Showing posts with label Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Show all posts

Sunday, June 30, 2013

His whole function suiting With forms to his conceit

Olivier slips into his antic disposition

I've long stood in the "Hamlet Ain't Cray-Cray" camp. Sure, he's an emo hipster at the start of the play, genuinely depressed about his father's death and his mother's o'er hasty, incestuous marriage. But when he meets the Ghost--the moment on which Hamlet's entire psyche hinges--he is not made mad with fear or anger or vengeful thoughts. Yes, he's filled with all these things, but it doesn't drive him mad.

Some people argue that the Ghost scene is enough evidence that Hamlet's already off his nut, but Horatio and Marcellus have confessed to have seen the Ghost as well, and they seem otherwise mentally stable in every way. The Ghost only really speaks to Hamlet, if you don't count the "swear" here and there when Horatio and Marcellus return to the stage to enact their oath to the Prince. Though overwhelmed with this vision and the information imparted about "murder most foul," Hamlet believes the Ghost in the moment, but even then begins to hatch a plan to confirm the Ghost's story. He commands his friends that they not give away the game of his feigned outward appearance and action--his "antic disposition"--no matter how "strange or odd soe'er I bear myself."

Next, Hamlet wordlessly freaks out Ophelia, successfully making Polonius believe he has gone mad with love. Claudius and Gertrude call up Hamlet's old flunkies to find him out, and then Polonius suggests how they might confirm his theory that Hamlet is lovesick for his daughter. When the players arrive, Hamlet is outwardly, eccentrically pleased with himself. No one is the wiser about what's truly sparking inside Hamlet's brain.

Now here's what I learned from memorizing the "O, what a rogue" soliloquy, and why it confirms my belief that Hamlet is not totes bananas. It tellingly begins with "Now I am alone." It's important enough that he announces it: "Now I am alone." He's been so busy putting on his "madness" mask for everyone that he's exhausted and feels he must speak with himself. His duplicity of character begins to appear in this speech, as he mentally breaks his own pate across for not having the courage to express his truest feelings to the world. He's jealous of the players for their masks, and how they can conjure up tears for a conceit, when he cannot weep for a truth. During this diatribe, it is clear that Hamlet is very hard on himself, for it was just the night before that he saw the Ghost, but he soon reveals his cunning plan to the audience. "The play's the thing," he states, "wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King."

At the end of this soliloquy, Hamlet is resolved to "observe [the King's] looks" and "tent him to the quick." He notes that the Ghost may be lying, that he "may be a dev'l, and the dev'l hath power T'assume a pleasing shape." Hamlet's ready for action. He's rationally, scientifically devising a way to test the Ghost's claims before he will allow himself to carry out a rash act of vengeance. This is Spock-like behavior. It may have more the Shantner-esque flourish, but it's Vulcan logic all the way.

But still, many believe that only half a scene later, he's preparing himself for suicide. WHY? Because he comes back onto the stage and recites "To be or not to be."

Respectfully, WTF.

If one forgets that the last soliloquy ever happened, only half a scene before, then one could interpret "To be or not to be" as a pure contemplation on suicide and its consequences. Many people believe this soliloquy is a true representation of Hamlet's character, and that when he sees Ophelia, he is pushed over the edge and gives into his madness.

I call bullshit on this.

Hamlet is a bit paranoid at this point--as his "Now I am alone" line can attest--but not without reason. He is well aware that R & G are spying on him. He suspects the King and Queen suspect he is mad. He knows Ophelia has been scared out of her knickers and that that's why Polonius has been pretending to be Sherlock Holmes.

In Act III, Sc. I, just before Hamlet arrives to enact his famous speech, Claudius says he has "closely sent for Hamlet hither," telling us that Hamlet has been summoned. Hamlet must suspect that someone will be waiting for him. He was never just walking around the castle idly voicing his thoughts. When he enters, he has this fabulous speech prepared, just in case someone is listening. And someone is listening--Claudius and Polonius are there, "seeing unseen" so they may judge what is bothering Hamlet.

Hamlet's no dumbass. He would never discuss his deepest thoughts out loud unless he were sure he were alone. "To be" fits his antic disposition, and could very easily throw off his pursuers. They would never guess from those existential thoughts that he suspects the King has been murdered and that he wishes to indict Claudius.

When Ophelia steps out, Hamlet is momentarily buoyed by her presence, and, for a tiny moment, almost allows her to distract him. But he keeps stepping forward on his balance beam of lies, keeping up his pretense that he is mad over love for Ophelia. "Ha, ha! Are you honest?" he asks, already suspecting her complicity in a trap. "Where's your father?" he asks, giving her one more chance to reveal her true intentions to him. He wants her to be on his side, but as soon as she says "At home, my lord," he knows her alliance is with Polonius, and he is truly heartbroken at that point. He goes a bit mad--for real-- and it feeds into the original lie of his madness, at least as far as Polonius is concerned. Hamlet walks away from this scene more upset than before, and Claudius actually begins to believe that this is not true madness.

But Hamlet is still one step ahead of everyone. If Hamlet were mad, he never would have been able to keep his secret of the Ghost's tale. If the Ghost were lying, Claudius wouldn't have confessed to any murderous actions and guilt for killing his own brother. If Hamlet were suicidal, he would just mope around, unable to rouse himself into the man of action he truly is. And if anyone wants to argue otherwise on that point, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

Monday, January 7, 2013

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!