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?

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[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

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[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!

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[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!