OK, so a couple of nights back, I had the coolest Shakespeare geek experience…
In Pericles, when Thaisa “dies” (or when they think she’s dead, but she’s only “mostly dead”), they put her body in a chest and dump it overboard. It washes up on the shore of Ephesus.
And if that place sounds oddly familiar, it should. We (and by “we” I mean this project) have visited there before…
OK, I’m not a guy to blow my own horn or call too much attention to myself (much to Lisa’s chagrin). But what the hell…
OK, here’s the deal: A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a summer staple. Almost any region that has more than one Shakespeare outlet will have at least one Midsummer to produce during any given year. There’s a reason for it: it’s popular. It’s light. It’s known.
And when we arrived last night at California Lutheran University for night one of the Kinsgmen Shakespeare Festival production, we saw the evidence. Nearly an hour and a half before the start of the play, the place was packed. I would say the crowd was almost twice as large as for Henry V a few weeks back. Remember, that was a very good production, well-reviewed with great word of mouth, a brilliant concept, and a matinee-handsome Henry. On the other hand, last night was opening night, with no raves to bring in a crowd. Midsummer is a popular play.
That, my friends, is a double-edged sword.
Sure, it’s popular. But it also means people have seen this play dozens of times before. The audience knows (or at least thinks they know) what to expect.
So how do you make the play your own? How do you make it fresh?
I had planned, and really wanted, to discuss man and masculinity today, following up on yesterday’s discussion of the “unsex me here” speech. But alas, time (unlike tomorrows) does not creep in a petty pace for me right now. No, my Bard brethren, I’m a tad pre-occupied…
Greetings from Omaha, Nebraska!
At the end of Measure for Measure, we get the generic comedic ending: marriage and birth.
There is the promise of multiple weddings–one assured–before the close of the action…
Last weekend, I took my wife Lisa and fifteen year-old son Jack, down to the Geffen Playhouse in Westwood, California, to catch These Paper Bullets, the self-proclaimed “Modish ripoff of William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.” Much Ado is a blast, Lisa’s favorite Shakespeare comedy, AND a play I’d seen recently (up in Ashland earlier this month). How would this Modish Ripoff stand up?
Quite well, actually.
A couple of weeks back, I took my wife Lisa and son Jack to Los Angeles’ Griffith Park to catch some free outdoor theater (#ShakespeareSetFree) by the Independent Shakespeare Company, for the first of their two summer productions, Romeo and Juliet. If you were around for that one, you know I found it to be very enjoyable. I wasn’t the only one: that production will be returning after the current production, Much Ado About Nothing, runs its course at the end of this month. But I digress. This past weekend, Lisa and I headed back to the woods for a little Nothing, or Much Ado.
We interrupt our usually scheduled entry on Hamlet for this breaking news:
Shakespeare has some bawdy stuff in it… and more than we realized just a few months ago.
This week’s podcast concludes our two month-long discussion of Twelfth Night, with a directorial concept, a look back, and a wrap-up of the play.
So the month is coming to an end, and so is the discussion. What’s the verdict?
I like Twelfth Night. Really like it. Love it, actually.
So here’s the numerical breakdown…
Using Professor Rodes’ midpoint theory, let’s take a look at Twelfth Night.
There are 2462 lines in in the play, which means the midpoint is at line 1231, or at Act Three, Scene One, line 65. Now, Rodes’ theory postulated that you could find (within twenty lines either way) a speech that perfectly summed up the major theme of the play. The 20-line leeway was to help remove the differences in prose line lengths between individual editions; and in a play with as much prose as Twelfth Night (63% of the lines are prose), this forty-line window seems to be all the more important.
But there’s another word/set of words/concepts that seemed to be popping up some frequency during my repeated readings: “mad”-man/nessness, and its Elizabethan brethren, “distract.”
In Twelfth Night, we get two kinds of references to the deity: God and Jove.