Tuesday, July 31, 2012

A New Musical Version of Merchant of Venice: Shylock Sings the Blues

Sokol, David. Lyrics. Shylock Sings the Blues. Music by Dennis Willmott. Perf. The Venetians. David-Sokol.com Productions, 2012. CD.

I get—or, rather, Bardfilm gets—a fair number of requests from people wanting their book, DVD, or other project reviewed or their Kickstarter project promoted. I'm often amenable, but I'm also often severely lacking in time. "Send it along," I say, "but I don't know when I'll get to it."

This is one project that I wish I had gotten to earlier. I'm a fan of Shakespeare, and I'm a fan of the blues, but I kept putting off listening to the CD Shylock Sings the Blues that David Sokol sent me.

I shouldn't have.

This CD is astonishing in its vision, its lyrics, and its music. The liner notes invite us to imagine a Merchant of Venice set in the gangster underworld of New Jersey in the 1950s. In it, we have a very sympathetic Shylock—one who doesn't desire revenge for the anti-Semitism he's faced as much as he desires to expose the other characters' hypocrisy. The songs roughly follow the plot of the play, taking us musically inside the minds of most of the main characters.

Honestly, I hope someone picks this album up and produces a full-scale Broadway musical out of it.

The music is well-performed, and the songs are well-sung. There's a rough edge to some of the numbers that is drawn from early blues performances. I hear a fair bit of Robert Johnson in the guitar work, and Etta James seems to be moving through the female vocals. And Big Bill Broonzy's sound is here, too. The music is great.

I also hear something of a song called "Dealin' with the Devil" as performed by James Cotton on the 1995 album Deep in the Blues, but more in terms of some of the themes of the album. One of the strongest pieces on the album is "The Devil Told Me." Not all the songs on the album are narrative in nature, but this one embodies Launcelot Gobbo's monologue about leaving Shylock's service. As such, it contains the anti-Semitism of Launcelot's speech (equating Shylock with the devil, for example) as well as Launcelot's hypocrisy (blaming Shylock for doing wrong while admitting his own wrongdoing).

I received permission to provide that track on this blog as a sample. I've done so by making it the soundtrack to part of the silent 1910 film version of Merchant (for which, q.v.). It seemed entirely appropriate to do so. That clip follows, and it is followed by the song's lyrics (taken from the album's website, but with slight alterations) and Launcelot's speech from Shakespeare's play.

The Devil Told Me

I had a conversation with the devil
It made a lot of sense
He visited me at my house and
that was no coincidence

I had to get out of the hole I was in
The devil said I could rely on him.

About the guy I work for
my conscience said I should stay
[That devil said I should just run away.]
And the angel told me
she said I should stay.

You tell her to shut her mouth
and go away


Yeah but doin’ the wrong thing can bring
so much guilt and shame

The person you wrong is
always the one you should blame
.

Run away from you
Run as if I flew
Gonna run away from you
Run as if I flew.

Take my advice or you’ll leave in a hearse.

I may be listenin’ to the devil but
What I runnin’ from is worse.

You guys make the money
and you guys got the fame
for all the world's problems
you guys got the blame.
You got greed and avarice
And world control
You got banks and TV and you
you got radio
You got media and expedia
and private jets abound
you got limos and Maseratis
and I take the bus to town.

Run away from you
Run as if I flew.

Oh my daddy told me
He said You will always be a slave.

I am telling you you don't have to behave.

Now I hate you and I love you
And I envy what you got
Your Caddy and your Lincoln
And your sunny beach spot.

You guys make all the money
and you pile it up around
You got the big old house
on the hillside of town.

Run away from you.
Run as if I flew.
Here's Launcelot Gobbo's speech:
Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying to me, “Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot,” or “Good Gobbo,” or “Good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away”. My conscience says “No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo,” or, as aforesaid, “honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack: “Via!” says the fiend; “away!” says the fiend; “for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,” says the fiend, “and run.” Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me “My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man’s son,” or rather an honest woman’s son; for, indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience says, “Launcelot, budge not.” “Budge,” says the fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you counsel well;” “ Fiend,” say I, “you counsel well.” To be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your command; I will run. (II.ii.1-32)
Do yourself a favor and buy this album. It is simply remarkable.

Film clip from Merchant of Venice. Dir. Gerolamo Lo Savio. Perf. Ermete Novelli, Francesca Bertini, and Olga Giannini Novelli. 1910. DVD. Image Entertainment, 2000.

Links: The Album's Official Website.

Another Review of the Album.

Yet Another Review of the Album.

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Monday, July 30, 2012

The Tempest in the Opening Ceremony

Branagh, Kenneth. "Be not afeard." By William Shakespeare. Opening Ceremony. Olympics, London, 2012. Dir. Danny Boyle. 27 July 2012.

When you heard that the 2012 Olympic Games in London would be opened by the ringing of an enormous bell inscribed with a quotation from Shakespeare, each one of you had an idea of what it would be. Those who admire the equestrian events were hoping for "My kingdom for a horse" while soccer fans expected "You base football player," a quote from King Lear. I wished for "Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, / My legs are longer though, to run away" from Midsummer Night's Dream—or even "[They] shall with speed to England" from Hamlet, but I thought it much more likely that the famous speech from Richard II would make the final cut:
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. (II.i.40-42, 50)
When I learned that it was from one of Caliban's speeches in The Tempest instead, I was a bit perplexed, especially considering the complicated ways in which Caliban's character has been read and the fact that the quote comes from a scene in which Caliban is urging the violent overthrow of Prospero. The line on the bell is short:
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises. (III.ii.135)
As inscribed, it has no context—not even the context of its author's name. All the same, it carries a calming sense.

In the opening ceremony, Kenneth Branagh delivered the speech in its entirety, re-contextualizing it as a speech of promise. The opening ceremony itself took a historical approach—and one that wasn't always sentimentalized. The opening song was the hymn "Jerusalem," its lyrics by William Blake. That song mentions "England's mountains green" and its "pleasant pastures" as well as the "dark Satanic Mills" usually read as the devastation of the Industrial Revolution. And the opening ceremony reflected both the joys of an English country green and the humble sports played upon it and the smokestacks and greed wrought by the Industrial Revolution. But the conclusion of the song points toward the hope of the redemption of the land and a determination to reverse the damage done to it.

Branagh's delivery of the speech from The Tempest similarly recognizes the ills done by the isle while hoping for a reversal of those ills.

Update: The BBC has released a six-disc set of the London 2012 Olympic Games; I was able to put together the following clip from it. I've left the two other permutations of the clip below.


Some kind soul operating under the on-line name Mikeatle captured Branagh's delivery of the speech. It is embedded below; below it is my own clip of the speech—in case Mikeatle's disappears; below that is the full text of the speech:


Note: The clip immediately above has been edited to bring the ringing of the bell closer to the delivery of the speech. I've also removed the commentary and extended both the ringing of the bell and the applause after the speech.
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices,
That if I then had wak'd after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again, and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I wak'd,
I cried to dream again. (III.ii.135-43)
What do you think? Is this an overly-optimistic reading of the speech? Does this address the issues of postcolonialism raised by the play itself? Does Kenneth Branagh always deliver speeches from Shakespeare in the voice of Henry V and with a matching soundtrack?


No one can emote awe and childlike wonder better than Kenneth Branagh.



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Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Richard III in Twin Peaks

"Episode 18" [a.k.a. "Masked Ball"]. By Barry Pullman. Perf. Kyle MacLachlan, Michael Ontkean, and Mädchen Amick. Dir. Duwayne Dunham. Twin Peaks. Season 2, episode 18 [a.k.a Season 2, episode 11]. ABC. 15 December 1990. DVD. Paramount, 2007.

I don't imagine ever having the time to even watch—let alone comprehend—the cult classic television series Twin Peaks. Yet we find some Richard III there, too.

Since I don't fully understand what's going on . . . hold on—that was too mild. Let me start this paragraph over again.

Since I'm completely mystified by the show, I'll turn to a paragraph of summary provided by the Twin Peaks Episode Guide blog:
In his office, unshaven Ben Horne, looking as though he’d slept in his clothes, watches home movies of the groundbreaking of the Great Northern Hotel. “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York,” he recites as he approaches the screen to kiss his mother’s image.
And here's the clip:


And that's how Richard III week at Bardfilm comes to a close—not with a bang, but with a semi-confused "Huh?"

Have I missed any of your favorites? Let me know in the comments below—but you might also try these Richard III-related clips:
Spectacular Spider-Man
Black Adder
Family Guy 1
Family Guy 2
King Rikki 1
King Rikki 2
Looking for Richard
Richard (Loncraine / McKellen)

Links: The Episode at IMDB.

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Monday, June 25, 2012

Richard III in Jesus of Montreal

Jesus of Montreal. Dir. Denys Arcand. Perf. Lothaire Bluteau, Catherine Wilkening, and Johanne-Marie Tremblay. 1989. DVD. Koch Lorber Films, 2004.

This quotation from Richard III may be more than just incidental—it certainly seems so—but I'm not familiar enough with the film to dig deeply into its significance.

But I can point out the connections between religion and theatre that the scene evokes. The film is about a theatre director who is hired to put on scenes from Christ's passion for a church pilgrimage of sorts. The unorthodox theology behind his presentation makes a number of people nervous and angry.

In the scene below, a character contemplates his own history. He presents theatre and religion as something of a dichotomy. He loved the theatre, but he felt that he had to pursue religion instead:


The rest of the film may, in part, be contemplating whether religion and theatre are irreconcilable entities. Perhaps it is even taking us back to the origins of the theatre in English—to the medieval mystery plays themselves.

Links: The Film at IMDB.

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Friday, June 22, 2012

Richard III in The Wars of the Roses

King Richard III. Dir. Michael Bogdanov. Perf. Andrew Jarvis, Michael Pennington, Anne Penfold, June Watson, and Susanna Best. Wars of the Roses. 1990. DVD. Films for the Humanities & Sciences, 2005.

And now, in the category of terrific films that no reasonable person can reasonably afford, we have the series The Wars of the Roses, the English Shakespeare Company's astonishing production of both tetralogies. Yes, they filmed their series of plays that includes the plots of Richard II; Henry IV, Part One; Henry IV, Part II; Henry V; Henry VI, Part One; Henry VI, Part Two; Henry VI, Part Three; and Richard III. Amazing is too mild a word for it.

But it's also around $700 for the series, which is why you should have your library buy it for you (as I did).

Their Richard III opens with this excellent and humor-filled introduction to the cast. In under four minutes, they set the stage for the play, obliterating any confusion students, scholars, and general readers might face in encountering the play:


Links: The Series at IMDB.

Click to purchase
(or to have your library purchase)
the films from Films for the Humanities and Sciences.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Richard III in Magnum, P. I.

“Case of the Red Faced Thespian.” By Donald P. Bellisario and Glen A. Larson. Perf. Tom Selleck, John Hillerman, and Roger E. Mosley. Dir. Ivan Dixon. Magnum, P. I. Season 4, episode 12. CBS. 19 January 1984. DVD. Universal Studios, 2006.

While Runaway Train lies nearer to the sublime on the continuum, this episode of Magnum, P. I. moves along the scale toward the ridiculous.

I know very little about the conventions of the show, but this episode centers on a character named Higgins who is struck on the head by a croquet ball just before a 1920s Theme Party begins. He imagines himself to be the great (albeit fictional) Shakespearean actor Sir Fearing Pangborn. [As a side note, does anyone know whether that name is parodying any actor in particular? Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree? John Barrymore?] [Additional Note: See the comments below for the solid suggestion that the character actor Franklin Pangborn is the object of the mild parody.] Another character (T.C., for those in the know) is dressed as Paul Robeson—but he claims he's playing Paul Robeson playing Brutus Jones, so there's no additional Robeson-as-Othello material in this episode.

Here's a brief sample. Warning: It's quite silly, and impressional people should not be allowed to assume that Magnum's shirt-and-shorts combo is appropriate attire in the twenty-first century.


Links: The Episode at IMDB.

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Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Richard III in Runaway Train

Runaway Train. Dir. Andrey Konchalovskiy. Perf. Jon Voight, Eric Roberts, and Rebecca De Mornay. 1985. DVD. MGM, 1998.

Although the use of Richard III in popular culture can sometimes be nothing more than incidental, it occasionally is used to alter the entire tenor of a work.

Such is the case with the 1985 Action / Adventure film Runaway Train. The film's plot centers on two escaped convicts—one of whom is recalcitrant and unrepentant while the other is mostly just along for the ride. They end up on board a string of four locomotive engines connected together along with a female railway worker; the engineer has a heart attack and dies, leaving the throttle on full—and the emergency brakes locked on. That gives everyone some respite, but the eventual effect is for the breaks to burn out entirely, leaving the three on board a train that is racing faster and faster with no hope of stopping. If they could get to the foremost locomotive, they could potentially turn off the throttle, but for various reasons they seem unable to get there.

Note: In the next few paragraphs, spoilers will abound. Should you wish to let this film's plot unfold for yourself, stop here, watch the film, and come back to add your commentary to this post. Thank you.

By the end of the film, the warden, who is the main prisoner's arch nemesis, has made it on to the train by means of a helicopter. He and the prisoner fight, and the prisoner handcuffs him to the first locomotive. The prisoner then uncouples the other locomotives from the first, climbs to the top of the engine, and awaits his certain doom—and the simultaneous doom of his arch nemesis. The screen whites out, and this quote appears:


The quote doesn't supply the names of the characters, but the quotation marks indicate that it is an exchange between characters rather than a quote from one character alone. In fact, it is part of the scene in which Richard woos Lady Anne:
Lady Anne: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

Richard: But I know none, and therefore am no beast. (I.ii.71-72)
The clever argument—technically, it's a syllogism—embedded in the exchange runs something like this: Beasts have pity. Richard doesn't have pity. Therefore, Richard is not a beast.

Richard makes the argument to try to subvert Anne's accusations. Eventually, his attempt pays off—Anne does agree to marry him.

But what does that mean for Runaway Train? Are we to draw the conclusion that this prisoner is, like Richard, both devoid of pity and also the more human because of it? Is that brought into question because the prisoner has shown pity to the others on the train by uncoupling their locomotives from his? Is this prisoner no more than a beast—whatever the logic of the syllogism might suggest? Does the quotation point toward the warden rather than the prisoner, suggesting that he has brought about his own end as well as that of the prisoner by being devoid of pity?

The quotation, by opening these questions, gives the film far more layers than it would otherwise have.

Here are the final moments of the film:


Links: The Film at IMDB.

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Monday, June 18, 2012

Richard III in Law and Order

“Aria.” By Dick Wolf. Perf. Paul Sorvino, Chris Noth and Dann Florek. Dir. Don Scardino. Law and Order. Season two, episode 3. NBC. 1 October 1991. DVD. National Broadcasting Company, 2004.

Sometimes the inclusion of Shakespeare is purely incidental.

Such is the case with this Richard III interjection at the beginning of an episode of Law and Order. The rest of the episode has to do with actors, and these two actors, who are fooling about with props and quoting a line from Richard III, merely set the scene. I watched the episode—admittedly, it was a few years ago—hoping for deeper tie-ins to the play, but there wasn't much there.

All the same, it's another way Richard III is frequently used in popular culture: As shorthand for "Theatre."


Links: The Episode at IMDB.

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Thursday, June 14, 2012

Richard III in Fame

Fame. Dir. Alan Parker. Perf. Eddie Barth, Irene Cara and Lee Curreri. 1980. DVD. Warner Home Video, 2010.

In the film Fame, several students use Shakespeare in their auditions. One student gives us a bit of Richard III's opening monologue (interesting in that it's not the portion of that speech typically used); another gives us a portion of Touchstone's comic bit near the end of As You Like It; the last reads something from Romeo and Juliet.

The auditions aren't quite as over the top as those in A Midwinter's Tale (for which, q.v.), but they are still pretty marvelous. Take a look!


Links: The Film at IMDB.

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Wednesday, June 13, 2012

An In-Depth Exploration of Richard III, Act I, Scene ii

Looking for Anne. Dir. Gérard Dallez. 2005. DVD. Equipe de Recherche sur les Aires Culturelles, 2005.

Included in the volume Shakespeare on Screen: Richard III (ed. Sarah Hatchuel and Nathalie Vienne-Guerrin, Ruon: Publications de l’Université de Rouen, 2005) is a short film entitled Looking for Anne. When I requested the book through my stalwart Inter-Library Loan connections, I was under the assumption that it was a complete film that told the plot of Shakespeare's Richard III from Lady Anne's point of view. Even though that turned out not to be the case—causing some inevitable collateral disappointment—the film itself provides a good deal of commentary on and discussion of Act I, scene ii of the play: The scene in which Lady Anne accepts Richards proposal of marriage.

There's considerable discussion—in French (with English subtitles)—about the scene, and one participant seems to have a cockatoo on her shoulder for no readily-apparant reason. And then comes the fun part. The actors attempt to put all they've been discussing into the scene itself.

The discussion here typifies the threefold conversation that frequently happens in my classroom about this scene:
  1. Why does Anne accept Richard?

  2. Why doesn't Anne kill Richard?

  3. How is it possible to enact whatever conclusions we reach about those two questions?
Here's a brief clip to give you a taste of the film, which is something like a discussion, something like a documentary, and something like an actor's workshop:


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Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Richard III and Felix the Cat at the Top of the Foshay Tower

Felix in Hollywood. Dir. Otto Messmer. 1923. DVD. Sling Shot Entertainment, 1999.

Although this one was not mentioned by the article, it fits in Richard III week well under the category "No Escape from Shakespeare."

I wasn't really searching for Shakespeare when I went to the small museum kept at the top of the Foshay Tower in downtown Minneapolis (along with a marvelous observation platform), but there he was, embedded in a cartoon from 1923.

The Foshay Tower was built during the Roaring Twenties, and the museum directors decided to give their visitors something of a taste of that time in American history. Felix the Cat must have sprung to mind, and the cartoon short Felix Goes to Hollywood can be played from one of the museum's kiosks.

In the film, there's a brief parody of one of Richard's best-known lines:


Links: The Film at IMDB. The Foshay Tower at Wikipedia.

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Monday, June 4, 2012

Richard III Week at Bardfilm Begins with Richard III in Alfred Hitchcock Presents

Burnett, Mark Thornton. “Parodying with Richard.” Shakespeare on Screen: Richard III. Ed. Sarah Hatchuel and Nathalie Vienne-Guerrin. Ruon: Publications de l’Université de Rouen, 2005. 91-112.

Tempera, Mariangela. “Winters and Horses: References to Richard III on Film and Television.” Shakespeare on Screen: Richard III. Ed. Sarah Hatchuel and Nathalie Vienne-Guerrin. Ruon: Publications de l’Université de Rouen, 2005. 65-89.

I've mentioned the two articles listed above before (for which, q.v.). They provided me with a vast range of unexplored territory, Richard IIIwise, and I've been collecting them, pondering whether they would build up any coherent picture of the way popular culture has appropriated the conventional image and overarching relevance of Richard III in particular.

I'm not sure they've done so, but I am sure that you, gentle readers, will find them interesting and valuable. And I hope to post them with minimal commentary over the next week or two.

"Silent Witness." By Robert C. Dennis and Jeanne Barry. Perf. Alfred Hitchcock, Don Taylor, and Dolores Hart. Dir. Paul Henreid. Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Season 3, episode 5. CBS. 3 November 1957. DVD. Universal Studios, 2007.

The first one is from the television series Alfred Hitchcock Presents. In it, an English professor has been carrying on an affair with a student. When he tries to break it off, she threatens to expose him. He does away with her—but the baby she was babysitting at the time witnessed the event. The rest of the episode plays with the themes of Richard III as the professor contemplates doing away with the child to cover his crime. Here's the episode's opening:


The professor is reading from Richard's monologue near the end of the play—the one in which he comes closest to repenting of his crimes:
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree
Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree;
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me:
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself? (V.iii.195-205)
The full episode is quite intriguing—full of plot twits and with a surprising conclusion. Give it a try!

Links: The Episode at IMDB.

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Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Klingon Hamlet Revisited

Shakespeare, William. The Klingon Hamlet. Trans. Nick Nicholas, Andrew Strader, and the Klingon Language Institute. New York: Simon & Schuster [Pocket Books], 2000.

The performance of selections of Hamlet and Much Ado About Nothing in Klingon by the Washington Shakespeare Company received a fair amount of attention. One review quotes Christopher Henley, the Artistic Director, who said, "It seems a way to say that we're not as reverent as other companies in town."

All right. Fair enough. And I imagine it would be interesting to see such a production, even if you don't happen to be deeply engaged in Star Trek. What would it be like to watch a Hamlet without knowing the language in which it's being performed? What elements of Klingon culture would be brought to bear in the production? How would those elements be made comprehensible to what I imagine was a majority non-Klingon audience.

But I'd like to talk about the book for a minute. In addition to what I'd like to call "The Droes'hQuapleth Engraving" pictured above, the book has some magnificently funny material. As a parody of English Language Studies and Shakespeare studies, the footnotes are priceless.

Some of my favorites come from the nunnery scene:
nunnery: lit. squadron of the celebate. (The closest Klingon equivalent of a monastic order, these were bands of warriors—of either gender—who dedicated their lives to fighting, to the point of refusing to mate.)

O heavenly powers! lit. Power of Kahless.

like sweet bells jangled: lit. like a bagpipe clumsily squeezed.

to England: lit. To Earth. There is no documented instance where Terra paid tribute or ransom to the Klingon Empire; this is probably not a historical reference, although it has endeared the play to many young Klingons. (201)
But I also genuinely appreciate these notes from Hamlet's advice to the players:
I has as lief the town crier spoke my lines: lit. I would prefer my words to be shot from a Federation battleship.

It out-herods Herod: lit. He [who does so] is more deserving to resemble Molor than Molor himself. (201)
And, finally, this note on Hamlet's most famous soliloquy (from page 200—click on the image to enlarge it):


It's really quite remarkable stuff—even down to the parody of some conspiratorial elements—including some of the Nazi propaganda insisting that Shakespeare was actually a German author.

Links: Official Site of The Klingon Hamlet.

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Monday, May 28, 2012

Shakespeare in Huckleberry Finn (The Novel and the 1955 Film)

Twain, Mark. Huckleberry Finn. New York: Charles L. Webster and Company, 1885.

Huckleberry Finn. Dir. Herbert B. Swope, Jr. Perf. Denise Alexander, John Carradine, and Walter Catlett. 1955. DVD. Synergy Entertainment, 2007.

Do you remember the great Shakespearean actors from Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn? They come along in Chapter Nineteen, eventually revealing their "true" identities to be aristocratic: one is a Duke, and the other is the long-lost Louis XVII of France.

I've been hoping mightily that one or another of the film versions of the novel would contain some part of their Shakespeare performances. But I've tried three so far, and this is the only one that gives us a bit of a Shakespearean connection—and that isn't much.

But Twain does some remarkable things with those characters and their knowledge of Shakespeare. Here's the scene where the Duke and the King plan a night of Shakespeare for the next town they visit—concluding with a marvelous interpretation of Hamlet's soliloquy:
"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe; and you—well, let me see—oh, I've got it—you can do Hamlet's soliloquy."

"Hamlet's which?"

"Hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in Shakespeare. Ah, it's sublime, sublime! Always fetches the house. I haven't got it in the book—I've only got one volume—but I reckon I can piece it out from memory. I'll just walk up and down a minute, and see if I can call it back from recollection's vaults."

So he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning horrible every now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next he would sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear. It was beautiful to see him. By and by he got it. He told us to give attention. Then he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards, and his arms stretched away up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky; and then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and after that, all through his speech, he howled, and spread around, and swelled up his chest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever I see before. This is the speech—I learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it to the king:
To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,
But that the fear of something after death
Murders the innocent sleep,
Great nature's second course,
And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune
Than fly to others that we know not of.
There's the respect must give us pause:
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take,
In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn
In customary suits of solemn black,
But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns,
Breathes forth contagion on the world,
And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage,
Is sicklied o'er with care,
And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
But soft you, the fair Ophelia:
Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws,
But get thee to a nunnery—go! (181-82)
The film listed above doesn't give us that (I'm still searching for one that does), but it does give us a fragment of Shakespeare embedded in the two connivers' conversation:


Yes, I'll keep searching and hoping!

Links: The Film at IMDB.

Click below to purchase the film and the book from amazon.com
(and to support Bardfilm as you do so).

 

Thursday, May 24, 2012

The Great River Shakespeare Festival 2012

King Lear. Two Gentlemen of Verona. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged). Great River Shakespeare Festival. Winona, Minnesota. 20 June to 5 August 2012.
I've said it before, and I'll go on saying it until . . . well, I'm not sure when or if I'll stop saying it: The Great River Shakespeare Festival provides an astonishing experience every year. These actors, directors, costumers, apprentices, designers, staff, et cetera are at the very top of their game.

Past years of the Great River Shakespeare Festival have delivered brilliant productions of the plays. Witness their Taming of the Shrew, their Love's Labour's Lost, their Comedy of Errors, or their Othello. I anticipate that this year's productions will be even better.

Witness this video that provides some fascinating insight into the company:


Tickets are on sale now. Buy some.
Links: The Great River Shakespeare Festival.
Bardfilm is normally written as one word, though it can also be found under a search for "Bard Film Blog." Bardfilm is a Shakespeare blog (admittedly, one of many Shakespeare blogs), and it is dedicated to commentary on films (Shakespeare movies, The Shakespeare Movie, Shakespeare on television, Shakespeare at the cinema), plays, and other matter related to Shakespeare (allusions to Shakespeare in pop culture, quotes from Shakespeare in popular culture, quotations that come from Shakespeare, et cetera).

Unless otherwise indicated, quotations from Shakespeare's works are from the following edition:
Shakespeare, William. The Riverside Shakespeare. 2nd ed. Gen. ed. G. Blakemore Evans. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1997.
All material original to this blog is copyrighted: Copyright 2008-2039 (and into perpetuity thereafter) by Keith Jones.

The very instant that I saw you did / My heart fly to your service; there resides, / To make me slave to it; and, for your sake, / Am I this patient [b]log-man.

—The Tempest