Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Car Park Man.

Tom Hiddleston, in an interview regarding playing Loki in (Sir Ken's!) Thor  and The Avengers, said that "every villain is a hero in his own mind." He's obviously following the old actors' adage about not judging the character(s) you play, and this is especially true when you're the "bad guy." Shakespeare is often--and correctly--accused of demonizing the non-Tudor King Richard III, in what is essentially a propagandistic move to stay in the good graces of the reigning Queen Elizabeth at the time. But Shakespeare still clearly understood that a truly effective villain is one with pathos. Without that soupçon of vulnerability and sympathy, a truly great villain is incomplete--little more than a mindless, faceless cloud of smoke. Or a polar bear. Or whatever. Fucking Lost.

And so it is with Richard (and of course, Loki, because, what else would you expect from Sir Ken?). As the audience, we are forced to consider whether Richard's deformity is a manifestation of his evil ambition, or, if he would have these ambitions at all if he were not so "rudely stamp'd." Is he so shaped due to his inherent evil or has a life of being bullied for his outward appearance hardened his heart? The  curious thing is, Richard could care less what we feel, though he presents it both ways. He certainly does not judge himself... at least not in this play. 

My favorite bits in his 3 Henry VI speech are the the ones that express his fondest dreams. The imagery he invokes is so crisp and precise that we realize the tragedy of such a poetic and clever mind employed for harm rather than charity. Standing on a promontory, gazing longingly upon a far-off goal, fighting his way through a treacherous forest of thorns, and the heavy mountain upon his back implies that his struggle is against Nature more than anything else. His watchwork mind is strained, and requires a challenge to prevent his absolute boredom. 

His ennui is transformed by the journey of his speech, as indicated by the "characters" that populate his mind. At the start, he lists the banal family members who stand between him and the crown. He disdains Edward's sinful lust while himself committing covetous thoughts. Between this mention of Edward, his brother Clarence, Henry, and the young Edward, Richard only brings to mind faceless whores and soldiers and his own unnamed mother. At the end, however, Richard reveals his larger-than-life heroes: the Homeric Greeks Nestor, Ulysses, Sinon, and Proteus. He describes their skills and achievements with an almost childish confidence that he can outstrip them all in deed and zeal. Nestor had great persuasive power, Ulysses tricked many monsters and men on his voyages, Sinon convinced the Trojans to accept the Greek-filled horse, and Proteus was immortal and took many animal forms to suit his needs. Richard reveals his ultimate aggressive arrogance in finally setting down the infamous Machiavelli as a mere student to his professorial expertise in deception. 

The relish in Richard's voice becomes so obvious by the end that it seems almost impossible to find sympathy in our hearts for this murderer and usurper. And yet, by virtue of being the most fascinating and entertaining of all the characters on stage, we guiltily cling to our worser parts and secretly cheer his calculations, if not his actions. 

I brought up Loki not only because I love Hiddles and I just watched Iron Man 3 the other day and so direly await the next Thor film. I'm asking that you trust this raging fangirl as far as is possible to trust a raging fangirl, but... the connections are apparent. There's a reason why the filmic Loki is so beloved by theatre-going audiences as a character: he's another in a long line of successfully sinister villains that serve as a magnet held to our moral compasses. I'm not saying that Shakespeare invented the archetype of an ambiguous villain, but he unerringly moulded some of the best and most enduring. Iago, Macbeth, Edmund, Shylock, Claudius, Richard, etc... they're all their own archetypes now. 

I also wished to neatly bundle up my project by stitching the end back to Sir Kenneth Branagh, whose work spurred my initial motivation to embark upon this intimidating goal. He inspired me at every moment that I felt I'd crumble, filling my ears with mellifluous words (and providing the all-important eye-candy) and passion that prevented detachment and despair. But I credit the fangirl inside me for carrying me through, proving that all these years of practiced obsession and compulsion is good for something after all. 

Stick with me, however, as I have decided that this is not, nor it cannot, be the end.

King Henry VI, Part III, Act III, Sc. II

Gloucester: Ay, Edward will use women honourably.

Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all,

That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,

To cross me from the golden time I look for!

And yet, between my soul's desire and me--

The lustful Edward's title buried--

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,

And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,

To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:

A cold premeditation for my purpose!

Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty;

Like one that stands upon a promontory,

And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,

Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,

And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,

Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:

So do I wish the crown, being so far off;

And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;

And so I say, I'll cut the causes off,

Flattering me with impossibilities.

My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,

Unless my hand and strength could equal them.

Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;

What other pleasure can the world afford?

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,

And deck my body in gay ornaments,

And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

O miserable thought! and more unlikely

Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!

Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb:

And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,

She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,

To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;

To make an envious mountain on my back,

Where sits deformity to mock my body;

To shape my legs of an unequal size;

To disproportion me in every part,

Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp

That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be beloved?

O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!

Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,

But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such

As are of better person than myself,

I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,

And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,

Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head

Be round impaled with a glorious crown.

And yet I know not how to get the crown,

For many lives stand between me and home:

And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood,

That rends 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:

And from that torment I will free myself,

Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.

Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,

And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart,

And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

And frame my face to all occasions.

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;

I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;

I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,

Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,

And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.

I can add colours to the chameleon,

Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,

And set the murderous Machiavel to school.

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

Your most grave belly was deliberate

Judi Dench as Volumnia, Sir Ken as Coriolanus--what I wouldn't have given to have seen this.

Whether you love or loathe election politics (or politics in general), Coriolanus is for you! Like Julius Caesar, it's got universal commentary on democratic republics and all the idealism and cynicism that comes with it. But unlike its more famous cousin, Coriolanus' old men are more meddling than murdering, and the ladies are more manipulative than meek. It's gray with more realism rather than black and white with portents and dreams, which is why it ended up surprising me by becoming one of my favorite plays. This was helped by my viewing of the frankly excellent modern film adaptation recently made by Ralph Fiennes, who plays the titular character, along with Gerard Butler as his frenemy Aufidius. Definitely check that one out ;)

Now, I fall more into the "disinterested center" Jon Stewart likes to say he represents in the political sphere, but yet this story of an outraged, poor citizenry being handily swayed by Roman tribunes and senators via the noble, but socially awkward army general who refuses to be a mouthpiece or play the hypocrisy game really piqued my interest. 

Coriolanus is strong both in body and mind, despises the cowardice of the common people, and believes he deserves praise and high office for his battle achievements without having to grovel to the people he sees as animals. His arch nemesis, aka, "a lion that I [Coriolanus] am proud to hunt," is the equally renowned Aufidius, general of the Volscian army. Aufidius deeply respects Coriolanus (who keeps beating him in single combat) and is possibly the only man Coriolanus truly admires--other than himself, of course.

At his back and biting his neck is Volumnia, Coriolanus' ball-busting mother. She is proud of her son's bloody occupation and shows off his scars. She scoffs at his doting wife's wishes to see him safe at home rather than achieving glory in battle. She knows all his stops and plays him up and down, shoving him into the political ring where he can gain even more renown.

At the start of the play, we meet the good-natured and beloved Menenius, a patrician friend of Coriolanus. He doesn't have deep love for the public either, but his skills playing politics are well-honed.  With the speech I have chosen, he quashes a riot that has broken out over distribution of food in the city. It's reminiscent of language in Caesar and especially Titus Andronicus, which constantly refer to Rome as a body, whose parts don't always manage to work in sync (or get lopped off). Likening the senate to the belly, he calms his "incorporate friends"--the outlying appendages made up of commoners--by explaining the fitness of their political digestive system:

Coriolanus, Act I, Sc. I
Menenius: Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd:
"True is it, my incorporate friends," quoth he, 
"That I receive the general food at first, 
Which you do live upon; and fit it is. 
Because I am the store-house and the shop 
Of the whole body: but, if you do remember, 
I send it through the rivers of your blood. 
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain;
And, through the cranks and offices of man, 
The strongest nerves and most inferior veins
From me receive that natural competency 
Whereby they live: and though that all at once"--
You, my good friends, this says the belly, mark me...

"Though all at once cannot 
See what I deliver out to each. 
Yet I can make my audit up, that all 
From me do back receive the flour of all, 
And leave me but the bran."

My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!

I have long desired to feel Hamlet's fourth soliloquy inside me--and thanks to Sir Ken's admittedly zealous but equally exhilarating delivery of said speech, all kinds of feelings are inside me--so I said to myself, "This thing's to do!" and just fucking did it. Just now.

After approximately 60 minutes of stomping around my room in hobbit feet and doing the occasional push-up, I unlocked another achievement. My skillz have improved since I first embarked on this endeavor; it took me as long to learn ten lines of Richard III's 42-line speech. Turns out, cold repetition was going about it all wrong. 

Enter, Patsy Rodenburg, voice coach extraordinaire. As a non-actress, reading her book has been a challenge for me, but the multitudinous exercises she suggests for tackling any speech in Shakespeare have informed me greatly, and inspired me to do the seemingly asinine activities I described above. Joining physicality to the words by breathing, turning, and pushing them out with the voice help with initial practice. Decoding the language, beating out the iambic, and reading the full thoughts without terminating at line breaks has definitely increased understanding and decreased average memorization time. There are many more skills she imparts in her book, Speaking Shakespare, that I have found worthy of devoting time toward in order to enrich my project. And if tonight's marathon of speaking is any indication, it's been $15 well spent.

Exit Patsy, Enter Hamlet. 

In the wilderness with R&G escorting him toward England (after having mistakenly murdering Polonius), Hamlet hears news of Prince Fortinbras' military plans. Hamlet has an epiphany of sorts, and his beautifully-formed nine sentences of pure thought reveal just how much a man of action he shall become in the last scenes of the play. 

Compared to his last three soliloquies, this one is noticeably more solid and slightly more brief, with less room for questions and more for definitive answers. It's sharp, sparkling, hard, and clear like polished crystal, a prism through which Hamlet's thoughts split into crisply defined intentions and shine upon the promise of his actions. He sees and comments upon the very tangible Norwegian army before him, compares the delicate prince's motives to his own, then, presuming he has far more reason than Fortinbras to have excitements in his blood, lights his own fire under his ass to pursue his revenge. 

It's a heroic declaration, but still true to Hamlet's deep philosophical soul, and it quivers my ovaries just to mouth the words.

Hamlet, Act IV, Sc. IV

Hamlet: How all occasions do inform against me,
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure, he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event--
A thought which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward--I do not know
Why yet I live to say ‘This thing’s to do,
’Sith I have cause and will and strength and means
To do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me:
Witness this army of such mass and charge
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit with divine ambition puff’d
Makes mouths at the invisible event,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death and danger dare,
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great
Is not to stir without great argument,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
When honour’s at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d,
Excitements of my reason and my blood,
And let all sleep, while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!

Why, all delights are vain

"Heaven... I'm in heaven..." from Branagh's 2000 film adaptation

Sir Ken is a god of some sort, obviously, but when I realized he had made Love's Labour's Lost into a bonafide Irving berlin-esque musical, I was saying "What's all this now?" Aside from the subjective opinion that Fred-and-Ginger movies are AWESOMESAUCE and Shakespeare is AMAZEBALLS, I initially thought the combination might be less than peanut butter and chocolate perfection.

I was wrong.

My dear Sir Ken made something I personally adore even more than Much Ado About Nothing (amazingly enough, since that's near perfect anyways). Now, LLL is notoriously wordy and while the monologues and dialogues are poetic and clever and beauteous to the nth degree, they can be a tad long-winded. So Ken's vision was a film that replaced the more ludicrously protracted speeches (mostly recited by the incorrigible but whip-smart Berowne) with musical numbers that could more succinctly convey the feelings of the characters in the moment. It totally worked.

There was one speech from Berowne, however, that I was looking forward to hearing Kenneth deliver but never heard because it was usurped by "I'd Rather Charleston," which, honestly, is a darling song I truly enjoy because I had a recording of Fred Astaire singing it with his sister Adele that's just insanely adorable.

That speech, wherein Berowne pleads with Navarre and his buddies about the supposed virtues of study over engaging in more carnal pursuits, amounts to what I'd call a Shakespearean tongue-twister for me. It's light and quick and meant to bewitch and beguile his friends so they don't wish to adopt the rather Spartan rules of their three years of intense study. It's fun to say as quickly as you're able and still is a challenge to deliver.

There's one other lovely speech I considered, from Act 4, Scene 3. Sir Ken, in all his talent and wisdom, decided to include an abridged version of this 77-line mouthful in the film, and begins it by tap dancing in iambic pentameter. Needless to say, this blew my mind and fangirlish ovaries to bits. I promised myself to learn it one day, but for now, I have the following under my belt:

Love's Labour's Lost, Act I, Sc. I

Berowne: Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,

Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain:

As, painfully to pore upon a book

To seek the light of truth; while truth the while

Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:

Light seeking light doth light of light beguile:

So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,

Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.

Study me how to please the eye indeed

By fixing it upon a fairer eye,

Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed

And give him light that it was blinded by.

Study is like the heaven's glorious sun

That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks:

Small have continual plodders ever won

Save base authority from others' books

These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights

That give a name to every fixed star

Have no more profit of their shining nights

Than those that walk and wot not what they are.

Too much to know is to know nought but fame;

And every godfather can give a name.

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.