Let joy be unconfined, this week is Shakespeare Week! The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust is co-ordinating events and schemes all across the country to introduce Shakespeare to primary school age children in a fun and engaging way. This is, for the avoidance of doubt, a Very Good Thing.
My own little celebration of Shakespeare Week will be to write a Shakespeare themed blog each day for the duration (16th-22nd). Does anyone have any suggestions of topics they'd like me to write about? I've a few ideas kicking around but I'm always welcome to new suggestions!
To learn more about Shakespeare week, please visit:
http://shakespeareweek.org.uk
Monday, 16 March 2015
Tuesday, 17 February 2015
As You Like It: An appreciation
Recently I offered my thoughts on As You Like It for 1623 Theatre Company to accompany their forthcoming Shakespeare night, which this month is framed around that play. I focussed on the fact that I think that the supporting characters are very well written. This may seem like a pre-requisite but there are many instances in Shakespeare (and beyond) where some minor parts are there purely to provide exposition, with no other discernible character traits. With As You Like It, there is a rich supply of fun character parts; Corin the humble shepherd, Charles the arrogant wrestler, William the buffoonish would-be suitor of Audrey, and several others, which all add to the joyous atmosphere that the play creates.
Since recording that snippet I've been thinking more about what makes AYLI so successful and if you'll indulge me I'd like to share a couple of other thoughts with you, if you're still reading this. Thanks, by the way!
First, a bit of history about my association with it. It was the play in which I made my professional Shakespearian debut (along with A Midsummer Night's Dream in a UK tour) so I have something of an emotional attachment. I played the parts of Adam, (Orlando's faithful old servant), Touchstone (The fool of the piece) and Jacques De Boys, who delivers the most wonderfully tacked on ending to a play I've ever experienced, (more on that later on). More recently I revisited the part of Touchstone for 1623 in their compilation piece, Stand-Up Shakespeare.
During the tour I did a radio interview to promote one of our performances and I was asked why people should come and see it. I still remember my response. It took the form of a clumsy simile but it sort of works so bear with me! I compared it to a 'greatest hits' album in that it had all the aspects one might expect from a Shakespearian comedy, (Girl dresses as boy, romantic confusion, big happy ending) alongside parts that, although one might know they were Shakespearian, they might not know from what play, such as the Seven Ages of Man speech.....
On reflection it's a rubbish simile. Perhaps it's best to refer to it as a great play to start with if one is new to Shakespeare. Alongside the aforementioned reasons it has a very straightforward plot and not much in the way of 'B stories' to detract from the main event. Yes there's the subplot of Touchstone's pursuit of Audrey but for me it serves as an accompaniment to Rosalind and Orlando's story rather than an additional thread to follow.
Another of the play's strengths is something some commentators see as a detriment. While the characters are well written, some events in the play are seemingly plucked out of thin air, and contrivances & coincidences happening even more frequently than usual for a comedy. For me, (and I'm something of an idiot so this may well be completely wrong), this is Shakespeare just having fun and letting the Forest of Arden take on an almost mystical quality. If you haven't seen the play, let me outline a few of the instances where I think Shakespeare is just having fun with his world and not giving two hoots about logic!
First off, aside from the opening couple of scenes, the entire play takes place in the Forest of Arden where the exiled Duke Senior, his court, and latterly his Daughter, her best friend and the court Fool reside. That a seemingly huge forest, large enough to hide exiled dukes and contain at least one lioness. (yes, lioness. We'll come to that shortly) is also small enough for the characters to all find each other with some ease has always amused me. Perhaps it isn't so unlikely and small forrest communities were common in Elizabethan England but to me it's more likely that Shakespeare is having his pastoral cake and eating it.
The lion. So, Oliver, Orlando's brother, hates his sibling. Why he despises Orlando so much is down to nothing more than jealousy of his brother's popularity. Unlike Iago's sly, manipulative ways of exploring his envy, Oliver just arranges a wrestling match between Orlando and Charles, wanting the latter to break the former's neck. When that doesn't work and Orlando escapes to the forest, Oliver gives chase but gets himself into a pickle when first a snake, then A BLOODY LIONESS attacks him, Orlando scaring both away. First of all, It's very fortunate that his brother was around in the exact same part of the forest to help him escape. A forest, that we have established, is large enough to house a Duke and his retinue. Second, IT HAS A LIONESS IN IT! Was there an Arden Zoo that had a bunch of escapees? I've read that the inclusion of a serpent and lioness (who it seems has a litter, MORE LIONS!) is to reflect the nature of killing for necessity versus killing for fun (much like Jacques mourning the killing of a deer) which sort of makes sense, but why a Lioness? It just seems fantastical.
Last of all (though there are other fun contrivances along the way) the ending. Rosalind marries Orlando, Oliver Marries Celia (another little knot tied for seemingly the hell of it!), Touchstone marries Audrey and Silvius Marries Phoebe. Then, out of nowhere, a hitherto unmentioned third brother of Orlando and Oliver, Jacques appears. Why didn't Orlando go and stay with him instead of dragging a pensioner around a forest?
'Hey Orlando, Oliver plans to set fire to you as you sleep'
'Oh God, what can we do, Adam?'
'Well, Jacques lives in the next town over'
'Nah, let's use your life savings and go on the run'
'But....'
'Less talky, more walky, old man'.
Jacques then goes on to explain that the previously evil Duke Frederick, who had been complicit in the plot to kill Orlando, who had banished his brother and niece out of pure spite, who seems basically to exist to be as much of a despot as possible had a religious conversion while on the hunt for his brother.
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,In his own conduct, purposely to takeHis brother here and put him to the sword:And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;Where meeting with an old religious man,After some question with him, was convertedBoth from his enterprise and from the world,His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,And all their lands restored to them againThat were with him exiled. This to be true,I do engage my life. (5.4.1)
Right. So there's this bloody great forest where the exiled Duke is but it's taken all this time for him to decide to go hunting for him, and though everyone else in the dukedom can find Senior with ease, Frederick bumps into a hermit (who must be mightily hacked off that his once empty contemplative space is now busier than Elsinore) first!
It seems like I'm dismissing the contrivances as poor writing but to me Shakespeare is more concerned with the world inside the forest where anything can happen, including the most magical of things: falling in love, than he is with events in the cold, calculating court. Once Frederick steps inside he too is subject to the magical spell seemingly at work. That Duke Senior and the rest of the exiles (excluding Jacques) choose to return to the court is, strangely, the only thing that doesn't make sense to me in this topsy-turvy world.
To sum up, As You Like It isn't Shakespeare's best and yes, there are points where it wavers into the absurd (one last time, LIONS! Is it just me?) but these moments can be seen as huge advantages in just letting the story flow and result in a thoroughly entertaining play.
Since recording that snippet I've been thinking more about what makes AYLI so successful and if you'll indulge me I'd like to share a couple of other thoughts with you, if you're still reading this. Thanks, by the way!
First, a bit of history about my association with it. It was the play in which I made my professional Shakespearian debut (along with A Midsummer Night's Dream in a UK tour) so I have something of an emotional attachment. I played the parts of Adam, (Orlando's faithful old servant), Touchstone (The fool of the piece) and Jacques De Boys, who delivers the most wonderfully tacked on ending to a play I've ever experienced, (more on that later on). More recently I revisited the part of Touchstone for 1623 in their compilation piece, Stand-Up Shakespeare.
During the tour I did a radio interview to promote one of our performances and I was asked why people should come and see it. I still remember my response. It took the form of a clumsy simile but it sort of works so bear with me! I compared it to a 'greatest hits' album in that it had all the aspects one might expect from a Shakespearian comedy, (Girl dresses as boy, romantic confusion, big happy ending) alongside parts that, although one might know they were Shakespearian, they might not know from what play, such as the Seven Ages of Man speech.....
On reflection it's a rubbish simile. Perhaps it's best to refer to it as a great play to start with if one is new to Shakespeare. Alongside the aforementioned reasons it has a very straightforward plot and not much in the way of 'B stories' to detract from the main event. Yes there's the subplot of Touchstone's pursuit of Audrey but for me it serves as an accompaniment to Rosalind and Orlando's story rather than an additional thread to follow.
Another of the play's strengths is something some commentators see as a detriment. While the characters are well written, some events in the play are seemingly plucked out of thin air, and contrivances & coincidences happening even more frequently than usual for a comedy. For me, (and I'm something of an idiot so this may well be completely wrong), this is Shakespeare just having fun and letting the Forest of Arden take on an almost mystical quality. If you haven't seen the play, let me outline a few of the instances where I think Shakespeare is just having fun with his world and not giving two hoots about logic!
First off, aside from the opening couple of scenes, the entire play takes place in the Forest of Arden where the exiled Duke Senior, his court, and latterly his Daughter, her best friend and the court Fool reside. That a seemingly huge forest, large enough to hide exiled dukes and contain at least one lioness. (yes, lioness. We'll come to that shortly) is also small enough for the characters to all find each other with some ease has always amused me. Perhaps it isn't so unlikely and small forrest communities were common in Elizabethan England but to me it's more likely that Shakespeare is having his pastoral cake and eating it.
The lion. So, Oliver, Orlando's brother, hates his sibling. Why he despises Orlando so much is down to nothing more than jealousy of his brother's popularity. Unlike Iago's sly, manipulative ways of exploring his envy, Oliver just arranges a wrestling match between Orlando and Charles, wanting the latter to break the former's neck. When that doesn't work and Orlando escapes to the forest, Oliver gives chase but gets himself into a pickle when first a snake, then A BLOODY LIONESS attacks him, Orlando scaring both away. First of all, It's very fortunate that his brother was around in the exact same part of the forest to help him escape. A forest, that we have established, is large enough to house a Duke and his retinue. Second, IT HAS A LIONESS IN IT! Was there an Arden Zoo that had a bunch of escapees? I've read that the inclusion of a serpent and lioness (who it seems has a litter, MORE LIONS!) is to reflect the nature of killing for necessity versus killing for fun (much like Jacques mourning the killing of a deer) which sort of makes sense, but why a Lioness? It just seems fantastical.
Last of all (though there are other fun contrivances along the way) the ending. Rosalind marries Orlando, Oliver Marries Celia (another little knot tied for seemingly the hell of it!), Touchstone marries Audrey and Silvius Marries Phoebe. Then, out of nowhere, a hitherto unmentioned third brother of Orlando and Oliver, Jacques appears. Why didn't Orlando go and stay with him instead of dragging a pensioner around a forest?
'Hey Orlando, Oliver plans to set fire to you as you sleep'
'Oh God, what can we do, Adam?'
'Well, Jacques lives in the next town over'
'Nah, let's use your life savings and go on the run'
'But....'
'Less talky, more walky, old man'.
Jacques then goes on to explain that the previously evil Duke Frederick, who had been complicit in the plot to kill Orlando, who had banished his brother and niece out of pure spite, who seems basically to exist to be as much of a despot as possible had a religious conversion while on the hunt for his brother.
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,In his own conduct, purposely to takeHis brother here and put him to the sword:And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;Where meeting with an old religious man,After some question with him, was convertedBoth from his enterprise and from the world,His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,And all their lands restored to them againThat were with him exiled. This to be true,I do engage my life. (5.4.1)
Right. So there's this bloody great forest where the exiled Duke is but it's taken all this time for him to decide to go hunting for him, and though everyone else in the dukedom can find Senior with ease, Frederick bumps into a hermit (who must be mightily hacked off that his once empty contemplative space is now busier than Elsinore) first!
It seems like I'm dismissing the contrivances as poor writing but to me Shakespeare is more concerned with the world inside the forest where anything can happen, including the most magical of things: falling in love, than he is with events in the cold, calculating court. Once Frederick steps inside he too is subject to the magical spell seemingly at work. That Duke Senior and the rest of the exiles (excluding Jacques) choose to return to the court is, strangely, the only thing that doesn't make sense to me in this topsy-turvy world.
To sum up, As You Like It isn't Shakespeare's best and yes, there are points where it wavers into the absurd (one last time, LIONS! Is it just me?) but these moments can be seen as huge advantages in just letting the story flow and result in a thoroughly entertaining play.
Saturday, 13 September 2014
For @teddy_red and Bonny Mo
I started noticing something was odd the first time I met your parents. They were pleasant enough, if a little quiet, but there was something.....clinical about them. Everything they did from opening the door for us to waving us goodbye had an air of rehearsed precision.
After seeing the practically robotic way your father sliced the Sunday roast and placed each perfectly sheared slabs of perfectly cooked beef onto the perfectly warmed plates I started seeing everything you did in a new, eerie light. Things I'd passed off as coincidence or just habit became red flags. For instance, every time you woke up, your hair was already perfect. No need to wash, brush or straighten your already tamed locks. No girlfriend before you, and there'd been a few, ever left the house without at least a cursory comb through. but there you were, bounding out of bed at 6.47 (always 6.47, something else I'd noticed) and tossing your hair back over your left shoulder before blowing me a kiss and leaving for work. You always left the room naked, but came back from work in your jeans & blouse, hair perfect as ever.
Where did you get dressed?
For weeks (I think) I tried to convince myself that I was being stupid, but it wasn't just your perfection that made me uneasy. Seeing the broken plate in the kitchen, the one resting on the sideboard by itself, was making me feel ill. Fine, I'll throw it away. The same thought every day. Why didn't I get rid of it? Come to think of it, besides seeing you and the plate what else did I do with my days?
I tried to make a list, naming all the things I did the previous day. I could remember nothing. Not even going to the toilet. I woke, kissed you goodbye, you came home, we made love, we slept. What was I doing without you around?
Things changed after I wrote the list. My days were more varied but not enough for me to stop being suspicious. I would get letters but no bills.. Letters from friends long forgotten but now keen to get back in touch, written with bold promises of amazing days out once they had the time to visit. No-one visited. In fact, aside from you and your Stepfordian parents I hadn't seen anyone else.
Yesterday (I think), I tried to leave the house on my own.
A searing pain to my temples.
Screaming.
A sense of loss.
I remember.
We had argued, again. My excuses and borrowed time had run out and the kitchen became a battleground. I ducked as the plate was thrown at my head but it struck sharp and true.
I can hear my parents now, and the Doctor. It is 6.47.
Time to wake up.
After seeing the practically robotic way your father sliced the Sunday roast and placed each perfectly sheared slabs of perfectly cooked beef onto the perfectly warmed plates I started seeing everything you did in a new, eerie light. Things I'd passed off as coincidence or just habit became red flags. For instance, every time you woke up, your hair was already perfect. No need to wash, brush or straighten your already tamed locks. No girlfriend before you, and there'd been a few, ever left the house without at least a cursory comb through. but there you were, bounding out of bed at 6.47 (always 6.47, something else I'd noticed) and tossing your hair back over your left shoulder before blowing me a kiss and leaving for work. You always left the room naked, but came back from work in your jeans & blouse, hair perfect as ever.
Where did you get dressed?
For weeks (I think) I tried to convince myself that I was being stupid, but it wasn't just your perfection that made me uneasy. Seeing the broken plate in the kitchen, the one resting on the sideboard by itself, was making me feel ill. Fine, I'll throw it away. The same thought every day. Why didn't I get rid of it? Come to think of it, besides seeing you and the plate what else did I do with my days?
I tried to make a list, naming all the things I did the previous day. I could remember nothing. Not even going to the toilet. I woke, kissed you goodbye, you came home, we made love, we slept. What was I doing without you around?
Things changed after I wrote the list. My days were more varied but not enough for me to stop being suspicious. I would get letters but no bills.. Letters from friends long forgotten but now keen to get back in touch, written with bold promises of amazing days out once they had the time to visit. No-one visited. In fact, aside from you and your Stepfordian parents I hadn't seen anyone else.
Yesterday (I think), I tried to leave the house on my own.
A searing pain to my temples.
Screaming.
A sense of loss.
I remember.
We had argued, again. My excuses and borrowed time had run out and the kitchen became a battleground. I ducked as the plate was thrown at my head but it struck sharp and true.
I can hear my parents now, and the Doctor. It is 6.47.
Time to wake up.
Friday, 12 September 2014
For @wonderwaff
Think of a filthy creature
Like a pigeon or a rat,
With deep set eyes
And claws the size
Of Andrew Flintoff's hat.
It scuttles round the garden
Or flaps around the square
It freaks you out
And makes you shout
While pulling on your hair.
Now picture how you look to it
All large and loud and strange.
With screaming fits
I'm not sure it's
How you'd want to engage.
The beast could be called Ingrid,
Or Joy or Phil or May
And have a house
Next to a Louse
Who calls him everyday.
The beasts aren't really Vermin,
It's just a point of view.
Remember this:
With prejudice
The vermin's likely you.
Like a pigeon or a rat,
With deep set eyes
And claws the size
Of Andrew Flintoff's hat.
It scuttles round the garden
Or flaps around the square
It freaks you out
And makes you shout
While pulling on your hair.
Now picture how you look to it
All large and loud and strange.
With screaming fits
I'm not sure it's
How you'd want to engage.
The beast could be called Ingrid,
Or Joy or Phil or May
And have a house
Next to a Louse
Who calls him everyday.
The beasts aren't really Vermin,
It's just a point of view.
Remember this:
With prejudice
The vermin's likely you.
For @y_t__ part one!
Being a spy was meant to be exciting. Flights to Hong Kong or The Bahamas, wooing sexy contacts by vast, ornate swimming pools. Keeping the world safe with a sharp suit and a sharper wit.
Sitting outside a flat in Rochdale night after night to see if the occupant had any pets was not what Jeremy had signed up for. True, he wasn't a spy per se, more of a private investigator with a flat above a chip shop with slightly disturbing hygiene standards, but he'd been at it for eight months and this was his most interesting case yet, ranking just above the Case of the Unfaithful Wife which turned out to have been more a case of the Stupid Husband who didn't realise his wife was going to the library because she couldn't stand his droning.
This was his fourth night sat in his 1988 Skoda, clock radio by his side as his car's radio preferred the sound of silence, glumly looking at Flat 36b and waiting for any sign of animal activity. He was being paid (surprisingly well) by the night and had planned to string it out for at least another week but the tedium was beginning to have an effect on his sanity. Earlier in the evening he 'saw' Santa in Bermuda shorts ambling down the street, and just now he saw a pair of large Siamese cats being brought into 36b.....
SHIT!
This was it. An actual result! He fumbled for his camera to shoot the incriminating evidence but by the time he'd flicked the lens cap off the door had been opened and the cats were swept inside. He'd have to get inside.
Quite why these cats were so important to Ms Campbell he wasn't sure, but he had been told in her fax that it was of VITAL IMPORTANCE that he provided evidence of animals being brought into the flat. Without thinking of a plan he found himself at the door and knocking. Instinct, what little he had, was kicking in.
No answer.
The next thing to happen was the single most ridiculous thing Jeremy had ever done. It was a stupid idea, inspired by a stupid thing, and pretty much guaranteed not to work.
"HO HO HO! IT'S SANTA HERE, LET ME IN!"
The door opened wide.
Jeremy bowled in, camera ready, and took a photo instantly before running off. The flash stunned the first assassin and the second was expecting Santa in Bermuda shorts, their contact. Someone so wildly out of place he'd be assumed crazy and no one would bother him. Instead there was a fat guy with a camera legging it to a knackered old car.....
Ok YT, MORE WORDS TO FINISH THIS STORY!
Sitting outside a flat in Rochdale night after night to see if the occupant had any pets was not what Jeremy had signed up for. True, he wasn't a spy per se, more of a private investigator with a flat above a chip shop with slightly disturbing hygiene standards, but he'd been at it for eight months and this was his most interesting case yet, ranking just above the Case of the Unfaithful Wife which turned out to have been more a case of the Stupid Husband who didn't realise his wife was going to the library because she couldn't stand his droning.
This was his fourth night sat in his 1988 Skoda, clock radio by his side as his car's radio preferred the sound of silence, glumly looking at Flat 36b and waiting for any sign of animal activity. He was being paid (surprisingly well) by the night and had planned to string it out for at least another week but the tedium was beginning to have an effect on his sanity. Earlier in the evening he 'saw' Santa in Bermuda shorts ambling down the street, and just now he saw a pair of large Siamese cats being brought into 36b.....
SHIT!
This was it. An actual result! He fumbled for his camera to shoot the incriminating evidence but by the time he'd flicked the lens cap off the door had been opened and the cats were swept inside. He'd have to get inside.
Quite why these cats were so important to Ms Campbell he wasn't sure, but he had been told in her fax that it was of VITAL IMPORTANCE that he provided evidence of animals being brought into the flat. Without thinking of a plan he found himself at the door and knocking. Instinct, what little he had, was kicking in.
No answer.
The next thing to happen was the single most ridiculous thing Jeremy had ever done. It was a stupid idea, inspired by a stupid thing, and pretty much guaranteed not to work.
"HO HO HO! IT'S SANTA HERE, LET ME IN!"
The door opened wide.
Jeremy bowled in, camera ready, and took a photo instantly before running off. The flash stunned the first assassin and the second was expecting Santa in Bermuda shorts, their contact. Someone so wildly out of place he'd be assumed crazy and no one would bother him. Instead there was a fat guy with a camera legging it to a knackered old car.....
Ok YT, MORE WORDS TO FINISH THIS STORY!
Thursday, 11 September 2014
For @teddy_red
I'm scared.
The lights above me are bright and warm. My doctor is kind and the nurses gentle but I am afraid.
They talk to me but I hear only fragments. Far, far too soon the platform is raised and the machine lowers and I am still afraid. The lights above me burn brighter now. I am shivering in the sun.
I am afraid.
Which means I am alive.
The lights above me are bright and warm. My doctor is kind and the nurses gentle but I am afraid.
They talk to me but I hear only fragments. Far, far too soon the platform is raised and the machine lowers and I am still afraid. The lights above me burn brighter now. I am shivering in the sun.
I am afraid.
Which means I am alive.
For @waywardlou
'Laboratories for the study of genetic manipulation are no place for house pets'.
This is a fact that should not even merit the briefest of mentions in a health and safety manual, and if it did, it should share a page with 'Do not throw Sulphuric Acid at each other', and 'When in doubt, consult your physician over glowing body parts'. However, Howard was typing the amended edition of the H&S booklet with the offending caveat because of his own stupidity so he couldn't complain.
He glanced over at Frederick, his cat, and shuddered at the thought of what could have happened. Frederick lazily curled up in his bed, falling asleep in seconds. Wishing he had the same alacrity for sleep, he went back to his typing. As well as amending the H&S documents he had to write a full report on the events of the past few days. It didn't show Howard in entirely the best of lights.
'I was late for work on Thursday 11th April 2030, and as such did not have time to feed my cat. With hindsight, I would not have brought my household pet into work with me. Carrying him in a case labeled 'experimental stock' (breaking rule 12, para 3, ss 4 on correct labelling of equipment) I let him loose in my workstation, assuming he would be safe. I had stayed late the previous night and left modified canine claw samples in an open Petrie dish and serum 234X, (contravening rule 4 on safe workplace management) on the edge of my desk. While I was pouring cat food into Frederick's (my cat) dish I knocked the samples into his food. Before I could stop him he had eaten the resulting soup. The combination of the serum and the dog's toenails have caused a reaction in Frederick's gut. While the long term effects are not yet known, I now have a cat that barks rather than miaows'.
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