All the world's a stage

Benedict Cumberbatch's "jaguar curled inside a cello" voice is perfectly suited to at least two things in this world: rattling off impressive strands of Holmesian deductive observations and conclusions... and reciting Shakespeare. Those pipes are a gift from the Universe bestowed upon geeky anglophiles the world over. In the past year, his vocal talents have been tapped like a keg at a frat party, to the squeeing of all fangirls worth their fake British accents (such as me). SO of course, when Google made this advert showcasing both Ben's mellifluous timbre AND the epically famous (abridged) speech from As You Like It, I naturally had to memorize the fucker.

It's spoken by Jaques--a lord with an affected melancholy and a penchant for long discourses on how the world turns. He is one of the blokes who follows the exiled Duke into the Forest of Arden, where they semi-reluctantly philosophize on the superior, more "honest" life to be led within Nature's bosom, compared with the duplicitous existence to be found at court. The entire play is a commentary on the pros and cons of "the simple life" and that of the nobility, mostly played out in the woods, making it one of those popular "pastoral-comical" plays Polonius lists when the players arrive in Hamlet.

The Ages of Man was a cliché in Shakespeare's time, but the eloquence of the speech--spoken by someone little more than a jester--heightens its dramatic effectiveness and memorability. What tickles me about this speech is that, as Marjorie Garber points out in her book Shakespeare After All, the ages match up with the classical conceptions of the planets: mercurial boy, venereal lover, martial soldier, jovial justice, saturnine old man. And every age is marked by the sounds of their voices, my favorite being the lover "sighing like furnace." It's at once recognizable and absolutely truthful in its poetry.

P.S. Notice that some of the "friends" names in the advert are characters from the play! Corin, Sylvia, Celia, Audrey, Orlando, Phebe. The baby's name is William, as well. It's cute. Probably TOO cute.

As You Like It, Act II, Sc. VII

Jaques: All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart

That's right. Hamatio.

This marks my foray into the "songfic" so popular amongst fanfiction circles (keep them coming, BBC Sherlock slash lovers!). Generally, these one-shot stories are based on lyrics of the author's choosing, usually of schmaltzy, romantic, or particularly emo subject matter. I felt that Hamlet was overqualified for this writing task. The song is "I Trust You To Kill Me" by Rocco Deluca and The Burden. The poem is mine. I wish the OTP name was mine, but sadly, tis not. Enjoy.

By Caitlin, Sept. 17, 2010

Most loyal Horatio, I beg thee

though mine heart dost tether itself to thy

friendship, that most harbored of stoic craft

whose stately sail catches only the wind

that it wisely desires, and thus favors

starboard nor port; simple distinction this

world hath not, ample time this Dane hath not

to study the cold waves as thou can read,

to feel the dark flames as thou can tame

I possess not the bleak facility

to take life, much less my very own

In you, Horatio, I place the judge

of my sanity and my name’s honor

I trust you with my life, my stark essence;

that which can suffer no earthly peril

None can harm me that love me, and therefore

I trust you to kill me

Once more unto the breach

Sir Laurence of Olivier as King Henry V (1944)

As a kid, I read "The Hound of the Baskervilles" and a few other sundry Sherlock Holmes stories. One does not forget the twist of "The Speckled Band" very easily. A few years ago, in preparation for the new Robert Downey Jr. movie, I made sure I read every story Sir Arthur Conan Doyle reluctantly wrote about this most beloved of fictional characters. I remember very clearly Holmes' quoting of King Henry V ("Come, Watson, come. The game is afoot."), so I was very pleased that RDJ and Jude Law both repeated from the same speech together in the film ("Follow your spirit, and upon this charge, cry, 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'") Obviously, this speech is quintessentially BRITISH, and therefore, I would be remiss to NOT know it by heart.

"Unto the Breach" was on the shortlist in my mind. It was delivered with deliciously fiery aplomb by Sir Ken in his film, though Sir Laurence recited the thing in its entirety in his (Why cut it down, Ken, why? Thank the Universe you were such a stickler for Hamlet!). Tom Hiddleston's more toned-down, smouldering version was also cut short for The BBC's Hollow Crown series, unfortunately. But all fed my desire to conquer this speech.

It's one of the most stirring and famous Shakespeare speeches of all, declared before the gates of Harfleur while Henry is leading his soldiers in his French campaign. Henry's years of slumming with Poins and Falstaff in Eastcheap pay off, as he is able to speak to his men in their own language and summon great national pride and excitement by appealing to the nobility within them all. It's a testament to Henry's leadership skills (and relatively youthful cocksure ambition) that he's even able to lead his army as far as they go, and he has even more evocative speeches along the way, some of which can be argued are even more powerful. But that's for another day...

Henry V, Act III, Sc. I

King Henry V: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

Be not afeard

Sir Kenneth at the 2012 London Olympics Shakespeare recitation competition

I have something in the neighborhood of complete indifference when it comes to the Olympics, which can be pushed to vexation when it begins to get discussed in my presence. Just about the ONLY way I was going to willingly watch any Olympics was if some fake boyfriend of mine was involved.

Enter Sir Ken, stage Bag End.

Representing the steampunk ringleader of the opening ceremonies, he earnestly belted out a short speech from The Tempest for all the world to see and hear. Because that's what you do with Sir Ken if you have him at your disposal.

Sure, the flowery words felt like they applied to the English Isle--filled with wonders and dreams. Never mind it was originally put in the mouth of the wild cannibal Caliban, discussing the haunted island he inhabited, where life is so hard and the dreams so enchanting that he'd rather sleep all day if he had his druthers. Not exactly encompassing the usual British work ethic of "Keep Calm and Carry On," but hey, it's a crowd-pleaser.

It was inspiring enough for me to decide then and there that my mid-year resolution would be to use that speech as the first in what would be a long list of my favorites.


The Tempest, Act III, Sc. II

Caliban: Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises,

Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand tangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That if I then had waked 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 waked
I cried to dream again.

Words, words, WORDS!

Hipster Hamlet.

The great film critic Tom Servo once said, "I thought frailty's name was Carl."

Unfortunately, one of the many memories of Hamlet I have is of that abysmal English-dubbed German television production the MST3K boys were brave enough to slog through for our ironic pleasure.

"Perchance to dream--"
"--the impossible DREAM!"

"He said bare bodkin."

"When Danish flirting goes bad."

"Losertes!"
"Craplet!"
"Claudi-ass!"

"--tis a consumation devoutly to be wished."
"Especially with Ophelia, man! Hehehe!"

Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, Hamlet became my favorite play (the Henriad coming in second) as soon as I started reading it for myself. So much naval-gazing amongst the dramatis personae and unerringly perfect poetry effortlessly appealed.

Long before this project, I set myself to learn Hamlet's most famous soliloquy. I remember muttering the lines under my breath and rolling them around in my head one half of the dreadful summer in 2007 when I had a greasy temp job at a short-order restaurant... never mind. Let's just say that whilst I was scraping half-eaten chicken-fried steak and curdled sausage gravy from plates, Hamlet's words were slowly sinking into my brain every day. It took me a long time to memorize the whole sucker, but now I can spew it out almost without pause, even while partaking of ale or wine. You can bet your hawk and handsaw that I am very proud of myself.

Over the years, I have become more intimately engrossed by the nonpareil prose of Hamlet. This year, I learned three more of his monologues, and at least two more are on my wish list. Hamlet will always be the perfect example of the notion that Shakespeare's words are coded with action and emotion, giving any close reader of the text a clear insight into the characters' inner worlds.

"To be or not to be" can be unpacked in multiple ways, which will make my thousandth utterance as mysterious as the first. I worry if I don't feel or hear something new in it every time I say it aloud.

Hamlet, Act III, Sc. I

Hamlet: To be, or not to be: that is the question: 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; 
No more; and by a sleep to say we end 
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; 
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause: there's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, puzzles the will 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment 
With this regard their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action.

Yea, from the table of my memory

Sir Kenneth Branagh working with John Gielgud on the set of Hamlet (1996)

Not long ago, I made up my mind that I would read EVERYTHING SHAKESPEARE EVER WROTE. After years of on-off studiousness and a final flourish of reading Sonnet 154, I celebrated my achievement by having a few pumpkin ales and reciting every Shakespeare speech I knew from memory to an empty house. This was made possible because several weeks before, as an amendment to my resolution, I had passed a personal law to learn a new speech from Shakespeare every week until I knew at least one from every play.

Halfway to my goal (and still going strong), I realized that there's not a whole lot of Suzy Q, non-theatre/non-lit scholar folks who take up memorizing tracts of Shakespeare for fun (or at least they don't blog about it). This disappointed me. I thought for sure someone would have the same idea and felt it was worthy of rumination... but not so much. This had to be amended.

All my inspiration for this can be traced thusly:

In my studies, the name Kenneth Branagh came with the wheat separated from the chaff. He was mentioned so often that I could come to one of two conclusions: this guy is a genius or a total dick. Outside of a random viewing of As You Like It and Thor, I was tragically unconscious of his extensive  work.

But then came Henry V. I thank Netflix everyday for streaming this masterwork. Sir Ken's wooing of Catherine of Valois rendered me a puddle of sighs. Then his Hamlet entered my Blu-Ray player, and I beheld this ballsy, epic undertaking of recording the entirety of my favorite on film for the first time. I was done. I was nuclear-reactor-level smitten with this man. It was inevitable, I suppose, given his passionate grasp of the material and my recent re-upped love of the plays. I floated on an inexplicably delirious intellectual high for days, nursing the brand of fawning, explosive fangirl crush that has become my trademark since I first posted on LiveJournal ten years ago.

The second time I watched Hamlet, I listened to the director's commentary. It was the most edifying four hours of movie commentary I had encountered since The Lord of the Rings. Sir Ken lit up the movie with insights. Along the way, I found myself envious of his ability to rattle off quotes to make his points. I came away thinking: "I want to be the person who can quote Shakespeare."

I was going to seriously memorize some shite.

Having already undertaken memorizing the Periodic Table from hydrogen to americium, I felt it was entirely achievable and sufficiently challenging. Memorization is a parlour trick in the end. Humans are capable of memorization feats that boggle human minds. People have long set themselves to committing holy scriptures to heart in the hopes that it will enrich their souls. Shakespeare's words are so essential to and ingrained in the English language and culture that they command no less respect than divine inspiration. That's why I've not only resolved to memorize these speeches, but to deeply analyze them within their contexts to discover clues as to how to properly recite and ruminate over them and gain understanding of the characters' thoughts.

These selected speeches have become, for me, a living canon--the soul's scripture--as accessible to me as my thoughts, and as important to me as my journey through life. It's as serious as it is comic at times, but always enriching, always nourishing, and completely worth enduring the wide-eyed looks of bemusement I get when I tell people what I'm doing.