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Trying to get my mind off this...
Jun. 18th, 2009 01:07 pm...I can get obsessive about things sometimes--both my brother Bart and I are like this, my grandmother used to lecture him "Don't tear the passion to tatters." (Yes, we grew up surrounded by Shakespeare, she was always saying stuff like that.) This can be good sometimes, because when I become interested in a subject, I learn everything I can about it. But it can also be a bad thing--I'm obsessed with this current horrible situation, and the more I think about it, the more depressed I become.
If I can force myself to think about something else, it improves my mood, and my sense of empowerment, immeasurably. So on that note, I have to post about Something Completely Different:
It's a fascinating article about acting Shakespeare, appreciating Shakespeare, and why the Public's program is so wonderful. This is one interesting excerpt, about various interpretations of the exchange between Viola and Feste, when Feste says to her "Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard" and Viola replies "By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin." There are mainly two possibilities--Viola emphasizes chin, meaning she wants the "beard" to grow elsewhere on her, or my, meaning she wants Jove to send her someone else's beard--i.e., Orsino's. The writer argues strenuously against the latter meaning, saying
Frankly this is tortured nonsense; if you don't do the dirty joke, you're repressing the vitality of the sexuality Shakespeare embedded in the line, the kind of body-part joke he rarely resisted. It's a play shot through with sexual references, and this one would be missed. So much depends on the inflection.
What? I don't agree at all--why would Viola be wishing for pubic hair? She's a young woman who gets engaged at the end of the play, she already has it. And it's not a "dirty" joke, it's more of a bawdy joke, and not particularly clever. It's also out of character for Viola, who (I don't think) makes any jokes like that in the rest of the text. The Orsino meaning is much sweeter, more characteristic, and more clever and appropriate to her exchange with Feste. But still, I love this kind of geeky line-parsing by Shakespeareans. There's also some terrific stuff about technique and the catch-breath and why that's important (which is good for me to read, I tend to wrap-around).
And finally, I love this:
For me, it's that it's such a perfect and essentially New York experience. Everybody flees NYC in the summer, and so there's always a feeling that if you're one of the ones who's stayed in town, you're somehow the real McCoy, and the city rewards you with very special charms. Shakespeare in the Park is one of them.
The ritual of the all-day wait on line in the Park (even though I don't have to do it anymore, I still remember with great nostalgia my student days sitting there, hanging out with other New Yorkers, then waving hello inside the theater). The beauty of the sunset over the Belvedere Castle, the lovely summer air. Then the surprises, like birds flying in, winds whipping up, and rain falling as if on cue. It's just romantic and magical. But also, there's the Joe Papp angle, the idea that there is no problem in human society that can't be eased at least a little by having Shakespeare thrown at it.
Free Shakespeare—one of the great cultural achievements in human history, made available for all, for free: this is a powerful notion. Even when the productions aren't good, they're still Shakespeare. And when they are good, which lately they've tended to be, it's a cultural Trojan Horse: the pleasant outside makes you open yourself to it, and then, once you've let it in, Shakespeare does his devastating work: ravishing you with his love poetry, wrenching you with his strangled Desdemonas and suicidal Ophelias. You end the evening more human than when you began it. Isn't that what theater is supposed to do?
If I can force myself to think about something else, it improves my mood, and my sense of empowerment, immeasurably. So on that note, I have to post about Something Completely Different:
It's a fascinating article about acting Shakespeare, appreciating Shakespeare, and why the Public's program is so wonderful. This is one interesting excerpt, about various interpretations of the exchange between Viola and Feste, when Feste says to her "Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard" and Viola replies "By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin." There are mainly two possibilities--Viola emphasizes chin, meaning she wants the "beard" to grow elsewhere on her, or my, meaning she wants Jove to send her someone else's beard--i.e., Orsino's. The writer argues strenuously against the latter meaning, saying
Frankly this is tortured nonsense; if you don't do the dirty joke, you're repressing the vitality of the sexuality Shakespeare embedded in the line, the kind of body-part joke he rarely resisted. It's a play shot through with sexual references, and this one would be missed. So much depends on the inflection.
What? I don't agree at all--why would Viola be wishing for pubic hair? She's a young woman who gets engaged at the end of the play, she already has it. And it's not a "dirty" joke, it's more of a bawdy joke, and not particularly clever. It's also out of character for Viola, who (I don't think) makes any jokes like that in the rest of the text. The Orsino meaning is much sweeter, more characteristic, and more clever and appropriate to her exchange with Feste. But still, I love this kind of geeky line-parsing by Shakespeareans. There's also some terrific stuff about technique and the catch-breath and why that's important (which is good for me to read, I tend to wrap-around).
And finally, I love this:
For me, it's that it's such a perfect and essentially New York experience. Everybody flees NYC in the summer, and so there's always a feeling that if you're one of the ones who's stayed in town, you're somehow the real McCoy, and the city rewards you with very special charms. Shakespeare in the Park is one of them.
The ritual of the all-day wait on line in the Park (even though I don't have to do it anymore, I still remember with great nostalgia my student days sitting there, hanging out with other New Yorkers, then waving hello inside the theater). The beauty of the sunset over the Belvedere Castle, the lovely summer air. Then the surprises, like birds flying in, winds whipping up, and rain falling as if on cue. It's just romantic and magical. But also, there's the Joe Papp angle, the idea that there is no problem in human society that can't be eased at least a little by having Shakespeare thrown at it.
Free Shakespeare—one of the great cultural achievements in human history, made available for all, for free: this is a powerful notion. Even when the productions aren't good, they're still Shakespeare. And when they are good, which lately they've tended to be, it's a cultural Trojan Horse: the pleasant outside makes you open yourself to it, and then, once you've let it in, Shakespeare does his devastating work: ravishing you with his love poetry, wrenching you with his strangled Desdemonas and suicidal Ophelias. You end the evening more human than when you began it. Isn't that what theater is supposed to do?
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