It is question I have brushed up against frequently in my
engagement with Shakespeare, as a teacher, scholar, or in general conversations
at parties, in cabs, or waiting for a tow truck after a car crash.[1]
Though my answer generally stays the same, I have heard a spectrum of opinions
about it ranging from “the plays are crude and flashy, akin to Hollywood
blockbusters” to “the plays are not violent but our contemporary sensibilities
make them so.” I remember once in a masters class at Concordia, while
discussing Edward Bond’s Lear,[2] a
student made the remark that he found the play’s excessive violence absurd and
unnecessary because it went further than what (he felt) Shakespeare intended in
the original.[3]
Violence is as much a part of Shakespearean drama as it is of our
lives, cultures, and arts. It is once arena where Shakespeare’s theatre proves
the norm rather than the exception within early modernity. Yet what I found the
most interesting about the question is that everyone comes to it with a
different conception of what constitutes “violence.” The student I mentioned in
the opening paragraph referred to the explicitly physical violence that Bonds’
play stages. Yet, King Lear offers several types of violent acts,
emotional, physical, or psychological that hint at the inherent subjectivity of
the matter. A more overt (probably the most overt) example in
Shakespeare would be Titus Andronicus, which offers murders, acts of
cannibalism, rape, and mutilation as part of its playbill. Yet Shakespeare
often manages to strike a balance between showing on stage and reporting off
stage that further complicate the issue. For all the action found on stage in
Macbeth, there is also considerable violence in lines that inform us of how
much the King bled when murdered in his bed, or the reporting of Lady Macbeth’s
demise.
Then, there are moments of ambiguous violence or rather, violence
bred by ambiguity. Isabella’s silence in at the end of Measure for Measure,
the murkiness surrounding Caliban’s interaction with Miranda in The Tempest,
or even the recurring device of the bed trick all carry a certain understated
tone of violence that reinforce the idea that, although violence is found in
most plays, we chose (or we recognize) certain types more than others. As a
popular dramatist, Shakespeare certainly drew on the incredible selling power
that violence has always enjoyed,[4]
but he usually makes a point of complicating it or, at the very least, developing
it within a denser philosophical interrogation: Iago and Richard make us
complicit through asides, we both champion Hamlet and come to expect his tragic
demise, etc.
The better question than how violent was Shakespeare would perhaps
be why is violence (or the threat of it) in Shakespeare so fascinating? There
is no easy answer, but it makes for an original ice breaker at parties when
standing by the dip.
Excitement:
Tom Hiddleston.
Hugh Laurie.
John LeCarre.
Nachos.
Those are things I enjoy, and (at least?) the first three will
unite in a BBC production of The Night Manager. That has brilliance
written all over it and I cannot wait to see it. I am less excited about the
inevitable US reboot on Fox, starring David Tennant and stupid hair.[5]
Smooshy:
Smooshy goes out to Bell Media for pulling Pardon the Interruption
from TSN 1 and 2 and putting them on their new, paying channels (TSN 3,4, and
5).[6] I have been watching PTI for over ten years
and I am sorry to see that streak come to end. Michael Wilbon and Tony
Kornheiser (an English major who frequently quotes Shakespeare on the program,
by the way) will be missed. It’s a dream of mine to get Kornheiser (and Bob
Ryan) on a panel somewhere to discuss Shakespeare and American sports writing.
Booooo TSN!
Shout out:
Last week’s blog on Freud reignited an research interest of mine on
the putative correlation between mental illness and creative or artistic
genius. This potent association has been around for a while dating back to
Aristotle, and it will likely be the subject of an upcoming blog.[7]
Here, I just want to use it as a segue into a shou tout to the AMI-Quebec
organisation, which raises awareness and helps families cope with mental
illness. They do an amazing job doing so (in addition to counting my
sister-in-law and proof reader extraordinaire as an invaluable employee). They
rocked last week’s Walk for Mental Health downtown, where yours truly rocked a
neon pink t-shirt that made me look like plump, county fair cotton candy J.
Check out their website and donate if you’re inclined to do so. http://amiquebec.org/
Till next time!
Some are born great,
Some achieve greatness,
And some have greatness thrust upon them.
Others run into a parking meter while texting.
[1] Actually a true story, I went off the road while
coming back from teaching in Huntington, and a man helped me out of the vehicle
and waited with me. After asking what I did for a living, he (a fellow English
teacher) explained to me how he once wrote a paper explaining how the show Hogan’s
Heroes was built on the principles of Renaissance stage comedy. It was a
weird afternoon.
[2] The name is Bond, Edward Bond. I like my comma shaken
not spliced.
[3] I’m now going to deftly move on from the notion that
Shakespeare’s plays are “original” in any ways, since I do not currently own the necessary amounts of buckets to house all
the worms that would inevitably crawl out of that can.
[4] If it bleeds, if leads, or its early modern
equivalent: “when blood was shed, to the printing house did thou sped.”
[5] Still not over that one!
[6] A whopping D- for originality on the names here!
[7] Spoiler alert! Also, Hamlet dies at the end of
Hamlet.
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