I’m back!
As a merciless January winds down,[1] the whirligig blog returns with a vengeance (not really a vengeance, more like an uncontrollable craving to babble to who might listen). The New Year has kept me busy with its share of good and bad news, but my feeble attempts to make sense of what my brain conceives of as Shakespeare resurfaces, breaking the ice that formed around, on, and even inside my car.[2] Anyways, without further rambling:
The
picture above is not only a very nice distraction from winter, it offers an analogy
to help me express my perception of
Shakespeare’s final set of plays. From circa 1607 on, Shakespearean drama takes
on a more complex and often puzzling form that marks a strong departure from
anything he had previously written. Even iconic works such as Hamlet or Twelfth Night remain, in some sense, anchored in the overarching
structures of the meta-genres of comedy and tragedy. Yet, with works such as Pericles, The Winter’s Tale, and The
Tempest, Shakespeare seems to purposely muddy the tracks as it were, in
offering plays that mesh comic and tragic with dizzying mastery and swaggering
theatrical ambition.
This
mysterious quality has long intrigued scholars, who have sought to demystify
most if not every facet of Shakespeare’s late plays, from their romantic
overtones to the arduousness of their syntactical underpinnings. It’s hard to
pinpoint the reason for such a change in Shakespeare’s style. Most likely, it
stems from the combination of several factors (shifts in popular theatrical
tastes, an accrued interest in old narratives and romances, and an urge to
explore parent-child relations, among others). On a purely idealistic level, I
tend to attribute it in parts at least to my understanding of Shakespeare as an
artistic and creative genius who, like most genius, eventually gets bored with
the work he has produced, and seeks to challenge if not defeat himself in
writing more ambitious, elaborate stories that would not necessarily be suited
to the early modern stage.[3] The
result was works that confuse, maybe trouble audiences, but leave them with an
indelible emotional imprint.
Which
brings me back to Monet’s painting. As I wrote my dissertation on comic
melancholy in Shakespeare, I found myself at a loss trying to describe the
emotional tenor of such works. My contention ended up being that, in his final burst
of creativity, Shakespeare strove to move completely away from conventional
dramatic representation of emotion by distilling them in their purest form.
Wow,
is that a pompous sentence or what?
It’s an idea frankly, that I’ve struggled to
properly express to colleagues and friends (even to myself)[4]
because it deals so much in intangibles. That is why the parallel with
impressionist painting lends itself in conceiving of a willing relinquishing of
details in order to create an impression that, though unrefined, is
unmistakably present. A similar phenomenon transpires in late Shakespeare,
where the plays, though they resist conventional classification, they
nevertheless usher in vivid emotional responses that come that revolve around the
ubiquitous notion of melancholy. Plays like The
Winter’s Tale and Cymbeline, are
many things, but above all, they willingly obfuscate their emotional and
generic make-ups so as to offer a stronger, lasting emotional footprint. This is
particularly true the endings of such works, where Shakespeare deftly straddles
the raw bliss of unexpected reunions with the lingering wistfulness of past
trauma. Mind you, this is difficult to state and support in an academic
discussion.[5]
But there is an undeniable attempt in late Shakespeare to eliciting emotional responses
that go way beyond the traditional theatrical spectrum. In his final creations,
Shakespeare manages to reach the audience’s instinct, to communicate to them on
an almost spiritual level.
And
that’s probably why I think of impressionist painting when I’m pausing over late
Shakespearean drama. On first look, I’m not always sure of what’s there or to
what end it’s being depicted. But what I see, I feel.
And
I love it.
Random
excitement of the week:
The
academy awards nominations came out a short while ago (always a popular time in
our household). There were expected successes (the incredible Twelve years a Slave, Dallas Buyers’ Club, and American Hustle), and nice surprises
(best picture nod for Nebraska, acting
nods for Barkhad Abdi and Jonah Hill). It promises to be a
nice month of movie watching and smart discussion with Emily (a.k.a. the guru of
answering questions such as “who’s in that thing?” and “where do I know this schmuck
from?”)[6]
Smooshy:
Continuing
on the topic of academy awards nominations, there was really only one major
snub: out of three films on the ten-slot short list, the Academy chose to completely
ignore the National Film Board of Canada’s efforts in the animated short category.
In relation to that gross oversight, I have prepared a cogent and moving
rebuttal…. Instead I’ll just express this sentiment to the voters:
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Random
Shout out:
There
have been a couple of newborns recently in my personal circle who hold ties to
Shakespeare and Renaissance literature and I wish to salute them on this cold
winter day. My friends Jennifer and Travis welcomed a beautiful baby girl in 2013
named Elizabeth (the baby queen!), while my friend Étienne also welcomed a
daughter late in December named Ophélie (all of the cuteness, none of the
craziness). Well done folks! For the record, if and when I have children, their
names will undoubtedly bear some Shakespearean connection. For a girl, I’m
leaning towards Olivia or Katherine. For a boy, there is only one suitable
choice: Second Clown.
Till
next time!
Some
are born great
Some
achieve greatness
And
some slice their fingers with a cheese mandolin
And you! Yeah
you…. Come here… leave a comment now and then. It’s always appreciated. Good.
Now call your mother.
[1]
Get it? Winds down! Ha! I kill me! This winter-themed pun brought you by sleep
deprivation. Sleep Deprivation: because feeling great is just overrated.
[2] It
was so cold, my hood actually refused to
open this week. It wrote a very cogent argument as to its stubbornness, but in
the end, my rubber hammer was more persuasive.
[3] I
refer here to elements such as the lengthy time gaps found in the plays, illusory
devices such as a statue coming to life or a bear chasing off characters, and
the magical realm of Prospero’s island.
[4] …made
for awkward metro rides for my fellow public transit adventurers.
[5] If
I pull it off, my book should make a strong impact in the discipline, if I don’t
pull it off, there’s always Plumber school.
[6] I
know I am getting older when I ask Emily questions such as “did I see this
film?” and more importantly, follow up such as “did I like it?”
