You kiss by the book

Sonnets are a girl's best friend

My dear lover, body and soul, has of late importuned me with love in Shakespearean fashion... meaning, he's sent me emails full of poetry. Appropriately, a few of them have been Elizabethan sonnets, which, as all the boys should know, are still a surefire means of winning any girl's heart. Or at least a girl whose hobby is memorizing Hamlet and King Henry V and Much Ado About Nothing and what-not.

But he has also been bugging me (in the most delicate and nerdy ways possible) to join him in memorizing some more Romeo and Juliet. The first fourteen lines the titular characters speak to each other form a sonnet, and represent a most romantic (if not ultimately auspicious) meeting of souls. It's a semi-cheeky dance of phrasing and it speaks to both of these kids' abilities to charm and evade with nought but words. Comparing Juliet to a holy shrine, Romeo implores she grace his "unworthy" lips with a touch of hers, so that he, the pilgrim, be blessed. She is convinced, eventually, and sin is purged by their pure kisses.

So yeah, OF COURSE I'd love to add this to my repertoire! If only because it would be our repertoire in the end, which will probably grow as time progresses. Given our mutual adoration of all things Shakespeare (and many other beautifully geeky things), I anticipate the day we recite this to each other will be exciting enough that it will inspire us to continue the tradition. Possibly with some Macbeth, and definitely some Benedick and Beatrice banter. Oh, the possibilities.



Romeo and Juliet, Act I Sc. V

ROMEO	[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand
	This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
	My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
	To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
JULIET	Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
	Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
	For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
	And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
ROMEO	Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
JULIET	Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
ROMEO	O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
	They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
JULIET	Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
ROMEO	Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. (kisses her)
	Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
JULIET	Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
ROMEO	Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
	Give me my sin again. (they kiss)
JULIET	You kiss by the book.

Full of sound and fury

Macbeth hath murdered my sleep

Newcastle. Evening. Tyneside Cinema.
The tiny lobby is packed with folks of all ages, all politely awaiting the cue to queue into the theatre for the sold-out broadcast. When the time comes, my friends and I file past the signs for upcoming films ("The World's End is playing in the UK already? We have to go see it next week!") and find our seats in the front row. Refreshments are being sold in the theatre proper--pop and beer and "cinema-sized" ice creams. I get a Blue Moon and have a seat.

The room is packed, but far more calm than I would expect from a similar screening back in the states. The program is filled with future Shakespearean fare: a modern-day interpretation of Othello, Tom Hiddleston as Coriolanus, encore screenings of Rory Kinnear's Hamlet. I sip my beer and settle in.

An NT representative lady appears on the screen and says it's ok to clap after the showing, because even though the stage actors in Manchester cannot hear us, they can feel the spirit of our appreciation. This gets a laugh from most of the audience behind me, which I find strange; back home, I've seen several plain old film screenings like The Avengers or The Hobbit where people would clap prompted by nothing more than their profound enjoyment.

After the lady interviews the co-director, Rob Ashford, and he fawns over Sir Ken's prowess, the production begins. There are unseen cameras positioned everywhere in the deconsecrated church where the play is housed--it seems as many as you tend to see floating and angling around stadiums during major American football games on ESPN. It affords a very intimate and satisfying view of all the proceedings.

The weird sisters appear, and a rainy, muddy battle begins. All the scenes play out in the slippery grime, staining clothes and shoes and robbing the actors of perfectly graceful strides. The mud enhances the visceral, earthy feel of Macbeth, showcasing the truly ancient and pagan nature of this play's dark and violent themes.

Sir Ken's Macbeth is clearly good-hearted and humble at the start. He and Banquo are genuinely startled by the sister's prophecies. When Alex Kingston's Lady Macbeth reads her husband's letter, she is joyous and enthusiastic on every level, and the dark starts to creep in. After seeing Macbeth in battle, and seeing his wife declare her ambitions, you eagerly anticipate the moment he reappears and they embrace for the first time. The reunion scene is crackling with sexual tension.

The scenes fly by quickly, with no pause between them whatsoever. The overall feeling of the production is one of the "vaulting ambition" o'erleaping itself, but it never falters and falls. It sprints forward, and while you feel Macbeth's sense of being rushed, you as the onlooker can still keep up just fine. The soliloquies that are traditionally slowed so the audience can rubberneck would be almost glossed over if it weren't for the gravitas the actors give them.

The following scenes struck me the most:

1) When Macbeth sees the dagger before him, at first, it is simply light from the cross-shaped window falling on the ground, stretched and distorted by its sharp angle, throwing a giant bright sword on the mud.
2) After Macbeth is crowned, he presents himself as confident and regal, and sends Banquo off with all the friendliness their relationship deserves. But as soon as everyone leaves the stage but Macbeth, he goes through his "barren sceptre" speech with paranoia and urgency, then curls up in the throne under his cape, childlike and fearful.
3) In the sleepwalking scene, Alex Kingston appears to be channelling the weird sisters in flashes and starts, lending an especially disturbing supernatural possession to her condition.
4) Macduff's "All my pretty chickens" scene is heartbreakingly delivered by Ray Fearon, with an intensity that approaches, if not equals, even Sir Ken's performance.
5) Macbeth's "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow" speech always seems to read with a catatonic shock, and I've seen some movies and clips where it's delivered with a steady low affect and monotone voice. Sir Ken begins it that way, but halfway through, he breaks down entirely, weeping and dripping with tears and snot. He is barely able to finish the last line with any kind of audible voice, and you completely believe that he's still a good man deep inside, simply and tragically grieving for his beloved wife.

Some other fascinating points include:

1) The weird sisters appear even when they have no lines or don't normally show up in a scene, and their presence imparts the not-so-weird idea that they have a lot more control of the entire drama than expected.
2) The same actor who plays Duncan later plays Seyton, Macbeth's assistant/military officer.
3) The "cauldron" that Macbeth sees when he revisits the sisters is made up of actors on the ground, shaking a giant round sheet, out of which the sons of Banquo emerge and walk past Macbeth in zombie-like fashion.
4) Alex Vlahos, who deftly plays Malcolm, was the same actor who played Mordred on the BBC's series Merlin. It was fun to see him pop up!
5) Patrick Doyle's score, as usual, sneaks in and heightens the mood of every scene with that skillful subtlety that you barely know the music is there. Awesome.

In the end, you get a very highly anticipated Macbeth/Macduff battle. When Macduff reveals the truth about his birth, Macbeth visibly loses his shit, and musters all the remaining energy he has toward going down with a fight.

Clocking in at just over two hours, this Macbeth was a whirlwind of solidly magnetic characters and fierce action. The eerie setting as well as several intriguing individual performance choices at key moments made the play feel as fresh as if it were written yesterday... as it should be with Shakespeare. It should never feel static and dry, which is something that even Joss Whedon's lovingly re-imagined Much Ado About Nothing suffered from at times. More on that next week, though.

If you get the chance to see an encore screening of Macbeth (or if this NT Live production gets released on DVD) definitely treat yourself to some high quality Shakespeare!

His virtues will plead like angels

Sir Kenneth Branagh in the current Manchester stage production of Macbeth

Every summer, I split town/state/country for a couple weeks so I can take a break from my beloved Floridian monsoon season and from my own brain. For the last three years, I've been working on three scifi novels, the bulk of which is written in a creative frenzy during the eight weeks of summer vacation my school job affords me. It's a beautiful thing. But it can make you go a little nutter after a while.

This year, I'm heading back to Brooklyn to be warmed in the bosom of my friends and the wonders of New York City. The last time I was there, I experienced Sleep No More--NYC's ongoing interactive performance of Macbeth. I mentioned it before, but it bears reassurance that it is one of the MOST THRILLING WAYS TO ENCOUNTER SHAKESPEARE EVER. I spent the entire evening running around in a dark, creepy hotel with my dear friend and a bunch of athletic actors silently portraying the physicality of deep dark human emotions associated with The Scottish Play. Seriously, it was worth every cent of the $100+ I spent. We audience members had to wear masks and we could not speak the entire three hours. We were free to wander the floors and throng behind Lady Macbeth to her bathtub or help the witches put their clothes back on. There was blood and gore and moving trees and dancing and cocktails. Unforgettable.

Last summer was also my personal Shakespeare revival of sorts. I was close to my goal of reading every word of Shakespeare at the time, and I was primed for finally tasting the fruits of Sir Kenneth Branagh's films. I caught up very quickly and soon realized that he was the perfect object for my fangirlish predilections. It was love at first soliloquy.

This summer, having polished my Shakespeare/Branagh appreciation to a glistening shine, I am hyper keen for my second trip back to the UK. Last month, in between Skype sessions with my Newcastle friends to plan our jaunt to Dublin, National Theatre Live made a very exciting announcement. On July 20th, they would broadcast Manchester International Festival's highly anticipated stage production of Macbeth throughout the UK. It stars Sir Ken and Alex Kingston (from Doctor Who!). Its Branagh's first Shakespearean role in ten years.

I thought to myself, OMG I will be in the UK on July 20th. 

My brain/ovaries proceeded to explode. The weird sisters themselves couldn't have predicted a more fortuitous situation.

Not too long after the announcement, tickets went on sale at midnight UK time, which was only 7 pm my time, so I was awake and ready to grab front-row seats at the Tyneside Cinema. 

So, just days from catching my flight out of my world and my mind, I have decided to take up this famous speech in honor of Macbeth, the Bard, Sir Ken, and my most loyal and understanding friends who have gamely indulged my nerdiest desires. Macbeth, two ways, two cities, two intense interpretaions. Excuse my *SQUEEEE*

Analysis and ruminations will have to wait until after I return from my voyages. See y'all in a few weeks!

Macbeth, Act I, Sc. VII
Macbeth: If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust;
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off;
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
And falls on the other.

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. 

Why, I have not another tear to shed

Family dismemberment. For reals.

Titus Andronicus is everyone's favorite bloodbath, am I right? I mean, Macbeth's got a load of dead bodies and blood, Hamlet's got quite the body count, and all the histories have beheadings and what-not, but only Titus has the benefit of an eminently unforgettable Julie Taymor treatment (let's just pretend The Tempest never happened... I have no idea what went wrong there, but it was almost everything). I felt thoroughly debauched by my first viewing of Titus in college, and I only picked this speech because it contained references to everything I remember most about the movie: hands and heads and love and war.

The thing about Titus is that while he's another power-driven Roman army bloke like Coriolanus or Antony, he is more likable because he is even more flawed. He's an old, proud grouch, but not without reason; 21 of his 25 sons have died in war. He makes bad decisions in the name of family honor (namely, he goes along with the tyrannical moron Saturninus' election as next Emperor of Rome and husband to his daughter, Lavinia, even though Bassanius is the better candidate on both fronts). He kills his son Mutius when he objects to his ideas. He shows no mercy for Tamora (Queen of the Goths) and her sons, which leads the lascivious boys to later rape and disfigure Lavinia.

Despite all this, Titus still has our sympathy, because he suffers through his mistakes, shows his regrets, and loves his young son Lucius and unfortunate daughter very much. Yes, he pretty much loses it in the end--playing a homicidal Emeril Lagasse won't get him a show on Food Network--but his twisted means of culinary revenge is one worthy of Hannibal Lecter. 

Titus Andronicus, Act III, Sc. I
Titus: Why, I have not another tear to shed: 
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
And would usurp upon my watery eyes 
And make them blind with tributary tears: 
Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? 
For these two heads do seem to speak to me, 
And threat me I shall never come to bliss 
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again 
Even in their throats that have committed them. 
Come, let me see what task I have to do. 
You heavy people, circle me about, 
That I may turn me to each one of you, 
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; 
And in this hand the other I will bear. 
Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd:
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. 
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; 
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:  
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: 
And, if you love me, as I think you do, 
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

Coming in a close second place for "Most Emo Shakespeare Speech EVAR" is.... Macbeth and his melancholy-saturated bucket of resentment toward that horrible journey he calls life! Hamlet's Act I soliloquy about his incestuous uncle and mom takes first, of course. And Othello a close third, I'd think. You may argue about King Lear's weepfests, but once you're past a certain age, your rants against the world turn more downright sad than college-student-just-wants-material-for-his-late-night-guitar-busking-to-impress-dorm-girls emo.

Not that either Macbeth or Hamlet have no good reason to be sad sacks--they have more reason than any 19-year-old sk8terboi on campus could ever dream of having. Mr. Thane of Glamis, Cawdor, and newly crowned King of Scotland has just been informed that his ball-breaking Lady Macbeth finally died of her cray cray, and he just needs to poeticize his feels. I mean, he did everything she asked in order to satisfy HER voracious desire for power and then SHE has the gall to let that damned spot knock her off the merry-go-round. If you're fortunate enough to experience the McKittrick Hotel's Sleep No More in NYC, you know all this at least led to some great make-up acrobatics in the bedroom before the daggers came out. Not sure it was worth it in the end for Macbeth, however. What, with the beheading and all.

Macbeth, Act V, Sc. V
Macbeth: She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.