One foot in sea and one on shore

                            "Sigh No More" as a modern pop song

It's all Shakespeare and all romance this week in my special edition commemorative post. I've returned from my multi-flight overseas journeys a changed woman, and Shakespeare had a fairly specific influence on events.

First off, I got my ass to a screening of Joss Whedon's pet project Much Ado About Nothing while I was Manhattan. It was the eve before the heat wave, and we headed to the cool Landmark Sunshine Cinema in the Lower East Side. My friends who tagged along aren't Shakespeare types, but they know me, and stuck with me, knowing molecular mixology would ensue as the evening pressed on.

Of course, I enjoyed the film overall. It was, if nothing else, a bold and creative take on the classic play. The casting was great. The Beatrice and Benedick were the heart of the story, but I found the Hero and Claudio had a slightly more engaging presence than those in Sir Ken's film version. The highlight was Nathan Fillion as Dogberry, who, having admitted to no Shakespeare experience, floated along perfectly using all his comedic skill and proved a treat to watch on screen.

I really loved the treatment of the songs in the film. Joss produced a very charming jazzy rendition of "Sigh No More" that tweaks the heart and makes you wish you had a light summery cocktail in your hand.

I'm still not sure if the choice to film in black and white helped or hindered the atmosphere of the film. It certainly gave a classy sheen to the imagery, but the modern Los Angeles setting (at Joss' home, no less) was too obvious to lend any actual sense of timelessness we like to associate with Shakespeare.

While all the actors definitely understood their lines (which is more than can be said about even one of my personal favorite Branagh films, Love's Labour's Lost), the language still felt out of time and place. That probably has more to do with the delivery than the present-day setting. All the actors were essentially shoehorning grand, flowery soliloquies and dialogues into casual, everyday cocktail-hour conversations. The acting was naturalistic, and to a fault. This film made me realize that without a certain level of pure theatricality, Shakespeare feels forced--in this case, constrained by the not-so-epic dramas of normal human beings.

This is where I both respect and disdain Joss' vision: he clearly adores the material and wants to show us that Shakespeare is relevant and current in its themes and characters, but I think it's more difficult to "modernize" comedies than most of the tragedies and histories. With something like Coriolanus or Henry V, you could easily set them in present-day war-room situations involving the already elevated theatricality of politics and issues of state and the language and reactions to events wouldn't feel too overdone. That's what politicians do anyway, so it feels truly naturalistic.

The slapstick comedies almost always feature contrivances that would never prove believable obstacles and salient plot points today. For example, in Joss' film, the idea that Claudio would mistake the maid in Hero's window for Hero herself is completely cancelled out by the fact that we were previously shown that there are security cameras all over the household. No way a modern Claudio would fall for such a transparent ploy as Don John's. If the scene didn't have such an enormous influence on the remainder of the story, it may have been easier to ignore.

In the end, there are more moments in Joss' Much Ado that entertain and seduce than there are ones that remind us of the fragility of suspended disbelief. It is definitely a pleasure for fans of Shakespeare and romance and I recommend such folks give it a go.

On that note, I would like to make a personal announcement :)

Of all the unforgettable experiences I had in the UK and Ireland with my dear friends this time around, the most unexpected (and I shall say Shakespearean) was meeting Jamie, my new favorite person in existence. In the heady midst of my first "pub crawl" with new friends in downtown Newcastle, some of the first words exchanged between us was a general SQUEE about Shakespeare. It took me 30 years and a spanning of the Atlantic Ocean to finally fall in love. Our first real date involved recitations of Hamlet and Richard III to each other, and in the back of my head, I kept thinking of Benedick and Beatrice.

I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants

of wit broken on me because I have railed so long against

marriage, but doth not the appetite alter? 

What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?

Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?

Contempt, farewell, and maiden pride, adieu!

No glory lives behind the back of such.

And Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.

Shakespeare is extremely relevant to us. It's one of many (super geeky) things that bonds me and my beau across the sea that sunders us from physical proximity, and enriches the way we experience our far-flung romance. As Helena says in "All's Well That Ends Well:"

The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.

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.

Now I am alone

Well, I tested myself yesterday with all my speeches and I'm happy to report I knew every one with minimal to no prompting; a definite improvement from the last time I quizzed myself. I promise to keep reciting them everyday, but before that, I shall embark upon a new speech this week. It's been a long while since I've memorized something from scratch.

The decision was a no-brainer. I want to complete my set of the four major Hamlet soliloquies. There are other, less prominent ones, but if you want a cross section of Hamlet's psyche throughout the play, the big four will provide you with it. Weighing in at ~55 lines (depending on your edition of the play), the Act II, Scene II speech is the longest of his soliloquies, but no where near as long as the one with which Richard Gloucester has blessed me.

It has been nearly a year since I turned my well-honed fangirling instrument toward Sir Kenneth Branagh. I started with realizing that Thor was directed by him, then moved on to seeing the screen graced with his countenance and voice through King Henry V and Much Ado About Nothing and finally, the movie that changed my life, his complete and epic 4-hour masterpiece of Hamlet. On July 10th, not halfway through my first viewing of that glorious film, I clearly recall my heart o'erflowing with love and inspiration. So of course, to cap off my unlocked achievements, I shall embark upon this emotional thrill ride of a speech. It still makes me melt and my ovaries quiver to hear it.

A week from now, I hope to have some more insight into what it's like to occupy and live through these enthralling words.


Hamlet, Act II, Sc. II
Hamlet: Now I am alone.
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, an' his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
For Hecuba!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Ha! 'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion!
Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play 's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

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.

Speak the speech, I pray you: 5 quick and dirty tips to maximize memorization

I just started my 41st speech this week. No, I'm not done yet, so don't bust out the tankards of mead and cups of sack quite yet. I've doubled up on a few (quadrupled on Hamlet), so I have handful left before I reach my goal of at least one speech from each play. I felt this a good time to begin imparting some wisdom to anyone who might be inclined to try this on their own.


1) Practice every goddamned day. I start on Sunday with a new speech. I find it is best to learn the whole thing all in one go, and then over successive days, I progressively wean myself from checking the text every other line until I get more confident with it. I tried breaking up longer speeches up into eight- or ten-line bites over four days... but very few of them are so long that I feel I must do that to keep my sanity. I did Richard III's monstrosity over several days early on in the project, but did Richard II's behemoth much more quickly. Soon enough, shorties (20 lines or less) became a piece of the proverbial cake. Cram before bed, when your brain is ripe for filing away new things. Practice in your shower. Practice in your car on your way to or from work. No one will judge you there.

2) Say it out loud. Turn your speech into an earworm. Just like a catchy song you hear fifteen times on the radio at work, the speech will follow you around better if you know how your own voice sounds reciting it. Say it without a sound. Mouthing the words without giving them voice helps develop muscle memory. You tend to exaggerate it when you voicelessly recite, but I've found it opens you up to delivering it more clearly and effortlessly when you voice it again. It's like isometric exercise for your tongue.

3) Watch or listen to actors delivering the speeches you choose. I cannot tell you how much more easy it was to memorize speeches that were already done for me. Sir Kenneth Branagh's recitation of Hamlet's fourth soliloquy ("My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!") will never sop rolling around in my brain. Ben Whishaw's Richard II sitting on the sunny shore of his England as his voice fights the breeze will forever inform my delivery of his monologue about the death of kings. I will never not think of Tom Hiddleston soliloquizing as Prince Hal in King Henry IV Part One. They are more than just pretty faces to me ;)

4) Research the character. Research the vocabulary. Never try to recite anything out of context. Find out what is supposed to be motivating the character and keep it at the forefront of your mind. For each speech, I read the corresponding chapter in Marjorie Garber's "Shakespeare After All" just so I'd recall the plot and get more in depth analysis of characters. Look up every unfamiliar word or phrase. It'll all come more naturally if you know what the bloody hell you're actually saying. Memorization is a party trick. Comprehension takes work. We're here for enrichment of our brains, not for boot camp drills.

5) Choose speeches that intrigue you. At first, this is simple. There are so many speeches on the menu. But after a while, you're bound to hit plays that don't enthuse as much as others, or you simply aren't familiar with them at all. If you can't find something that you like, you're not going to spend as much time with it and you'll lose interest. I've read every play and highlighted the bejesus out of my old paperback copy of the Complete Works, so I could always spot a passage that got my attention and analyze it for potential memorization material. If you lack such a personalized resource, I recommend checking http://www.shakespeare-monologues.org for worthy suggestions.


This will take more than 40 weeks. I don't think I'll be satisfied with myself until a year passes. I took a few breaks to give myself a chance to review old speeches and just because real life carries you away sometimes.

I've already chosen my final speech--one that I think will test all my skills and patience. It's Shakespeare's longest soliloquy, and it marks the return of that trusty bastard Richard Gloucester in his salad days during Henry VI Part Three. 71 lines of pure, uncut soliloquizing. I can't wait!

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."

Hung be the heavens with black

The Wars of the Roses began with a bunch of pansies fighting in the back garden...

Henry VI Part One was written after Henry VI (Parts Two and Three), which were all written before King Henry IV (Parts One and Two) and King Henry V, and you can totally tell. The Henriad plays (Richard II, Henry IV, Henry V) have more of a Shakespearean flair than those earlier plays, which were likely written collaboratively with other authors. It helps that the Henriad plays have significantly more empathetic characters (in number and quality) and the triumphant battle of England over France contained within--Harfleur and Agincourt and all that. By comparison, the story of Henry VI and his so totally not living up to his father's fame and admirability is a bit of a letdown, especially since the famously reviled (but infamously quotable!) Richard III is well on his way to ascending the throne by the end.

The play itself is full of literal battles royale between those firebrand Plantagenets of Lancaster and York. It's got crowd-pleasing fights, murders, and prophetic details that are so often easily inserted into prequels. Joan of Arc even has a glorified cameo role in which she defeats the French Dauphin in single combat--an event that is less of a nod to feminism than one example of just how far back the whole "effeminate Frenchman" joke goes.

That said, Henry VI, Part One opens with the funeral of the great Henry V, narrated with a handful of encomiums worthy of the man that was to be portrayed in the eponymous uber-prequels we know and love to see made by Sirs Olivier and Branagh today. I chose Bedford's because it references the stars, and any poetic waxing about the heavens is enough to win over this amateur astronomer in a heartbeat.


1 King Henry VI, Act I, Sc. I
Bedford: Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
That have consented unto Henry's death!
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

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!

I know you all...

I would be remiss not to acknowledge how much the BBC's Hollow Crown series influenced this particular choice of speech. On the brink of full-throttle fangirling over Tom Hiddleston's Loki in Thor/Avengers and his Magnus in Wallander, I fell once again into the King Henry V trap known as the "Wooing of Kate" scene. It pushed me over the edge in regards to Sir Ken, and it did the same with Hiddles. My heart had no chance. 

The Hollow Crown is a thoroughly engaging series anyway, and I highly recommend it to all who enjoy really solid acting and movie-making. The series covers the Henriad, aka Richard II, Henry IV (Parts One and Two), and Henry V. It was a treat to see the character arc of one of my favorites--Prince Hal--brought to life by a damn pretty man, who just happens to be talented as well, which is always a plus. 

The Prince of Wales appears to be a wayward son. As much is hinted at within the text of Richard II, wherein the newly-crowned Henry IV mentions that his "unthrifty son" frequents taverns and hangs out with "unrestrained loose companions," engaging in wanton, youthful activity most unprince-like. The King's chagrin continues into the next two plays as the jolly Prince Hal carouses with the likes of John Falstaff and his knobbly-nosed bosom buddies in Eastcheap amongst winos and prostitutes.

But Hal has a plan, which he deftly outlines in the first act of 1 Henry IV. His soliloquy reveals to the audience that all his delinquent behavior is an act meant to make his planned rise to the throne and subsequent sudden competency appear miraculous, therefore completely blowing his enemies' minds. Meanwhile, it's hinted later on that Hal is steeping himself in the base environs of his subjects to better understand the nuances of the commonweal and how to best relate to their motivations--presumably, a kingly tool to be wielded later as soldiers are mustered for a questionable foreign war. 

However, one cannot assume Hal's not enjoying himself immensely during his wild salad days. He's witty and loves to banter with the sack-soaked Falstaff, but knows deep down that it shall not last much longer. The beauty of these plays is the depth of the dynamic Prince's characterization and how a few key events subtly disclose Hal's inner hatred and ultimate acceptance of the ambivalence required of a king. This first speech is not yet too cynical, and full of the hope that his prodigal son project will work out in the end.

King Henry IV, First Part, Act I, Sc. II

Henry, Prince of Wales:

I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
The unyok'd humour of your idleness. 
Yet herein will I imitate the Sun, 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world, 
That, when he please again to be himself, 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays, 
To sport would be as tedious as to work; 
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, 
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
So when this loose behaviour I throw off, 
And pay the debt I never promised, 
By how much better than my word I am, 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault, 
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I'll so offend to make offense a skill, 
Redeeming time when men think least I will.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more

A sight that has many ladies sighing.

I won't promise this won't melt into an infatuative drivel about Sir Ken, because my heart did just that when I first saw his film version of Much Ado About Nothing. I had always adored the antics of Benedick and Beatrice on the page, so imagine the ovarian explosions that occurred when I heard that he had, of course, taken the best male role in the play. Indeed, the film is Sir Ken in fine form, at the top of his game, as a most dashing mofo riding horses and getting baths and wearing tight pants...*ahem*... and this film represents perhaps his most successful achievement in making Shakespeare accessible to modern audiences. 

Much Ado being the original romantic comedy, and a quintessential one at that, it was a perfect choice for adaptation to the screen. And even considering Sir Ken's often... eccentric... casting decisions, this film's actors and actresses actually turned out more or less perfect for their roles. It's a grand delight and I don't believe I have to heap on any more praise than it already has to convince any lover of Shakespeare (or beautifully executed romcoms, which I usually distrust) to watch it for themselves. 

The song featured within the text has a naturally lilting quality that makes it so easy to memorize that I actually made myself memorize a second passage in a week. I chose one of Beatrice's shrewd rants against marriage, which suits my personal tongue-in-cheek position quite nicely. She and her antagonizing lover Benedick spend the entire play railing about love and the differences between men and women. Their war-like wooing is immediately a more passionate and emotional foreplay than the sweet, kind, and honest couple--Hero and Claudio--could ever muster. Their spiteful, witty, verbal thrusts and parries represent the most satisfying love story in all of Shakespeare, IMHO. They are the most intelligent individuals in the story, and the surface tension of their cynycism breaks with the catalyst of dishonor laid upon Hero and Claudio at their doomed wedding. Some things are sacred to these two, and as they eventually find out, they find each other more sacred than anything else.

As Benedick says, "Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably." In that small statement, using the formal "thou" instead of "you," he betrays the deep respect he has always had for Beatrice. They may ride off into the proverbial sunset knocking each other's heads with frying pans, but when they join forces, all is well... and fantastically entertaining.

Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Sc. III

Balthasar: Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey, nonny nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo

Of dumps so dull and heavy.

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy.

Then sigh not so, but let them go

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey, nonny nonny.


Act II, Sc. I
Beatrice: 
Just, if he send me no husband, for the which blessing I am

at him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord, I

could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had

rather lie in the woollen...

What should I do with him? Dress him in my apparel and

make him my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard

is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than

a man; and he that is more than a youth is not for me, and

he that is less than a man, I am not for him. Therefore I will

even take sixpence in earnest of the bearherd, and lead his

apes into hell...

No, but to the gate, and there will the devil meet me like an

old cuckold with horns on his head, and say, “Get you to

heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you

maids.” So deliver I up my apes and away to Saint Peter. For

the heavens, he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there

live we as merry as the day is long.