Blog 5: Shakespeare's Nightmare before Christmas

“Shakespeare’s Nightmare before Christmas”

 For a playwright that so often dramatizes revelry and mirth throughout his career, Shakespeare seldom references Christmas. The somewhat tense religious climate of early modern England perhaps explains why overt and detailed references to it are seemingly absent of his dramaturgy, yet winter holds a considerably important position. December itself usually signifies the darkness and the cold gloomy atmosphere of winter and functions as a de facto antithesis to springtime merriment and rejuvenation. Hence, Polixenes praises his son by asserting that he “makes a July's day short as December” (The Winter’s Tale I, ii) while Arviragus characterizes old age in Cymbeline as the time “when we shall hear / The rain and wind beat dark December” (III, iii.). Even less festive is Rosalind’s warning to Orlando that “Men are / April when they woo, December when they wed” (As You Like It (Iv, i.). The cycle of the seasons holds considerable metaphorical importance in Shakespeare, and the month of December, representing the end of the year and the darkest month of the calendar, lends itself well to this type of imagery.  

Not exactly Yule tide fun …

Christmas itself appears even more sparingly. When it does, however, it is associated usually with a performative type of festivity that channels theater. In the Induction to The Taming of the Shrew, upon hearing that players are set to perform for him, Sly wonders whether the play he is about to witness is “a comontie, a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?” (Induction II). Likewise, upon discovering the jest that the princess and her attending women played on him and his fellow Lords in Love’s Labor’s Lost, Biron declares that “here was a consent, / Knowing aforehand of our merriment, / To dash it like a Christmas comedy” (V, ii). As a period conducive to legally-sanctioned revels, the Christmas season proved an ideal conduit for theatrical performances. The most obvious example in Shakespeare is of course Twelfth Night, whose title refers to the culmination of Christmas celebration on January 5^th (the twelve days of Christmas). The play praises merriment and games throughout, but does so with an apprehensive undercurrent of the bitter sweet return to reality that inevitably follows.[1]

So it would seem that Christmas does not loom large in Shakespeare, but ends up folded into broader considerations of seasonal time progression and the emotional ambivalence that accompanies festivity. From a modern standpoint, many of Shakespeare’s plays seem akin to traditional holiday folklore, whether it be ghost stories, cold winter nights, or lavish feasting. Above all, the emphasis on forgiveness and redemption that characterizes late plays such as The Winter’s Tale or The Tempest fits right into what we think of as a Christmas story, the Dickens of the Jimmy Stewart kind.[2] In the dark, cold December, we need a certain amount of cheering up and rejoicing. A sad tale might best for winter, as Mamillius tells his mother in The Winter’s Tale, but it is best enjoyed at some distance, preferably indoors next to a fireplace.  

RANDOM EXCITEMENT OF THE WEEK:

‘Tis the season, and if you’re looking to innovate on a holiday tradition, here is a list of renaissance-inspired carols to sing around the fire:

“O, drink all ye Falstaff”

“I saw mommy kissing Claudius”

“Do you see what I see? A Dagger!”  

“Meat pies roasting on an open fire (made with suspiciously rare meat)”

“It’s beginning to look at lot like a civil uprising” (The 2H6 choir)

“Little cross-dressed boy”     

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year (minus the plague visitation)”

“Do you see what I see? A Dagger!”  (Cover by Chris Marlowe, Christmas live in Deptford)

“Do they know it’s Iago?”

 “All I want for Christmas is to be a better playwright” (The Ben Jonson Holiday spectacular)

“I’m dreaming of a coat of arms”

“Winter Wonderland” (featuring the Bear)

           

RANDOM SMOOSHY FACE OF THE WEEK:

Meagyn Kelly,[3] a journalist of your repute should know by now that Santa Clause is a Time Lord, and just because that makes you uncomfortable, does not mean it should change.

RANDOM SHOUT OUT:

Having just audited a seminar on the influence of Spanish literature in early modern drama, I would recommend checking out some of John Fletcher’s plays. While he’s no Shakespeare, Fletcher’s drama is great fun to read. For one thing, his comic pacing is hard to match, and the texts, while they fall short of Shakespeare’s poetic mastery, display incredible adaptive skills. Plays like The Chances, Women Pleased, or The Humorous Lieutenant (co-written with Francis Beaumont)[4] hold their own against most of the early modern comedic output. Consider this an early holiday gift to my former supervisor: John Fletcher’s plays are great and cauliflower can be purple at times.             

That’s it for now. The virtually whirligig is taking a holiday break, but will return in January whether you like it or not! Hope you enjoyed!

If you prick us, do we not bleed?

Ouch! It was rhetorical, dumbass…

Where did you even get that carving fork?

---

[1] A modern equivalent would be waking up on a kitchen nook Jan 1^st, unsure of where to retrieve your pants.  

[2] Instead of pursing Bohemian lords, during today’s holiday season, bears usually pal around with penguins and drink coca cola.  

[3] All right, who forgot a “y” in the middle of Meagan Kelly’s name? Who’s missing a “y”? Is it you Holl Hunter? George Cloone? Anybody missing a “y”? Where the heck is Maa Angelou where you need her?

[4] Think of the Fletcher and Beaumont connection as the Renaissance equivalent of the partnership between Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, where Fletcher only  gets better with age, producing increasingly complex and rewarding work, while Beaumont boozes around London for a while before growing a critically-acclaimed beard and catching flack for being cast as Batman-upon-Bartholomew (zing!).    

Blog 4: Shakespeare and Sportswriting

“Shakespeare and sports writing”

[1]

Last summer, as I followed Alex Rodriguez’s fight to overturn his record 211-game suspension from major league baseball (for his use of Performance enhancing drugs, bribery, and obstruction), I kept coming back to the same thought: what would Shakespeare have done with such a story and its larger-than-life figurehead? For my taste, ARod[2] lacks the empathetic dimension that generally defines Shakespearean characters, good or bad. Yet, it is safe to assume that Shakespeare would have found some interest in the saga of a physically-gifted athlete anointed early on for success, riddled with insecurities and narcissistic tendencies who eventually alienates everyone in his self-serving pursuit of stardom and iconicity.

This is one among many examples that led me to ponder similarities between Shakespearean drama (and its criticism) and twentieth century sports writing. Shakespeare seldom writes about sports, being otherwise preoccupied with conniving monarchs, embittered jester, or pursuing bears.[3] Rather, the parallel exist in the characterization efforts that often infuse the world of sports. Leaving the scripted nature of Elizabethan theater aside, both activities center around a live performance, where an audience witnesses the accomplishment of incredible feats that elicit wonder, excitement, or even tragedy. Sports figures, much like iconic literary characters, occupy a choice space within our cultural psyche. Through an ever-expanding network of journalism, social media, and twenty-four hour coverage, they are all at once idolized, glorified, ridiculed, vilified, and even objectified. The vernacular employed in such portrayals is not only theatrical (the rise and fall of an athlete, the second act of a career, heroics on the field, curtain calls, etc.) but it strongly echoes Shakespearean characterization. Sports writing strives to demystify athletes, to unveil the man or woman behind the performance, to make sense of what often proves to be tumultuous, nonsensical, and fragile time in the spotlight.[4]  

This parallel, in a sense, predates Shakespeare in channelling elements akin to mythology and classical literature, but I do believe that the influence exerted by the bards’ work often goes overlooked. I once discussed this topic with a professor at McGill, and she dismissively remarked that sportswriters could not be aware of literary concepts such as the ones found in Shakespearean drama because they probably had not read any Shakespeare. As she put, they probably had an idea of broader figures such as David and Goliath, but in no way could they draw parallels between Jim Brown and Othello, or imagine Wayne Gretzky, in his shift from superstar player to subpar coach of the Phoenix Coyotes, as a modern day echo to Coriolanus. This opinion is not only insulting to sports writers such as Anthony Kornheiser (English major), Mitch Albom (author and playwright) and Selena Roberts (author), but it overlooks the second part of their word describing their profession: sports writers write about sports, but are above all writers, and the array of characters and character tropes that constitutes Shakespeare’s legacy continues to infuse any avenue that relies on some attempt at humanizing, historicising, or eulogizing a public figure. Whether sports writers are fans of Shakespeare or not, (whether they’ve even read him or not, even) his ongoing cultural iconicity informs any attempt at reconciling athletic feats or (de)feat with the person behind it. Sports offers a similar social microcosm that early modern theater by drawing in a multitude of issues, be it gender, race, or morality, into the general entertaining of the masses.

It would be very interesting, I think, to bring scholars and sportswriters together and ask them to reflect on such a symbiosis (Shakespeareans writing about sports, sportswriters writing about Shakespeare). I think the discussion would be productive and even surprising it its affinities. Until then, I hope the blog has given you an additional layer from which to consider the exploits of the Golden Boy, King Lebron, or Williams Sisters. As far as ARod is concerned, I’m interested in seeing how the whole saga unfolds. I have a feeling that he somewhat sees himself as a Hal figure, when in reality, he is probably closer to a Malvolio or Jaques.       

    

RANDOM EXCITEMENT OF THE WEEK:

Oscar season is approaching and there are several reasons to be excited. First and foremost, the National Film Board managed to snag four (counting co-productions) spots on the short-list of ten potential nominees for best animated short film. The talent and vision coming out of the film board’s animation department never ceases to amaze me. Check out their websites for an amazing selection of shorts. There is also a slew of good film currently out of coming out soon, such as Dallas Buyer’s Club, Nebraska, and Enough Said. Emily and I usually try and see as many as we can, but this time of year we are re also distracted by the customary Christmas movies we watch, a such as Die Hard, Love Actually, and A Charlie Brown Christmas. Also, if you’re stumped on what to watch for the holidays, go purchase a copy of Anonymous, bring it home and smash it in pieces: it screams yuletide fun![5]      

RANDOM SMOOSHY FACE OF THE WEEK:

I’m in surprisingly good mood this week, so no smooshy! If you have your own mild annoyances to air, write them the comment section. Smooshies unite!

RANDOM SHOUT OUT:

As much as I love Shakespeare (and I do: see the nutcracker Shakespeare that currently sits on my desk). I also love Bruce Springsteen. And December would not be complete without a live rendition of “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” by the E Street Band. It makes you long for the smooth sax of Clarence Clemons, but it’s a fun and energizing tune that accompanies marking and decorating sessions alike. There are several good versions out there, but this one (in Paris, no less) is pretty good:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEdUjihZ8F0

That’s it for now. Hope you enjoyed!

The quality of cheese is not stringed,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the nachos beneath

---

[1] Believe or not, that is the second less disturbing image of Rodriguez I could find, after the portrait of himself shirtless as a centaur… you cannot make this stuff up.

[2] I will say one thing for ARod, he makes for a great nickname while I, JFBer, or JFranc, merely sound like someone chocking on pistachios calling for help.

[3] Not to be confused with the situation of many NFL quarterbacks in the 1980s: exit, pursued by the Chicago bears’ defensive line (rim shot!).  

[4] Similar to the plight of the Shakespeare scholar, but with less contempt for Harold Bloom.

[5] Disclaimer: the DVD copy of Anonymous does not possess the power to scream. This blog is in no way responsible for any instances where it might do so, be it hallucinatory, premonitory, or boughs of holly-related. 

Blog 3: “Othello, car crashes, and Puppet Theater”

“Othello, car crashes, and Puppet Theater”

I caught the Segal Center’s production of Othello last Thursday. It was, ultimately, an uneven effort that left me slightly disappointed. Highlights included performances by Amanda Lisman (Desdemona) and Maurice Podbrey (an endearingly befuddled Brabantio), the long white curtain that came down from the rafters onto Desdemona’s bed, and running into my good friend Jean-Marc whom I had not seen in ages. I will not subject readers to the many objections of an obsessed Shakespearean, but will say that I was most intrigued by reactions from audience members, who laughed a great deal more than I did throughout.

Admittedly, this is a common occurrence when I venture out of my hermit state and attend movies or plays. I am bemused by what people find funny. In this particular situation, the audience at the Segal laughed at obviously ironic lines (“Honest Iago”) but also at moments where Othello proves too trusting, or Iago is at his most cunning and manipulative in spinning his multiple webs of deceit and moral annihilation. Of course, we are meant to delight, in some way, at Iago’s masterful display of Machiavellian puppetry, particularly if we’ve already seen or read the play.[1] Iago acts as our guide through the tragedy, signposting his plan and teasing out its unfolding with verve and charm. Yet this idea points to a larger source of unease for me when dealing with the play: we also laugh because Shakespeare designed the play so as to make us identify with Iago, by being “in the know,” as opposed to most of the other characters. The audience is rendered thus complicit of Iago’s actions. By informing us of his intentions and providing a running commentary of it through asides, Iago transforms the audience into the dramatic equivalent of accessory to murder.

Mind you, that is probably one of the play’s strongest features, once that certainly grants its access into the conversation revolving around Shakespeare’s greatest dramatic achievement. Othello is an extraordinary tragedy and does exactly what a tragedy should: it moves and disturbs us. I always found the play to be far more efficient on this level than any other of Shakespeare’s dramatic works. The complete unravelling of a man in love, the systematic breakdown of Othello’s fragile self-esteem, of his very humanity, plunges me into more discomfort than Lear’s plight, the fall of the Macbeths or the horrendous fate of Titus and his family. Yet, I can’t look away, close the book, or turn off the film adaptation. The play is poetry in motion, but that motion is that of a car accident scene, where the passing by audience marvels at the sublime catastrophe that stands before them.     

My relationship with Othello is a love/hate one that dovetails with the fascination that Iago often elicits as a character. He is the villain we love to hate, and the play itself is one of my favourite, both as a scholar and a lover of Shakespeare, but I cannot help but feel troubled whenever I read or watch it. Beyond the malice of Iago’s plot, the ease with which he achieves it and the crushing feeling of powerlessness that rushes through you as an audience member proves quite disconcerting. Ensnaring various characters in different sections of his web, Iago weaves his way through Venice and Cyprus, until everyone—audience included—tangles in his grip. Like a contagious disease, Iago’s success depends on the speed and the efficiency with which he can feed lies to an array of unsuspecting characters. Iago preys on immediate, emotional visceral reactions, preventing a more thoughtful cogitation that would perhaps raise suspicions upon the dealings of “Honest Iago.” One gets the sense that Othello’s tragedy, unlike others, could have been easily avoided, which only reinforces the “ickiness” it creates.

In the end, far from me to criticize the people that laughed and revelled in Iago’s treachery (see my smooshy for that). I think Shakespeare thought of the play in those exact paradoxical terms. It is a tragedy, but it is also a chef d’oeuvre of villainy and characterization that, like Iago himself, raises more questions, dreams, and nightmares than it does answers.

RANDOM EXCITEMENT OF THE WEEK:

The 2014 Baseball Hall of Fame Ballots[2] were released this week and it’s a crowded field, with at least 3 players who could and should go in on their first try, Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, and Frank Thomas, as well as a few more that should improve on last year’s results, Craig Biggio first amongst them (how a guy with 3000 hits and over 600 doubles did not get in on his first try is beyond me). I cannot quite narrow my mock ballot to ten choices yet, and navigating the PED question is no easy task, not to mention my profound hatred of sabremetrics (more on that another time). The Hall of Fame debate always make me think of Shakespeare, mainly because of the character-arch arguments that are made for or against certain players (as Emily suggested, this will be the subject of a blog soon). For now, let’s just hope that Maddux can become the first player ever to get in with a 100% of the votes (probably won’t happen, but a blogger can dream.)[3]    

RANDOM SMOOSHY FACE OF THE WEEK:

To the woman sitting in my row at the Segal center who decided to film the last scene of Othello with her phone:

Hi, how are you? Some weather we’re having, huh?

Anyway, about your little cinematic project: Well, it bothered me on several levels. For one thing the glare was distracting, as it felt like the spaceship from Close Encounter of the Third Kind decided to kick it old-school and attend a Shakespeare play. For another—and I get that you probably wanted to capture to flowing white curtain that came down on Desdemona’s bed—yes that was indeed a gorgeous effect—but it falls on me to point out the obvious here: you filmed a murder. A staged murder, yes. A fictitious murder, yes. But a murder nonetheless. Perhaps it is my curmudgeon composure erupting once again, but the image of you passively staring into your phone while a man overrun with jealousy strangles the love of his life was as comically absurd as it was angering. The capper though, is the fact that after an usher came over and asked you to stop filming, though you did (props to you),[4] you then looked at what you had just filmed on your phone instead of watching the end of the play… Good God woman! Goats and monkeys!

Anyway, thanks for listening. Remember to spray your winter boots to prevent corrosion.

Best,

J.F.

RANDOM SHOUT OUT:

Another You Tube shoutout this week: this hilarious skit, entitled “A Small Rewrite,” in which Shakespeare (Hugh Laurie) meets with his editor (Rowan Atkinson) to discuss changes to Hamlet. Both witty and accurate in its opinions on the play (“It’s four hours long, Bill!”), it makes me yearn for a TV series about Shakespeare starring Hugh Laurie. Make it happen, HBO. 
    

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvaUwagX_uU

That’s it for now. Hope you enjoyed!

Once more, try with some bleach, damn stain, once more!

---

[1] Michael Bristol presented a paper at the Shakespeare Association of America conference a few years ago on the practice of “naïve reading” in Othello, arguing that the repeated experiencing of the play seriously hinders its enjoyment due to its emotionally levelling payoff. I would not necessarily go that far, but I do agree that the play always causes me a certain degree of discomfort, even after countless readings.

[2] I told you there would be baseball tangents! Look for a Springsteen reference next week.

[3] I have many baseball and Greg Maddux-related stories, available for free when coupled with an invitation for coffee… anyone? Coffee? I’ll pay… Maddux? Ah man…

[4] Mainly, though, props to the usher. I did not ask him name, so I shall call him Marcus the usher and say: thank you, Marcus! 

Blog 2: “The Play’s the Thing…kinda.”

“The Play’s the Thing…kinda.”

I recently participated in a very interesting conversation regarding the intricate nature of literary adaptations, a conversation made even better by a delightful nutty-honey-pastry-thingy (thanks Maria!) that was concurrently consumed. It made me ponder the peculiar nature of Shakespearean adaptations (the conversation, not the pastry).[1]

Adapting Shakespeare is often an ungrateful task in which the artist can catch flack for remaining too loyal to the original text as much as for departing from it too radically. I have likes (Joss Whedon, Julie Taymor) and dislikes (Roland Emmerich) on both sides of the spectrum, but what is more interesting is the transference that occurs between the director/writer/artist and the play he or she seeks to adapt. Thinking back to Shakespeare in his adjectival form, it seems to me that Shakespearean adaptation inevitably morphs into appropriation. We talk of Laurence Olivier’s Hamlet, Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet or even The Beatles’ Midsummer Night’s Dream (whaaaat? Yup, check it out on YouTube). There are countless adaptations of Shakespearean drama attesting to its inscription as a touchstone of cultural appropriation that can be translated into all or any desired format (Manga Shakespeare, Detective short stories Shakespeare, Claymation Shakespeare, etc.).

Such adaptive strategies echo within early modernity, where the absence of copyright as we know it allowed playwrights to adapt popular literary works within an incredibly timely frame. Hence, an English translation of Don Quixote, published in 1612, could yield the play The History of Cardenio within the same calendar year. Indeed, going the anachronistic route for a moment, a similar buzz was likely to manifest itself during the Renaissance concerning which playwright was revising which work (Did you hear? Marlowe is working on a Doctor Faustus. Have you heard of Gl'ingannati? I wish Will Shakespeare adapted that bawdy farce). This remains wishful speculation, except that, for all purposes, adaptation was Shakespeare`s game. The bard, who never met a story that he didn’t like, borrowed from countless works in fashioning his own. Much in the way that we can refer to Kenneth Brannagh’s Hamlet, we can think of The Winter’s Tale as Shakespeare’s Pandosto, the history plays as Shakespeare’s vision of Holinshed’s chronicles, etc. One of the elements that fascinates me the most about Shakespeare is the way in which he seemingly reads everything and anything with a keen adaptive eye, from a medical treatise on melancholy, through Ovid, to Roman comedy. Unlike many of his adapters, however, Shakespeare rarely got it wrong when he transposed something onto the stage.                     

There are likely as many extraordinary revisions of Shakespeare as there are appalling turkeys. Personal taste factors in considerably in the matter. I am deeply ambivalent about certain adaptations of Shakespeare. I cringe when encountering an overused adaptive vein (let’s transpose Macbeth in a 1930's gangster power struggle in Chicago) or a misguided attempt at refreshing that deconstructs a play for the sake of shocking originality… and don’t get me started on the movie Anonymous. My anxiety admittedly, stems from my own view of what constitutes “Shakespearean drama” and, conversely, how it should be reworked. Adaptations hit us hardest when it tackles something that reached us, a story that touched us and left an indelible emotional mark. We become, in a way, protector of what we perceive to be its sanctity against sacrilegious interpretations.

This does not mean that I cannot enjoy a lighthearted revision. The Simpsons’ Hamlet remains one of my favourite Shakespearean adaptations, and it is one I have used in class as a companion to the play itself. It is hilarious, but it also provides a stunningly accurate overview of the play’s themes concerns in less than seven minutes. Moreover, the reverse casting, where characters from the show are attributed roles in the play (Moe as Claudius, The father and son Wiggums as Polonius and Laertes, even RosenCarl and GuildenLenny) offers up a surprising point of access into a complex and iconic play. For my money, this is adaptation done right: it offers something new that remains grounded firmly in its source. It pokes fun at the play while displaying an impressive understanding of its underpinnings.

Much like discussions of the plays themselves, their adaptations will carry on and continue to surprise us. I was skeptical of the comics Kill Shakespeare, and though I still have some reservation, I found the series thoroughly enjoyable. If anything, it led me to reconsider certain plays or characters and rethink my interpretations of them. At the very least, adaptations should confirm your love for a given text and at its best, make you question it.  

RANDOM EXCITEMENT OF THE WEEK:

I am re-reading Montaigne’s Essays this week and am thoroughly enjoying it. The masterful oscillation between articulate sociocultural analysis and dry witticism leaves me in awe every time. Who else could write essays on Cannibals and the metaphysics of the human soul as easily as on thumbs and carriages? Also, if you are ever at an academic conference and are having a rotten time, find yourself a panel on Montaigne and listen to non-francophone scholars trying to pronounce his name. Hilarity guaranteed (for the record, my white whale of scholarly pronunciation: Ludwig Wittgenstein.)

RANDOM SMOOSHY FACE OF THE WEEK:

People that talk at the movies or in the theater. I realize I am probably fighting a losing battle with this one as it seems to be a widespread phenomenon …but I can’t help it. People chatting at the movies brings us back to the early days of television, where people used to dress up for the person reading the news in the tiny box that stood in their living room. It shows a lack of social awareness that infuriates as much as it puzzles. I can tolerate it in certain contexts. Indeed, I’ll expect a degree of noise when seeing The Avengers opening night in a jam-packed room at the Paramount,[2]  but I really don’t need someone sitting behind me to mention how sad the movie Amour is as we are watching it (or worse, trying to predict the ending: it’s a harrowing tale of love in the face of old age and degeneration, not a Nancy Drew whodunit). When faced with such a situation, I remember Feste’s words in Twelfth Night: “some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some WOULD YOU SHUT UP. I KNOW IT’S TOM HANKS PRETENDING TO BE SHIP CAPTAIN ! WE ALL KNOW IT! THAT’S WHY THEY’VE PUT HIS FACE ON THE POSTER! Ok, rant over. 

RANDOM SHOUT OUT:

There are many, many reasons to like Tom Hiddleston, but this might just be the best. Listen to him breathe life and passion into an all-too familiar sonnet. It is the auditory equivalent of wrapping yourself in a velvet comforter full of puppies:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6Q_Ioj6AhQ  

That’s it for now. Hope you enjoyed!

 We are the stuff dreams are made of… and hope never to be the stuff hot dogs are made of…

---

[1] Though, a pastry is kinda like a Shakespeare… forget it, even this academic can’t stretch that metaphor.  

[2] I realize it is now called the Scotia Bank Theater, but I’m old and a curmudgeon, and don’t like change. The Paramount is the Paramount, there should only be five best picture nominees at the Oscar every year, and cauliflower should never be purple.    

Blog 1: Shakespearean, by any other name...

Fresh off my PhD defense in June and facing the gloomy job market, I decided to take the plunge, as it were, into the digital world and blog (better late than never in conquering my technological demons) about Shakespeare and Renaissance Literature more generally. I cannot promise that such exercise will be free of tangents extolling the virtues of baseball, Bruce Springsteen, or my manifold attempts to kick my addiction to Law and Order SVU (where have you gone, B. D. Wong?). I am merely aiming to put to paper (to keyboard? To binary code? I need to update my metaphors software) the literary musings that punctuate my daily life. Some of it will include work in progress (or rather, the seeds of work in progress), some if it will attempt anecdotal humour, and some it will be classified as inevitable venting (I should preemptively address my difficult relationship with Ben Jonson). I hope it will prove enjoyable to whoever is out there.

“Shakespearean, by any other name”

Over the course of last year, two of my relatives used the word “Shakespearean” in conversations with me, within contexts that had little to do with Shakespeare or any of his plays. One, recounting an experience at a Madonna concert, described her stage presence as Shakespearean, while the other, trying to sell me on the merits of Battlestar Galactica, explained that I was sure to enjoy the show since its characters often faced Shakespearean dilemmas.

At the core, I believe that both comments were trying to pique my interest by using an analogy that would connect with my passion for Shakespeare. Yet, thinking about it more closely, I began wondering what each statement implied for my interlocutors, beyond a baiting of my interest? What does a “Shakespearean” stage presence or dilemma entail? To be frank, I am not the biggest Madonna fan out there, though I have been known to randomly sing “Ring, ring, ring, goes the telephone” because of its Wordsworthian undertones. Likewise, I have yet to watch Battlestar Galactica. What proved most interesting to me in considering these two exchanges was that, without being able to clearly envision what each person had meant, I understood what they were going for on a broader level; each used “Shakespearean” as an adjective inferring some sort of gravitas. Madonna’s presence on stage suggests an array of qualities (compelling, commanding, captivating) that can be connected, to an extent, to a description of characterial quandaries in Battlestar as serious, complex, thought-provoking, etc. For each person, this complex set of impressions could be summed up as Shakespearean.  

This is far from ground-breaking theorizing, but it did get me thinking about the iconographic power of Shakespeare in its adjectival form. “Shakespearean” can and does inflect a virtual cornucopia of terms and concepts, the overwhelmingly majority of which relies on such association for enhancement or validation. This process extends well-beyond musical or screenwriting ventures. One routinely hears of Shakespearean motifs, poetry, diction, style, even of scholars and critics (we happy few, we Shakespeareans!). This is actually a popular trend in academia that can be tailored to most subject matters (Oxfordian, Baconian, Dickensian, the seldom-known groups of critics interested in former Buffalo Sabres’ coach, Lindy Ruff, the Ruffians, har, har...). Yet, I believe the qualitative nature of “Shakespeare” stands apart from most in its sheer longevity and malleability. To that effect, Michael Bristol’s claim in Big-Time Shakespeare that Shakespeare retains “extraordinary currency in contemporary culture” continues to resonate partly because the of the ease with which the grammatical field of Shakespeare permeates modern discourse.

This modularity extends beyond the meritorious. To someone with an aversion to Shakespeare, the term “Shakespearean” might end up meaning very little. Conversely, someone that has never read any of his works will think of the adjectives as channelling a yellowed and antiquated relic.

Straddling a four-century gap “Shakespearean” reach a level of personal opinion where acts as somewhat of a glass prism, transforming incoming light into an array of colored spectrum (wow, that’s enough science, I have a headache). This idea is potentially self-sabotaging to a Shakespearean scholar (see what I did there) whose book project focuses on the concept “Shakespearean melancholy,” but I think the point stands that Shakespeare’s iconography resembles a double-edged sword in this regard. It speaks to the challenge of introducing students to Shakespeare, when the name continues to morph and be disseminated in everyday conversation, culture, and technologies.

In the end—and this is where my romantic view of literature swoops in—this messy lexical situation attests to intrinsic value of works by Shakespeare, whatever that word truly means. A few years ago, an undergrad student, having asked the topic of my dissertation, had coyly remarked that it must have been difficult to write on Shakespeare since everything had already been written. My reply had been that my fascination with Shakespeare was rooted that the incredible staying power of thirty-seven plays that survived countless technological innovations, the rise of literary theory, and a veritable cultural explosion. Shakespearean, by any other name, carries on in a multiplicity of incarnations, providing perhaps the most interesting forum in which Madonna and a Cylon can interact.     

RANDOM EXCITEMENT OF THE WEEK:

I’m very eager to hear Gail Kern Paster speak on Monday, as part of an initiative from McGill University’s Institute for the Public Life of Arts and Ideas (IPLAI). Her work has been instrumental to my own in many ways, and I will do my best to resist my inner academic groupie when meeting her.

RANDOM SMOOSHY FACE OF THE WEEK:

I should quickly explain my personal etymology of “smooshy face”: a smooshy face refers to an expression of mild annoyance, disappointment, or anger at everyday occurrences. It was created and coined by Emily,[1] and has been part of our relationship vernacular ever since.

My smooshy face of the week goes to the lack of light. Though I was very grateful to gain an extra hour of sleep on time change day, I cannot but think that such ephemeral bliss is of no avail against the increasingly dim afternoons that November inevitably ushers in. I remember thinking, while working away at my dissertation on Shakespearean melancholy, that grey November afternoons were the hardest during which to read and write on sorrow, bleakness and idleness. It also makes running harder (then again, I don’t need lack of light to find running hard). When jogging in the dark at five o’clock, I cannot help but think of the lines “by the clock, 'tis day, / And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp” in Macbeth. So, November, you get my very first smooshy face!       

RANDOM SHOUT OUT:

Emily[2] and I watched Longtime Companion this week. I hadn’t seen it in over fifteen years. It is a powerful, gut-wrenching film that is worth seeing if only for Bruce Davison and Mark Lamos’ performances. It offers a brilliant sketch of the advent of the AIDS epidemic throughout the American homosexual communities of the 1980s. It’s a very moving story that simultaneously act as a testament to the progress made in AIDS awareness and the search for a cure, but also, of the disease’s prejudicial phantoms that still persist today It was also very interesting to contemplate its treatment of the social and communal ramifications of an epidemic disease (I could not help but think of Susan Sontag’s seminal work on the subject while watching). There will be much more on this topic in an upcoming blog, since I am very interested in Shakespeare’s treatment and contagious diseases on the renaissance stage. 

That’s it for now. I hope this first post was enjoyable. I will try and post regularly and continue unpacking thoughts, rambles and general musings that punctuate my views on Renaissance literature.

And the rest and silence… and the crunching of Doritos.

---

[1] DISCLAIMER: Emily is my wife, best friend, and the single-most scintillating aspect of my life. She will make several appearances in this blog, until she eventually gains more popularity, takes over its publication, and goes on to host a syndicated talk-show with a monkey co-host.   

[2] See, she’s already back!