's all for now.
Molly
(PS: The subject line is a quote from a rather hysterical song from the Broadway musical Kiss Me, Kate, called "Brush Up Your Shakespeare." For some of the most far fetched rhymes you will ever read, check it out at http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/brushupy.htm)
There are many proposed sources of this superstition (see: http://www.angelfire.com/fl3/Defymcbeth/Super2.html) but I personally like the idea of the Weird Sisters and Hecate releasing their wrath on all thespians.
So basically I didn't know much about the actual play, except for the vague sense of dread that comes with the name. After reading it, I have the same sense, but for more substantial reasons. This play, my friends, is Shakespeare done Alfred Hitchcock-style. A murder has gone down, and the suspense is rising. Add in a background war and political power struggle, as well as some crazy potion brewing, and you have the best Halloween movie EVER.
But seriously, after Macbeth murders the king (a guest in his own house), he grow paranoid, and starts killing off everyone who might be suspicious. He sees ghosts, and if that weren't enough, his wife goes crazy. I actually read somewhere that Lady Mac is a predecessor to modern obsessive-compulsive disorder, with her constant hand washing. She's convinced that the blood from the murder is still visible--that she will never be clean. It's rather like "The Tell-tale Heart", but with sword fights.
Personally, my favorite bit is the witches song:
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
And there's more where that comes from, ladies and gentlemen. Actually there are rumors that the witch's songs and parts were enlarged substantially in the printing of Macbeth, and not by Shakespeare. Of course, all of his plays are surrounded by a veritable fog of...unveritifiable-ness. But I want to just imagine William Shakespeare, regular guy, sitting in the Globe, or in Stratford, scratching out play after play. I don't like conspiracy theories, and feel that in relentless searching for the honest-to-God-Discovery-Channel-truth, people tend to forget the real point, the reason why they like these plays in the first place.
Well, that's all for now.
Molly
(PS: The subject line is a quote from a rather hysterical song from the Broadway musical Kiss Me, Kate, called "Brush Up Your Shakespeare." For some of the most far fetched rhymes you will ever read, check it out at http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/brushupy.htm)
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Trial by Fire
Well, here it is, ladies and gentlemen, the inaugural post of my lovely lovely blog.
Today we returned to school from our "winter break," and it was comforting in a way. I like the order of schedules and classes (even those that just entail scheduled goofing off). However, sometimes I fear that I may be a bit too embedded in the need for guidelines, especially when I begin setting up arbitrary schedules and goals for myself on my time off. What can I say, just call me Type A, I guess.
But it's a natural thing to do at New Years--setting goals. 2007's starring event will be a school sponsored trip to the UK (I will fly into Dublin on St. Patrick's Day!) and many of my resolutions centered around this (hopefully) life-changing trip.
I've always had the desire to be an extremely well-read person, but the proximity of this trip has given me something specific to reach for. You see, we will be visiting Stratford-on-Avon, and thus I have decided to take on the Bard. The master poet Himself.
So here it is, the challenge: I will read all of Shakespeare's plays before March 16th, when we depart for jolly old England. I would say I am off to a very good start, having read five plays over the last week or so, bringing my total up to 13 out of 37. We'll see how it goes from here.
Molly
Today we returned to school from our "winter break," and it was comforting in a way. I like the order of schedules and classes (even those that just entail scheduled goofing off). However, sometimes I fear that I may be a bit too embedded in the need for guidelines, especially when I begin setting up arbitrary schedules and goals for myself on my time off. What can I say, just call me Type A, I guess.
But it's a natural thing to do at New Years--setting goals. 2007's starring event will be a school sponsored trip to the UK (I will fly into Dublin on St. Patrick's Day!) and many of my resolutions centered around this (hopefully) life-changing trip.
I've always had the desire to be an extremely well-read person, but the proximity of this trip has given me something specific to reach for. You see, we will be visiting Stratford-on-Avon, and thus I have decided to take on the Bard. The master poet Himself.
So here it is, the challenge: I will read all of Shakespeare's plays before March 16th, when we depart for jolly old England. I would say I am off to a very good start, having read five plays over the last week or so, bringing my total up to 13 out of 37. We'll see how it goes from here.
Molly
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