Thinking that my next play to tackle will be The Taming of the Shrew, but not quite decided on that. Also, my complete works (well, all three of my complete works, because one complete works obviously isn't enough) is currently at my old house, so I'll need to pick that up before anything else. In lieu of a post on a play, I'm looking at a sonnet today.
Not sure if sonnets are included in the Shakespeare in a Year challenge. I suppose they're a major part of his work... It's probably just my general wariness of poetry. Most of it is too artsy and figurative for me to grasp. I like it when I can just let it wash over me, get the general emotional sense from it, but too often as an English major I'm required to analyze it, and I'm simply not up to that task. So please, lower all expectations, because goodness knows when it comes to poetry I have no idea what I'm doing.
This sonnet came up as I've been thinking a lot about Jane Austen, perhaps my second-favorite author behind the Bard (competing with Kurt Vonnegut, Road Dahl, and Isaac Asimov, most likely). My mum and I first watched the five hour A&E version of Pride and Prejudice (with the incomparable Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy) when I was five, and since then I've been raised on the literature of Austen, forming my romantic notions around her stories. This, of course, is always very dangerous; how many women have cursed Disney for giving them unrealistic expectations about love? Superficially, Austen's message about love could be taken badly - "Poor, nice girls get rich husbands" (or, in one specific case, a rich girl gets an equally rich husband; rich husbands, however, are always involved). This, however, is not the conclusion I draw from her work (even though no one minds a rich husband, now do they...); instead, I learn a lot more from her heroines that only through an understanding of yourself and a sense of personal dignity and integrity can you ever be happy; to be in a relationship, you must be able to stand alone.
Forgive the digression. Sonnet 116 comes up in a movie version of Sense and Sensibility (with Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, and Hugh Grant among others... it's Ang Lee, and it's divine) where it's Marianne's favorite. She recites it two different times; the first, when she has just met Willoughby who will become her love, and once in the rain outside his estate after he has cruelly deserted her for a richer woman. Here's the text:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
What I argue that Marianne learns is that love is no such thing; although you may love someone, things don't necessarily work out. Love doesn't withstand all problems, it doesn't conquer all, and it isn't all you need (sorry, Beatles).
I suppose some will argue that if love doesn't meet this criteria, an unshakeable thing, then it isn't really love, or true love, or whatever. This just seems silly to me. People are in love all the time; sometimes, when it doesn't work out, they might so "Oh, I guess I wasn't REALLY in love with them. I just THOUGHT I was." However, I think most of the time people were in love, they were feeling something special; we just have to admit that sometimes love, no matter how wonderful it feels, doesn't last.
What's so wrong, after all, with having more than one love? Why does there have to be a one true love? It seems stingy to me, to limit our feelings like that; why would we deny ourselves one of the greatest emotions that we human beings can possibly feel? I'd feel much more gyped to say "Oh, that person I spent the last three years of my life with I didn't really love;" jeez, I hope I loved them to stay with them for so long, to give them my time and energy. If it isn't about love, then what's it all for?
Not that everything is always about love. If I'm attracted to someone, if I go out with someone, it's not because I immediately love them and want to be with them forever and have their babies. There's a lot more that goes into the mix - desires, intimacy, passion, friendship, adventure, etc. And I don't know about other people, but I personally find it damn hard to separate these things out from one another. You can't fractionally distill emotions. Sorry Shakespeare, but love is less like the ever-fixed mark in the sky that never changes than the tempest you claim it looks upon and is unmoved by.
At first I was skeptical of the "love is a raging sea" metaphor as well. Surely it should be steadier than that; all this chaotic, confusing mixing of emotions and hormones was something else that I just didn't get out in adolescence, and I need to suck it up and be mature about these things. Maybe there's some truth; goodness knows I'm a late bloomer, and have less experience with these matters than many other people. But I still don't believe it's that easy to say this is exactly how I feel, I'm conscious of it, and it isn't going to change.
Love, and all other emotions, DO alter with time. Even if they don't change in presence, they change in quality; ask any married couple and I'm sure they'll tell you that the kind of love they felt at the beginning of their relationship is different for the love they have now, and who's to say which is better or worse. A sex buddy can turn into a boyfriend; a once-great love can become nothing more than a good friend.
I don't believe that love, emotions, and people are fickle; rather, I think they are dynamic. Those who claim to be stoic and unmoving are often boring, or just kidding themselves. Perfection is not something achieved once and held the same, but pursued, a journey with no set destination. In the same Austen vein, I cite Mr. Darcy, every woman's fantasy of the perfect man. The thing is, he isn't. What makes him so amazing is his change, and the complement of Elizabeth that brings about that change. Elizabeth and Darcy are not perfect by themselves, but as Austen writes, Elizabeth first "began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance." I consider this to perhaps be the best description of a perfect union that exists in literature or anywhere. Two people, wonderful in themselves, realize that by being mutable they can grow both separately and together.
So as lovely as the Bard's verse is, I must contend the message, even if the consequences are that Shakespeare "never writ, nor no man ever loved." Love is dynamic, freeform, altering, mixing, elating, maddening... all the best things in life.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
"What is this? Sport?" - The Winter's Tale II.i
Last post I discussed Leontes and jealousy. Today, I want to focus on Hermione and shock.
The title for this post is Hermione's first response to her husband's accusations of her falsehood. She's playing with her child, thinking everything is fine just as it has always been, and suddenly Leontes storms in and has the child taken away, denouncing it as a bastard and her as an adulteress. Hermione cannot comprehend it; she's shocked, confused about what has gotten into him, angered about such a slander, and already pitying him for the anguish he will feel once he recognizes his "mistake." Eventually, she is given a trial that states her alleged crimes, and she gives a heart-wrenching speech about her innocence. Leontes is unmoved; even the Oracle at Delphi's report of her innocence fails to move him. His resistance to such logical and emotional appeals is inconceivable. The only thing that finally gets him is when Hermione and their son Mamillius dies from the grief.
Hermione's situation is a nightmare, but I envy her in this: she got to hear the accusations against her and give her own response. Of all the things Leontes denies her, at least she is given some voice.
I got dumped last week. I say dumped because I had absolutely no input in the matter. It was a bolt from the blue; I thought that we were doing wonderfully. There was no discussion, no explanation given other than vague suggestions about "different places in our lives" and "feeling distant." Like Hermione, I was consumed by the shock of it all. You feel stupid, like you should have seen it coming, like there were signs you missed. You analyze every action of your past week, wondering what could have been the trigger. But in awhile you realize you aren't stupid, you didn't miss anything, it's nothing horrible that you did; the other person was just scared, and instead of talking about it, had a knee-jerk reaction to cut you out of their world. A friend of mine said that it was better this way, that I could use the anger of being dumped, hate him, and get over it sooner. I disagree. I've had one other long (and agonizing) relationship before, and even though breaking up sucked we at least talked about it together for awhile and made the decision mutually. There was transition and acceptance. Even though I felt completely disrespected and discounted in this break-up, no matter how much of a dick someone is acting like it still takes awhile to stop loving them.
Another thing people will tell you is that the person was an asshole, so you can stop caring about them. Well, I certainly hope I'm not the kind of girl to consciously date an asshole for nearly a year, and I fancy myself I'm a little better judge of character than that. So what's the deal? Should Hermione have seen how much of a jealous jerk Leontes could be? Does his behavior signal that he's had this in him all along, that she's loved a man who is a heartless prick in disguise? I can't believe that. People make mistakes. In the end he's sorry and it takes 16 years for them to come back together. I'm not saying I believe that my ex will realize his mistake and come back to me; I'm too much of a realist. Though he's acted in the poorest way, I cannot believe that this is who he has always been. I believe he has made some kind of mistake, in dumping me or perhaps just the manner of dumping me, which he may or may not come to see in time. But I can't hate him, can't say I was wrong in feeling the way I did. I know I'm young, but... when it came to emotional investment, I was in, and I was all in. The time, the effort, future plans... it was all there, and he knew it was there for him, because I genuinely felt that it was something worthwhile, something I could live on, thrive on. So much for that.
Thankfully, I think I'm doing better than Hermione, who became frozen statue-like for the next 16 years. After a day crying and a day getting drunk, I'm taking it as easy as I can. Thank whatever deity you prefer for the Camillos and Paulinas of the world that help you out in these situations, be it giving you a place to stay or going out dancing with you. I still believe, I must believe, that even a tale about winter ends with the promise of spring.
The title for this post is Hermione's first response to her husband's accusations of her falsehood. She's playing with her child, thinking everything is fine just as it has always been, and suddenly Leontes storms in and has the child taken away, denouncing it as a bastard and her as an adulteress. Hermione cannot comprehend it; she's shocked, confused about what has gotten into him, angered about such a slander, and already pitying him for the anguish he will feel once he recognizes his "mistake." Eventually, she is given a trial that states her alleged crimes, and she gives a heart-wrenching speech about her innocence. Leontes is unmoved; even the Oracle at Delphi's report of her innocence fails to move him. His resistance to such logical and emotional appeals is inconceivable. The only thing that finally gets him is when Hermione and their son Mamillius dies from the grief.
Hermione's situation is a nightmare, but I envy her in this: she got to hear the accusations against her and give her own response. Of all the things Leontes denies her, at least she is given some voice.
I got dumped last week. I say dumped because I had absolutely no input in the matter. It was a bolt from the blue; I thought that we were doing wonderfully. There was no discussion, no explanation given other than vague suggestions about "different places in our lives" and "feeling distant." Like Hermione, I was consumed by the shock of it all. You feel stupid, like you should have seen it coming, like there were signs you missed. You analyze every action of your past week, wondering what could have been the trigger. But in awhile you realize you aren't stupid, you didn't miss anything, it's nothing horrible that you did; the other person was just scared, and instead of talking about it, had a knee-jerk reaction to cut you out of their world. A friend of mine said that it was better this way, that I could use the anger of being dumped, hate him, and get over it sooner. I disagree. I've had one other long (and agonizing) relationship before, and even though breaking up sucked we at least talked about it together for awhile and made the decision mutually. There was transition and acceptance. Even though I felt completely disrespected and discounted in this break-up, no matter how much of a dick someone is acting like it still takes awhile to stop loving them.
Another thing people will tell you is that the person was an asshole, so you can stop caring about them. Well, I certainly hope I'm not the kind of girl to consciously date an asshole for nearly a year, and I fancy myself I'm a little better judge of character than that. So what's the deal? Should Hermione have seen how much of a jealous jerk Leontes could be? Does his behavior signal that he's had this in him all along, that she's loved a man who is a heartless prick in disguise? I can't believe that. People make mistakes. In the end he's sorry and it takes 16 years for them to come back together. I'm not saying I believe that my ex will realize his mistake and come back to me; I'm too much of a realist. Though he's acted in the poorest way, I cannot believe that this is who he has always been. I believe he has made some kind of mistake, in dumping me or perhaps just the manner of dumping me, which he may or may not come to see in time. But I can't hate him, can't say I was wrong in feeling the way I did. I know I'm young, but... when it came to emotional investment, I was in, and I was all in. The time, the effort, future plans... it was all there, and he knew it was there for him, because I genuinely felt that it was something worthwhile, something I could live on, thrive on. So much for that.
Thankfully, I think I'm doing better than Hermione, who became frozen statue-like for the next 16 years. After a day crying and a day getting drunk, I'm taking it as easy as I can. Thank whatever deity you prefer for the Camillos and Paulinas of the world that help you out in these situations, be it giving you a place to stay or going out dancing with you. I still believe, I must believe, that even a tale about winter ends with the promise of spring.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
"Is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that's in' t is nothing" - The Winter's Tale I.ii
Off to a slow start reading, I must admit. Even though I'm in the darn thing I've only really gotten into the first act of The Winter's Tale. There's plenty, however, in the one act.
Here's the set-up. Leontes, king of Sicilia, has his good friend Polixenes, king of Bohemia, to stay at his court. He was there 9 months earlier as well. Polixenes is leaving, but Leontes tries to convince him to stay. Leontes tells his wife, Hermione, to convince Polixenes, and after three little speeches, he agrees. Suddenly, and not just suddenly but completely out of the blue, Leontes is filled with a deep sense of jealousy, believing that Polixenes's acquiescence with Hermione to stay stems from a love affair between the two. Within the short span of three pages he is convinced that his best friend has betrayed him, his wife is a whore, his unborn child is a bastard, and even his young son Mamillius isn't his either. The transformation is astonishing, and certainly a challenge for any actor.
I was talking with my friend who is playing Leontes, discussing the possibilities for the role. One school of thought he mentioned is that Leontes might be sort of an old kook, completely wild and insecure and moody. Which, we agreed, just seems boring and no fun to watch. However, I think there is some kernel of truth in this theory. Any man who would get this jealous this quickly on so little evidence must have some kind of self-esteem issue. He couldn't be a complete whiner like the character mentioned above, however; he's the king, he seems to have managed his kingdom very well and competently before now, as well as being good friends personally and politically with his king-neighbor in Bohemia. They mention shannigans they got into as boys, so I can't imagine him as some socially-challenged brat who got shoved into a position of power without knowing how to manage it. But why the sudden reversal of everything that he has gained and loved in his life? Jealousy is not a new thing in the plays of Shakespeare, but often it is fueled by some nefarious schemer who plants false evidence and purposely agitates weaknesses of character, like Iago in Othello. Here, no one agitates it but Leontes himself. I suppose you could manipulate the portrayal of this so that Hermione and Polixenes could be extremely flirty and all up in each other, but I don't think the script calls for that at all.
As an actor, I try to rationalize everything, think everything through logically. It's a good thing to do, but occasionally I have to remember that people do not always act rationally, and often this occurs around objects that they love the most dearly, that which they treasure and would collapse if they lost. Leontes is obviously not being rational here. How does he becomes so frightened of thinking that his entire marraige is a sham, his children are not his, and his best friend for years has been stabbing him in the back? I suppose it happens. In the period, cuckoldry, or your wife cheating on you with another man, was a very big fear. It brought not only social humiliation, but other repercussions. Your wife was your property, given to you once her father gave her up. Her children by you were your property. Another man screwing your wife is not only insulting, it's like usurping what is rightfully yours; it "unmans" you, takes away your control. Perhaps a king wouldn't be bothered since he's in control of so much, but maybe it's more exacerbating because as king he should be in control of all, least of all his own wife. So what's the aggravant? Is the kingdom in some kind of political turmoil? Is he feeling old and unattractive these days? Has their sex life been not so exciting lately due to Hermione's pregnancy? Does he get tired of all the court lords hitting on his wife?
Maybe this statement isn't justified, but I believe I know more about jealousy than the average person. I deal with it almost on a weekly basis. Not because I'm necessarily the jealous type. The relationship I have, its open nature, is just more prone than others to inciting jealousy for me and my partner. It's a natural emotion and, like all other emotions, there are healthy and unhealthy ways to deal with it. Most days I'm fine, but I do have my bad days. When that happens, it's never my boyfriend; it's always something with me, something I'm dealing with, some self-esteem issue that's flaring up. It's not because I'm a kook, socially messed up, introverted, fragile. It's because I'm a human, and I have insecurities that I can't out-logic 100% of the time. So I get Leontes in that respect. I have to cut him a little slack.
What depths remained to be plumbed are why does he take that insecurity, whatever it may be, to the extremes that he does. Again, while they are shocking (he tells a servant to poison Polixenes, he publicly humiliates and rejects his wife and children, causing their deaths and sending the baby to be abandoned in the woods, threatening to burn other people just mildly involved, etc.) I can understand the downward spiral of this kind of flare-up. I remember times when I've told people that I really loved and wanted to be with that they should leave me immediately. It's not what I wanted, but it's what I felt I couldn't avoid, the inevitable, where my issues had led me to. We end up in the strangest positions, so contrary to our true desires. It's psychologically both perverted and fascinating.
Maybe the question then isn't how can Leontes be doing all of this so intensely and so quickly. Maybe the question is why, even though we have similar experiences, can we not recognize, or choose not to recognize, the same kind of personal despair.
You could play Leontes as an insecure oddball. You could play him as an evil, paranoid misogynist. I think the only successful option is to find his humanity. In the end, for all his actions, his feelings are not so alien from ours.
Here's the set-up. Leontes, king of Sicilia, has his good friend Polixenes, king of Bohemia, to stay at his court. He was there 9 months earlier as well. Polixenes is leaving, but Leontes tries to convince him to stay. Leontes tells his wife, Hermione, to convince Polixenes, and after three little speeches, he agrees. Suddenly, and not just suddenly but completely out of the blue, Leontes is filled with a deep sense of jealousy, believing that Polixenes's acquiescence with Hermione to stay stems from a love affair between the two. Within the short span of three pages he is convinced that his best friend has betrayed him, his wife is a whore, his unborn child is a bastard, and even his young son Mamillius isn't his either. The transformation is astonishing, and certainly a challenge for any actor.
I was talking with my friend who is playing Leontes, discussing the possibilities for the role. One school of thought he mentioned is that Leontes might be sort of an old kook, completely wild and insecure and moody. Which, we agreed, just seems boring and no fun to watch. However, I think there is some kernel of truth in this theory. Any man who would get this jealous this quickly on so little evidence must have some kind of self-esteem issue. He couldn't be a complete whiner like the character mentioned above, however; he's the king, he seems to have managed his kingdom very well and competently before now, as well as being good friends personally and politically with his king-neighbor in Bohemia. They mention shannigans they got into as boys, so I can't imagine him as some socially-challenged brat who got shoved into a position of power without knowing how to manage it. But why the sudden reversal of everything that he has gained and loved in his life? Jealousy is not a new thing in the plays of Shakespeare, but often it is fueled by some nefarious schemer who plants false evidence and purposely agitates weaknesses of character, like Iago in Othello. Here, no one agitates it but Leontes himself. I suppose you could manipulate the portrayal of this so that Hermione and Polixenes could be extremely flirty and all up in each other, but I don't think the script calls for that at all.
As an actor, I try to rationalize everything, think everything through logically. It's a good thing to do, but occasionally I have to remember that people do not always act rationally, and often this occurs around objects that they love the most dearly, that which they treasure and would collapse if they lost. Leontes is obviously not being rational here. How does he becomes so frightened of thinking that his entire marraige is a sham, his children are not his, and his best friend for years has been stabbing him in the back? I suppose it happens. In the period, cuckoldry, or your wife cheating on you with another man, was a very big fear. It brought not only social humiliation, but other repercussions. Your wife was your property, given to you once her father gave her up. Her children by you were your property. Another man screwing your wife is not only insulting, it's like usurping what is rightfully yours; it "unmans" you, takes away your control. Perhaps a king wouldn't be bothered since he's in control of so much, but maybe it's more exacerbating because as king he should be in control of all, least of all his own wife. So what's the aggravant? Is the kingdom in some kind of political turmoil? Is he feeling old and unattractive these days? Has their sex life been not so exciting lately due to Hermione's pregnancy? Does he get tired of all the court lords hitting on his wife?
Maybe this statement isn't justified, but I believe I know more about jealousy than the average person. I deal with it almost on a weekly basis. Not because I'm necessarily the jealous type. The relationship I have, its open nature, is just more prone than others to inciting jealousy for me and my partner. It's a natural emotion and, like all other emotions, there are healthy and unhealthy ways to deal with it. Most days I'm fine, but I do have my bad days. When that happens, it's never my boyfriend; it's always something with me, something I'm dealing with, some self-esteem issue that's flaring up. It's not because I'm a kook, socially messed up, introverted, fragile. It's because I'm a human, and I have insecurities that I can't out-logic 100% of the time. So I get Leontes in that respect. I have to cut him a little slack.
What depths remained to be plumbed are why does he take that insecurity, whatever it may be, to the extremes that he does. Again, while they are shocking (he tells a servant to poison Polixenes, he publicly humiliates and rejects his wife and children, causing their deaths and sending the baby to be abandoned in the woods, threatening to burn other people just mildly involved, etc.) I can understand the downward spiral of this kind of flare-up. I remember times when I've told people that I really loved and wanted to be with that they should leave me immediately. It's not what I wanted, but it's what I felt I couldn't avoid, the inevitable, where my issues had led me to. We end up in the strangest positions, so contrary to our true desires. It's psychologically both perverted and fascinating.
Maybe the question then isn't how can Leontes be doing all of this so intensely and so quickly. Maybe the question is why, even though we have similar experiences, can we not recognize, or choose not to recognize, the same kind of personal despair.
You could play Leontes as an insecure oddball. You could play him as an evil, paranoid misogynist. I think the only successful option is to find his humanity. In the end, for all his actions, his feelings are not so alien from ours.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
"Words, words, words." - Hamlet II.ii
Another appropriate quote for this post might very well be "More matter, with less art" from the same play, act, and scene as in the title. For I've decided that if I'm ever going to explore writing I need to stop fretting over it, sit my bum down, and get on with it.
So this is my attempt at connecting with my creative writing roots that were all but quashed in the academic pursuits of research papers and analytical essays during the last few years of college. I'm sacrificing structure to get back to something I once loved. Knowing me, however, a little structure is necessary if I'm ever going to stay committed to this, so part of this blog is my Shakespeare in a Year project. I've always been fanatical about the Bard ever since I was young, and often wished that I had read more of him. I read about this reading project in a couple places, and decided that a challenge like that is exactly what I need.
Recently, I turned 21. A lot of things I thought I'd have figured out (or at least have an inkling about) by now haven't gotten figured out. I'm having a bit of a mid-college crisis, if you will. I've found in the past that I really connect with many of Shakespeare's characters and their own issues and struggles. I've also found that writing about my experiences helps me to understand them better. So this could be the ultimate hybrid.
I'm calling this blog "Shakespeare, age 21" because I want to explore his works in a context that is meaningful for me: my life, at this age, in this time.
I'm starting with The Winter's Tale. I'm actually part of a production of it this summer that performs outdoors in a beautiful arboretum setting. I'm playing Perdita, "the lost one," which already begins to figuratively express a deep truth about me.
So, like Antipholus of The Comedy of Errors, not knowing exactly what I'm doing or what will become of it, I'll "in this mist at all adventures go."
So this is my attempt at connecting with my creative writing roots that were all but quashed in the academic pursuits of research papers and analytical essays during the last few years of college. I'm sacrificing structure to get back to something I once loved. Knowing me, however, a little structure is necessary if I'm ever going to stay committed to this, so part of this blog is my Shakespeare in a Year project. I've always been fanatical about the Bard ever since I was young, and often wished that I had read more of him. I read about this reading project in a couple places, and decided that a challenge like that is exactly what I need.
Recently, I turned 21. A lot of things I thought I'd have figured out (or at least have an inkling about) by now haven't gotten figured out. I'm having a bit of a mid-college crisis, if you will. I've found in the past that I really connect with many of Shakespeare's characters and their own issues and struggles. I've also found that writing about my experiences helps me to understand them better. So this could be the ultimate hybrid.
I'm calling this blog "Shakespeare, age 21" because I want to explore his works in a context that is meaningful for me: my life, at this age, in this time.
I'm starting with The Winter's Tale. I'm actually part of a production of it this summer that performs outdoors in a beautiful arboretum setting. I'm playing Perdita, "the lost one," which already begins to figuratively express a deep truth about me.
So, like Antipholus of The Comedy of Errors, not knowing exactly what I'm doing or what will become of it, I'll "in this mist at all adventures go."
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