A cold premeditation for my purpose!

Nothing like an unseasonal cold to cut you down for the count in the Shakespeare recitation department. I should consider myself lucky that I didn't get sick until the week after I reached my goal of learning at least one speech from every play. At 71 lines, the crowning oration is the longest of the bunch (so far... who knows, I may embark on something even more intimidating in the future!), and has the superlative of being the longest soliloquy in all of Shakespeare. It tested my every skill and served very nicely as a kind of "thesis" to pass this class of self-imposed madness. But best of all, it's delivered by everyone's favorite car park hunchback: Richard Gloucester in King Henry VI Part III!

The first time I watched Sir Laurence of Olivier's 1955 film, I was intimately familiar with the "Winter" speech, and was quickly scandalized by the strange lines shoehorned into it. Scarcely any of the original Act I, Sc. I speech is used in the film because its main purpose is to give the audience that "Previously on War of the Roses..." spiel and Larry chose to insert the last scene of KH6 P3 up front, rendering Richard's most famous words superfluous. Oh Larry, you always were a jazz musician with Shakespeare.

Little did I realize that those extra tidbits (which are especially juicy, so I completely sympathize with Larry's wish to use them) were from an even longer speech I would later mouth with much delight. Indeed, it contains some arguably meatier and more poetic stuff than his more famous speech. There's more determination to be a villain and hating on his family. More descanting on deformity and laying of plots. A Super-Sized speech, in every way.

Of course, it's one of those soliloquies that can be read in so many ways at each of its turns that every time I say it, I find a new nuance that can be tweaked, a switch to be toggled that can affect a line down the river. If a non-actor can recognize that, I imagine it's a delirious goldmine for real performers. For example, Richard asks what pleasures he could possibly find in life:

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap
And deck my body with gay ornaments
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miserable thought! And more unlikely 
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!

Personally, I prefer a Sassy Drag Queen Richard milking this as sarcastically as acting allows, but there's certainly room for a more Lugubrious Alan Rickman Richard whose words drip like black molasses from his mouth. And everything in between.

Another ambiguous section involves the torment Richard endures:

And I--like one lost in a thorny wood,
That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way, and straying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air
But toiling desperately to find it out--
Torment myself to catch the English Crown;

Is Richard being sarcastic again? The preceding lines hint at such a reading: "And yet I know not how to get the crown/For many lives stand between me and home." We know he knows what horrible things he needs to get the crown, after all. But again, this could be delivered with equally believable heart-wrenching anger at nature itself, for thrusting him into this situation in which he feels he has no other choice.

Throughout this speech, Richard's character is in that quantum Schrodinger's Cat state--vacillating between being sympathetic and monstrous. It's a playground of emotion for performance. I could go on.

And I shall. Next week, some Greek mythology! I'll also fangirl over Richard's use of imagery and figure out what the hell to do with myself now that this is over (or is it?).

Thane of Washington D.C.

Ribs! Ribs! My kingdom for some ribs!

While working on my crowning speech-collecting achievement, I have realized something that I never would have unless I had endeavored to recite Shakespeare everyday: I... love... Richard III. That most splendidly devious and tragically ambitious figure in all of Shakespeare has come heart-wrenchingly close to surpassing young Hamlet as my long-time favorite. Ever since I learned his "Now's the winter of our discontent" soliloquy, I've been happily haunted by how much fun it is to channel him through his words. It's no wonder so many actors have relished this role throughout history.

Enter Netflix's House of Cards.

Some very good friends of mine love it, and one pointed out that some reviewer compared the main character to Richard III. The articles I found revealed that House of Cards is essentially the story of a modern-day Richard III set in Washington D.C. with a little Macbeth thrown in for even more spice. How could I resist?

Kevin Spacey (who has been playing Richard on stage for the past few years) plays Francis Underwood--an outwardly charming southern gentleman of a politician who is inwardly as clever and manipulating as is humanly possible. His wife Claire (a perfectly cast Robin Wright) runs a non-profit organization in town. Together, they strike me as two predatory animals born from and perfectly adapted to the slime of the Washington cesspool in which they swim.  

The first time I watched, it appeared to me as if the Macbeths had read Richard III's playbook, had seen counseling, been reincarnated, and came out of the experience ready to take on American politics. At first, they appear to be a cynical, scheming team. But the more you watch, you begin to realize that they don't actually have pure evil in their hearts; they're just REALLY good at politics. The use of the Shakespearean aside by Spacey's character is superb, and serves to endear his outwardly stoic character to the audience. On a personal note, Frank's penchant for a lunch of barbeque ribs brought him even closer to my heart. As a GRITS (Girl Raised In The South) who has her own favorite little mom-and-pop dive that specializes in heavenly pork dishes, I can certainly empathize. 

House of Cards is wonderfully written, engaging, and feels realistic, especially if you're the type who watches Jon Stewart on a  regular basis (like myself). It serves as yet another example of how Shakespeare continuously influences art and pop culture every day. Give it a go. 

Is not this a lamentable thing

The first thing we do, let's kill all the Wall Street bankers

So the Duke of York was no fanboy of Henry VI. There weren't a whole lot of Henry VI fanboys anyway. Henry VI wasn't even his own fanboy. I mean, how do you live up to a father like Henry V? You don't. You sit in your room and study the Bible all day and let your advisors and counsellors do all  the dirty work of running a country.

Meanwhile, the ambitious York convinces Jack Cade to arrange a rebellion of the underclasses and before you know it, you've got Occupy London Bridge on your hands. Cade riles up the public, which helps York's case against Henry VI, but then Cade makes love to this employment and things escalate far past the point of a hippie drum circle. The famous line about "Let's kill all the lawyers" isn't Cade's, but immediately precedes his rather modern sentiment regarding law and bureaucracy that can make us nod our heads even today.

This snippet is uber-brief only because my next speech is a meaty monster, and one I've been drooling over for a while now. Stay tuned, kids.


King Henry VI, Part 2, Act IV, Sc. II
Jack Cade:  Is not this a lamentable thing,
that of the skin of an innocent lamb be made parchment?
That parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man?
Some say the bee stings, but I say, 'tis the bee's wax;
for I did seal but once to a thing, and was never mine own man since.

Cure for boring Shakespeare

There's no such thing as boring Shakespeare... unless you count Henry VIII ;)

If you're not already listening to this podcast, I pity thee. Especially now, since Ehren Ziegler has 100 fantastic episodes under his belt--wherein he breaks down the plays line by line, unpacking more meaning and context than you might never have thought possible. It's like a Shakespeare TARDIS. 

He recently commemorated his 100th with a very special show full of listener appreciation and fascinating theatre history. Also, he happens to give Trippingly on the Tongue his seal of approval. *wink wink*

Just thought I'd give a hearty HUZZAH shout-out to Ehren for his epic accomplishment and to wish him all the best to continue with the Chop Bard podcast and its awesomeness. I'm proud to be part of the Shakespeare blogging community :) 

What, did he marry me to famish me?

Pickfair: the original Hollywood portmanteau

I've had a lot of fake "boyfriends" in my time, but Douglas Fairbanks and his son, Doug Jr., are the only father-son team to steal my heart. A biographical report I did on Charlie Chaplin in high school English class seeded my love of Classic Hollywood history. Doug, "The Great Swashbuckler," was bound to sweep me off my feet. I adore Douglas Fairbanks for many things: his charm, his smile, his breathtaking acrobatic feats (he did all his own stunts), and his epic films. But there's also a very special tidbit of history involving this dashing figure--he's the first to bring an all-talking Shakespeare production to the silver screen.

It took a silent film star--THE silent film star of his time, to be perfectly honest--to present Shakespeare with actual spoken dialogue to theatre audiences. The Taming of the Shrew also marked the first time Doug and his equally famous wife, Mary Pickford ("America's Sweetheart"), appeared together in a film. Apparently, the tension and chaos created by Petruchio and Kate's characters did not stop when the cameras did.

Doug and Mary were very different animals. He was classically trained and a very astute student of Shakespeare, so he wanted his first big "talkie" to be Shakespeare, of course! Mary never had Shakespearean experience. He was comfortable with the archaic dialogue; she was so uncomfortable that she re-dubbed all her speaking parts in the film decades later. The public was surprised at their choice of The Taming of the Shrew for this beloved "idyllic" pairing. In a 1929 New York Times interview, Doug was quoted as explaining the decision thusly:

"There is no story that we have ever read--modern or otherwise--with leading parts that so exactly fit us."

Ah, romance.

It's a short and cheeky production (only about an hour long), and while it's not the most faithful screenplay to the original text ever written, it's definitely worth a watch.

Petruchio and Katharina are essentially more juvenile precursors to Benedick and Beatrice in Much Ado. Their banter is more jagged and angry than pointed and urbane, and the marriage is born of monetary desire and not the eventual realization of their deep adoration. In the end, irony prevails, and Petruchio and Kate tame each other. The speech I chose represents Kate's post-wedding distress at being treated the same way she had treated so many herself.

The Taming of the Shrew, Act IV, Sc. III

Katharina: The more my wrong, the more his spite appears:

What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door,
Upon entreaty have a present aims;
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:
But I, who never knew how to entreat,
Nor never needed that I should entreat,
Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep,
With oath kept waking and with brawling fed:
And that which spites me more than all these wants,
He does it under name of perfect love;
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
I prithee go and get me some repast;
I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

There is an old tale goes...

These ladies know how to tame horny old Falstaff

I saw my high school's production of The Merry Wives of Windsor half my life ago. One of my dearest friends (who is still one of my dearest) played one of the Mistresses (she cannot even remember which), and it was absolutely hilarious. Imagine a teenage boy with pillows stuffed under his shirt acting like God's gift to women, jumping in and out of clothes hampers and making a general ruckus so ridiculous that everyone laughed even if they didn't know what the hell they were saying. Pretty magical.

Allegedly Shakespeare's favor to Queen Elizabeth, Merry Wives stars everyone's favorite walking farce, Sir John Falstaff. Instead of historical battle, he attempts a far more dangerous endeavor: seduction. He's after Mistress Page and Mistress Ford (or, more accurately, their money), who do an epic job of proving him an epic fool. After enduring being treated as dirty laundry and being dressed as "the fat woman of Brentford," Falstaff is convinced to disguise himself as Herne the Hunter, horns and all, to meet his feminine quarry in the nearby wood. The women recruit local children to dress up and act as mischievous fairies meant to punish Falstaff for his attempted cuckoldry. Mistress Page explains the tale of Herne the Hunter for her husband while they are conjuring this plot:

The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act IV, Sc. IV
Mistress Margaret Page: 
There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,
Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;
And there he blasts the tree and takes the cattle
And makes milch-kine yield blood and shakes a chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner:
You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know
The superstitious idle-headed eld
Received and did deliver to our age
This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth.

The saints must have her

Liz, hold on to your knickers, you're in for a ride.

Going into my first reading of King Henry VIII with my mind colored by Anne of the Thousand Days and The Tudors, I was hoping for some juicy courtly intrigue and doomed romance. Instead, I got stuffy clergy gossip and repressed lust that insists on calling itself legitimate love and a wish to fulfill the King's "conscience." So, perhaps it's just as well that the short speech I chose probably wasn't actually written by Shakespeare himself, but one of his collaborators, John Fletcher (who also had a hand in The Two Noble Kinsmen).

Anyone who's read a number of Shakespeare texts knows there's a plentiful lack of stage directions included within the scenes. So when you crack open Henry VIII, you're relatively drowning in lengthy and nauseatingly specific instructions on how the characters are dressed and what order they should enter and stand on the stage. The coronation scene reads more like a shot-by-shot manual for a hired photographer.

The reason for this is quite clear: it's an account of the then-current Queen Elizabeth's father and how he begot her with Anne Bullen (or "Boleyn" if you're as snobby as Anne was about her French upbringing). Shakespeare and Fletcher had to tread carefully, so as to please the crown. That's why all the overwrought excitement and ceremony.

There's so much pomp and circumstance involved in this play that during its first performance, one of the cannon shots fired in one of these epic scenes made the Globe catch fire, and it burned to the ground. There's even an urbane account written by Sir Henry Wotton that described how one man's breeches caught fire, and "that would have perhaps broiled him, if he had not by the benefit of a provident wit to put it out with bottle ale."

If I remember nothing else about this play (other than how the precious baby Elizabeth was born at the end), I'll have the image of a man's beer-soaked trousers to make me smile.

King Henry VIII, Act V, Sc. IV
Cranmer: She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more! but she must die,
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

We are an endless mine to one another

Arcite and Palamon: I ship it.

I'm not even going to pretend like there's more than one reason why I chose this speech from Shakespeare's "lost play." As Stephen Colbert once put it: it's GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY. Not that you can't swing a cat without hitting some Shakespearean homo-bawdiness (the first 126 sonnets, anyone?), but this passage is just what this slash-loving tumblr-scrolling fangirl loves to discover.

Palamon and Arcite are the titular kinsmen (they are cousins... very friendly cousins) of the play. They both hate their uncle, Creon, the King of Thebes, but they fight in his war against Theseus of Athens, for the good of Thebes if nothing else. Creon loses, and Theseus takes the noble cousins prisoner. As soon as they are locked up, they mutually agree that as long as they are together, their dank little cell will be their saviour, protecting them from the temptations and evils of the world. Arcite naturally expounds this sincerest of bromantic speeches. It's worthy of any homoerotic OTP in any fanfiction of your choice. I would cast Bradley James and Colin Morgan in this play so fast you would swear the BBC hadn't even cancelled Merlin.

The supreme irony, however, is that within a few dozen lines of this heartfelt ode to brotherly love, the boys hear the lovely Emilia outside their window and promptly being bickering over who saw her first. Palamon actually says "I saw her first," to which Arcite replies "I saw her too." They spend the rest of the play trying to out-woo each other.

All modern homoerotic interpretation aside (for the moment), the kinsmen demonstrate the Renaissance ideal of friendship--the Platonic, and often physically ambiguous type--between two people of the same sex. It was seen as normal in Shakespeare's time, and was held up as something pure forged in childhood, to be changed in the light of marriage or perhaps lost forever. Much poetry (and plays!) were written about that loss of innocent loyalty, only marred by nothing more than "gender normative" stereotypes. The base and physical familiarity we see everyday between young children is commonplace and celebrated, but past a certain age, it begins to offend most "modern" sensibilities, unfortunately. Arcite and Palamon are one soul bound in two bodies, longing to be with each other.

In the end, these two kiss and make up, as jousting to the death over the hand of a woman will tend to do. *heavy sigh* See how much easier it would have been if you two had just remained boyfriends?


The Two Noble Kinsmen, Act II, Sc. II
Arcite: Let's think this prison holy sanctuary,
To keep us from corruption of worse men.
We are young, and yet desire the ways of honor
That liberty and common conversation,
The poison of pure spirits, might, like women,
Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing
Can be, but our imaginations
May make it ours? And here being thus together,
We are an endless mine to one another:
We are one another's wife, ever begetting
New births of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;
We are in one another, families:
I am your heir, and you are mine; this place
Is our inheritance; no hard oppressor
Dare take this from us. Here, with a little patience,
We shall live long and loving. No surfeits seek us;
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas
Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty
A wife might part us lawfully, or business;
Quarrels consume us; envy of ill men
Crave our acquaintance. I might sicken, cousin,
Where you should never know it, and so perish
Without your noble hand to close mine eyes,
Or prayers to the gods. A thousand chances,
Were we from hence, would sever us.