Shakespeare Movie Marathon

Woke up on Saturday full of vigor and planning to do many a constructive thing with my weekend, and was greeted with sheets of rain cascading down upon my little town, promptly sapping me of all energy. After some debate as to how to amend my plans, it struck me that there are many holes in my cinematic Shakespeare eduction and so decided that remedying this would be the new focus of my weekend.

I went out to Barnes & Noble during a brief gap in the downpour and came back only to find that the storm had completely abated and the sun was shining. I forged ahead with my plans.

O: I will include this in the recap though it was actually viewed on Friday evening during a room-cleaning spree and therefore lies outside my marathons plans. O was made in 1999, with release being pushed back until 2001 due to outbreak of school violence at the time (including the Columbine shooting). Starring Mekhi Phifer, Josh Hartnett and Julia Stiles, it's a modern language adaptation of Shakespeare's Othello set in what appears to be a present-day North Carolina boarding school.

I found the translation to be quite clever. in this new telling Othello becomes Odin James, star basketball player, with Hugo (Iago) and Michael Cassio (Cassio) his fellow players. Odin, or O, is dating the dean's daughter, Desi (Desdemona), the object of affection for school outcast Rodger (Roderigo). Hugo is slighted when O chooses to share his MVP prize with Michael and thus the events of the play are set into motion.

Where the movies strength's really lie is in the cleverness of the detail. The race question is tamped down, though its setting below the Mason-Dixon allows for it to still have some impact. Hugo is the coach's son, which, coupled with some acknowledged but not overblown steroid use, explains his 'motiveless malignancy.' Rodger's persecution at the hands of the jocks, including Michael, strengthens the idea that he could be driven to killing. Throughout the whole movie, Shakespeare's words are cleverly updated to fit the time and yet contain an echo of the original work.

As an exercise in Shakespeare adaptation, I thought it was quite entertaining and enjoyable. I have no idea if others will find it so, but if you're writing a paper or studying Othello, I would definitely recommend.

Julius Caesar: A 1953 version of Julius Caesar with John Gielgud, Marlon Brando AND Deborah Kerr? Count me in.

The movie was pretty much exactly what you would expect from that description. No great fiddling with the text, black and white, everyone in togas and armor reminiscent of the plastic kids sets you can buy at Renn Fairs. Still, the language is remarkable, and even if James Mason is a little emo as a conflicted Brutus, Gielgud's Cassius is delightfully scheming and Brando's Anthony great fun. The dueling eulogies are a masterwork of writing and aptly played as such by the two actors. Only Shakespeare can make the word "honorable" becomes so horrid.

Henry V: Out of all of my imaginary boyfriends, no one holds my heart like Kenneth Branagh, which is why it shocked so many people to learn I had never seen Henry V, his first and most celebrated Shakespeare adaptation. Upon watching it, my love tripled. It is glorious. Not so much wildly innovative (though the use of the brilliant Derek Jacobi as chorus was an inspired stroke) and brilliantly clear compelling story telling. Its strength lies in its simplicity and its performances and...i just can't say enough good things about it.

So instead of prattling on, I'll let you watch a bit for yourself:



...right? Right? I know.

But remember, he's mine.

Somebody Gets It!

(Okay, so before I talk about what I meant to talk about...how am I only just discovering Slate? Where have I been? It seems like someone went "hey, let's write about everything emma loves and/or wonders about and put those articles in one place." Infinite kudos to Carrie for leading me here.)

I am a TV junkie. I'm not proud of it, but I admit it freely. My already crack-like habit was ratcheted up while I was in England, when streaming American TV over breakfast became a closely held ritual that simultaneously kept me entertained, provided a bit of home comfort and (on days when I watched House or Grey's Anatomy) severely curbed my appetite. besides the medical dramas, I'm also a crime addict. NCIS, CSI (but only Las Vegas or Miami...New York is worthless), Law & Order: SVU and Numb3rs are all must watch for me. Add to the mix the latest Joss Whedon offering, Dollhouse, and you can see how my week is quickly eaten up.

But even with that embarrassingly long of shows, I still need more. Which brings me to the most shameful element of my TV obsession: reality TV. I adore it. There are very few reality TV shows that I won't watch and quickly become obsessed with (those few exceptions include American Idol, anything involving Tila Tequila or Flavor Flav and the mind-numbing uselessness that is The Hills). AMNT? Check. Project Runway? You got it. Rock of Love? More! So You Think You Can Dance? Bring it on. Top Chef? Hell's Kitchen? The Biggest Loser? Charm School? If it involves food, dancing, fashion or former lead singers of Poison, I dare you to try and keep me away. Even the ones I don't follow religiously are able to suck me in for an episode or two should they come across my channel surfing.

But the mother of all of these trashy, low-brow guilty pleasure is any iteration of The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I absolutely adore them, have watched them for years, know way too much about every player and just can't stop. Even my former roommates, Jacey and Jo, who would happily settle down to the Sunday night line-up of My Fair Brady and Scott Baio is 45 and Single couldn't bring themselves to watch an hour of self-obsessed 20-somethings tackle each other in Gladiator-like challenges before drinking themselves into oblivion.

Which is is why I was so happy to read this article from Slate. I am not alone!

Now, to go find some reruns...

140 Character Witticisms

Okay, I'll admit it...I love twitter. I didn't think I would, I thought it was superfluous, I thought I'd never use it. But no, it's amazing. Besides it's current "higher calling" of keeping all us privileged Westerners abreast of the situation in Iran, it also serves the totally low-brow purpose of being just damn entertaining. Mindy Kaling, Sockington and Ana Marie Cox's feeds routinely make me laugh out loud, not to mention the offerings of my criminally clever friends, such as Sam. It's let me keep in touch with my friends in England better than any other form of communication I know, not to mention being helpful in tracking London theater reviews and White House initiatives. The uses for Twitter for endless!

It's also a hilarious tool politicians use to get themselves in trouble . I follow a few, such as my senator Mark Warner and the ever-awesome Claire McCaskill, and so far they have managed to avoid causing any real ruckus. The Republicans seem to have that under control.

Case in point, Pete Hoekstra comparing the GOP struggles in Congress to the situation in Iran. Um...what?

Luckily, as is evidenced by this article from Alec, Twitter has another noble purpose...heckling!

My favorite?

netw3rk @petehoekstra Someone walked in on me while I was in the bathroom. Reminded me of Pearl Harbor.

Ah, genius.

Speak the Speech

Via Carrie, an article from Slate on Shakespeare in the Park and how to speak Shakespeare, as recommended by Barry Edelstein.

I, of course, have a fond attachment for Shakespeare in the Park, having been lucky enough to work at the Public Theater for a year (and to be returning for the gala next week!), but I have uneasy feelings about it being pretty much THE place for Shakespeare in New York (and consequentially, the US), based mostly on the productions I've seen lacking an understanding of Shakespeare's text. This might be something that changes over time, now that Barry's there, but he was there for Hamlet and non of my mixed feelings were evened out.

Also, it must be acknowledged that, while Barry Edelstein is probably a genius and someone likely to be added to my pantheon of idols once I get around to reading his book (Edward Hall, the Zeus of my Shakespearean Olympus, is also mentioned in the article), I'm also pretty sure he once knowingly locked me out of a building. Evidence is circumstantial, but until his name is positively cleared, I always regard him with a single raised eyebrow.

You're Welcome, Joss Whedon

11:52am emma
oh my gracious! how meta would this be
have a client
who is a huge firefly fan
hire a doll
to be one of them for the day
so he can live an adventure
11:53am Victoria
i'd be that client
11:53am emma
oh my gosh, that would be genius
can you imagine how much fun that episode would be?
11:54am Victoria
a lot
a very very lot

It's Today

Via The New York Times:

On June 17, 1928, Amelia Earhart embarked on the first trans-Atlantic flight by a woman. She flew from Newfoundland to Wales in about 21 hours.

A Little Free-Style Broadway Rappin' to Start Your Day?

Ask and yee shall receive...

Off the Page

Via The Atlantic, an article on the problems with adapting the Harry Potter books for the big screen.

I Went to School With These People

Via Overheard in New York:

Guy #1: May I presuppose what I think you're trying to articulate, which is, that the core universality of your character's arc needs to be explicitly emphasized in the color palate?
Guy #2: I think that's fair, but I'm not sure you can go there with an audience.
Guy #1: But isn't the whole narrative journey bringing them there?
Guy #2: Yes and no. Essentially we can't bring them there, because we can't get there ourselves.
Guy #1: Hmmm, I'm not sure if I agree with that.
Guy #2: We can't get there. Our protagonist can't get there, he can't bring us there with him.
Guy #1: Where?
Guy #2: The river.
Guy #1: Why is he going to the river?
Guy #2: Because that's--that's--that's the thing. That's the thing he has to do. It's like, he is that river, and that's why we go to a wide-shot there.
Guy #1: I do see the wide-shot there, but I think we need more exposition for the catharsis to work.

--Think Coffee, 3rd & Mercer

So, I Think He Can Dance

Just so you don't think I'm all gloom-and-doom-and-civil-liberties, here's the SYTYCD audition from my boy, Evan Kasprzak:



Oh, Ryan. I love you as well.

Just a Little Bit of History Repeating

Am currently reading the (deservedly) much-lauded Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln. Right now, we're in the 1850's, caught up in the explosively turbulent period leading up the Civil War, specifically the caning of Charles Sumner.

I always forget the caning of Charles Sumner, as, I'm sure, do most people. I'm an enthusiastic Civil Way buff and yet, if pressed to name senators from the period I would maybe, maybe be able to hit upon the name Henry Clay or Daniel Webster. Maybe. And certainly not both. Sumner is less a person and more of an event, and even that event is more a title, as if it were a one-act play. "The Caning of Sumner." It rolls off the tongue and is just as easily dismissed as being something distantly remote, but when you actually pause to think about it...what the hell. A United States senator beat a fellow senator almost to death on the floor of the Senate. That's extraordinary, that that could happen. That that did happen. But then Doris Kearn Goodwin goes on to describe the reaction:

"More ominous still was the reaction of the distinguished Richmond Whig, a professed opponent of extremism on sectional issues. 'We are rejoiced at this, ' the Whig proclaimed. 'The only regret we feel is, that Mr. Brooks did not employ a horsewhip or a cowhide upon his slanderous back, instead of a cane. We trust the ball may be kept in motion. Seward and others should catch it next.' The Petersburg [Virginian] Intelligencer sounded a similar theme. 'If thrashing is the only remedy by which the foul conduct of the Abolitionists can be controlled...it will be very well to give Seward a double dose at least every other day until it operates freely on his political bowels...his adroit demagoguism and damnable doctrines are infinitely more dangerous to the country than the coarse blackguardism of the perjured wretch, Sumner.' The antipodal reactions of North and South, David Donald notes, made it 'apparent that something dangerous was happening to the American union when the two sections no longer spoke the same language, but employed rival sets of cliches to describe the Brooks-Sumner affair.'"
- Team of Rivals: the Political genius of Abraham Lincoln, Doris Kearn Goodwin

I'm not saying that we, as a country, are on the brink of a Civil War like that of 1860. I'm not even sure we're necessarily on the brink of a culture war, though that seems more likely. I'm just saying that this idea of language and talking, on being quick to condemn the other side and trumpet your own no matter what either does...doesn't it all sound a bit familiar? And shouldn't we maybe be more aware of that familiarity?

My man, Shelby Foote, said that "Any understanding of this nation has to be based, and I mean really based, on an understanding of the Civil War. I believe that firmly. It defined us," and I tend to agree. It was such a defining moment in our history, a turning point really, and one we are in some ways still recovering from. But it's not enough to look at the aftermath; we need to keep in mind how we got there. I'm highly doubtful we'll ever get to the point again where states decide to sucede from the Union and, if they did, I'm not sure a war would be declared (really, would we miss Texas? If Alaska goes AWOL, would anyone notice?) but that kind of animosity towards your own fellow citizens I think we're more than capable of. In some ways, we might be there already.

I didn't mean for this to be a history blog, or a political blog or a blog where I endlessly rehash the ideas of speech and fairness and whatever else I've been going about since I started this. It just became a perfect storm...the recent incidents of poltical violence here, the ongoing turmoil in Iran and a book on the Civil War. They all feed into each other and therefore color my thoughts which then results in me musing over the ideas in 500-word mini essays on blogger.

I'm big on awareness these days. Awarness of how you sound, of how the other side thinks, of context, of responsibility. I'm wearing green today, and will probably be for awhile, not because I think it makes a difference to the Iranina protestors that I, emma, U.S. citizen temping in an office park, am wearing green, but because maybe someone will notice and ask me and then I'll explain about Iran and then they'll know something they didn't before and at least become aware of the situation. That's the only way I can think of to help right now, but I hope it's at least something.

A Little Thing

Via Andrew Sullivan (because what isn't, these days?), here is a graphic you can use on Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, what have you, to show support for the Iranian protestors:

It's such a little thing, but I think it's really important, if not to let them know we support them and believe in what they're doing, than to spread awareness of what is going on. I don't think enough people know.

Take it, use it, pass it on. This is too big to not care.

Freedom Of

Citizens assemble with the sole goal of declaring that they disapprove of the course of government. To meddle in the government of society and to speak about it is the greatest business and, so to speak, the only pleasure America knows...
- Alexis de Tocqueville

As I continue to follow the news out of Iran, I am more and more grateful to our country and its founders for providing us with the freedom, security and relative stability that allows us to assemble and disapprove without the fear of beatings, shootings or arrests. I think we all take it for granted...I know I do. We are such a young country, and it took us awhile to get to a place where it's at least commonly held that all men (and women) are created equal, but that we did? That, for all the work we have yet to do, we have done so much? I think it's extraordinary.

But in the wake of all of this new found appreciation, there is also disappointment. We have the means to change our government. We have the opportunity to make our voices heard. And yet, we still turn to violence. To shoot an abortion doctor, an army recruiter, a museum crowd because that somehow seems like a better idea than any other alternative. Than using any of the vast freedom given to us or living up to the responsibility that comes with that freedom. It's abuse in the negative. Right now, in Iran, people are risking their lives so that they can have a voice, and yet, here, people would still prefer to silence the voice of others than make their own heard. It's a slap in the face of our Constiution, in my mind, besides being a horrifying display of hate.

Violence isn't the only abuse, though. We were given freedom of speech to air our greivances and engage each other in open debate, so that we could hold the government accountable as well as each other. So it saddens me when media pundits purposefully fan the flames of outrage and divisiveness for ratings. Besides lowering the tone of discussion on an issue and inciting people to the aformentioned violence, it ignores the higher and better purposes that can be achieved by sharing opinion. It's irresponsible, to say the least. But, however much I disagree with how it's used, it is their right, just as it is my right to talk about it here. It's not up to me to determine what is or is not fair game beyond voicing my thoughts on any given matter, and I think that's how it should be.

I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.
-Evelyn Beatrice Hall

Tweeting the Resistance

Via Andrew Sullivan, here is a list of Tweeters out of Iran. I've spent most of the weekend trying to wrap my head around what's happening there, about what these people are both going through and the courage and conviction they are demonstrating.

I rag on America sometimes for being ridiculous and eating foods like marshmallow sweet potatoes, but seeing what's happening in Iran makes me realize just how lucky I am to live in a country where this situation is pretty much unimaginable to me.

How do we support these people? How do we show them they're not alone?

By Our Powers Combined

I have a serious thing for Johnny Flynn, but I mean that in a "I think his music is amazing" type way. He has yet to be added to my ever growing list of imaginary boyfriends, mostly because I'm pretty sure we have nothing in common and any conversation we could possible have would go something along the lines of "....so, uh, the sky is blue." "Yeah, really blue." and then we'd be out of things to talk about. But his music is really, really good. And he plays the violin.

Another person I have a serious non-romantic musical thing for is Laura Marling. I saw her play a gig with Johnny last fall and thought her voice was remarkable and I pretty much have to listen to at least one of her songs once a day so I can remember there is wonderful, gorgeous music out there that has nothing to with the Disney channel or Apple commercials. 

You can only imagine my delight when, without even trying, I found this duet of the two of them on YouTube:

You're welcome.

Even Dr. Evil Had a Cat

Being a hard-hearted cynical ex-New Yorker (I was once asked by a close friend how he too could be be "without emotions"), I like to pretend I'm not also a total softie who's prone to tear up at particularly touching Sprint and SmartBalance commercials. Posting a picture of an adorable baby animal is therefore totally against everything I stand for—a public display of sentimentality that might give people the erroneous impression I have feelings or something.

Blame Christine.

...awwwwww.

Empire Portfolio

Via my dad, Empire magazine has a portfolio of stars recreating iconic movie performances to celebrate the magazine's 20th anniversary. My favorites are Jurassic Park and Zoolander. How about you?

And You Can Quote Me: Housekeeping vs. The Dirt; Nick Hornby

...this could have been my moment to start a salon. I could have bought that bread and said to people, "Have you read the new Roth?" as they were taking off their coats. And they'd have gone, like, "What the fuck?" if they were my friends, or "Yes, isn't it marvelous?," if they were people I didn't know.

I'm sure that's an error in my thinking, and that my unwillingness to engage with sensitive first novels about coming out on a sheep farm in North Dakota in the 1950s—I made this book up, by the way, and if you wrote it, I mean no offense—proves that the terrorists have won...

Sometimes it feels as though we are being asked to imagine cultural judgments as a whole bunch of concentric circles. On the outside, we have the wrong ones, made by the people who read The DaVinci Code and listen to Celine Dion; right at the center we have the correct ones, made by the snootier critics, very often people who have vowed never to laugh again until Aristophanes produces a follow-up to The Frogs.

It's So Personal

In the wake of the murder of Dr. George Tiller, Andrew Sullivan at The Atlantic began compiling stories and points of view regarding late-term abortions in a series he grouped under the heading It's So Personal.

There have been more posted since they were compiled into a collection, but I highly recommend reading them. I am die-hard pro-choice, but even so I never considered some of the questions and circumstances that faced these parents when they did or did not make the decision to abort. They're heart breaking and, as Sullivan so aptly describes, deeply personal. I don't know that they'll change opinions, but I see the potential these accounts have in opening minds, and for that reason alone I think people should look at them and encourage others to do so as well.

Consumption Philanthropy

This article, via Mike H., looks at the gains and costs (mostly the costs) of what the author calls "consumption philanthropy," the recent trend of contributing to charity through purchasing products associated with things like Product Red.

It's a lot to think about. I admit freely that I am a big fan of the idea of consumption philanthropy, but it's the first time I've thought about the costs. Things like decreased motivation to contribute to causes, be it through time and money, are somewhat obvious side effects. Others, like the "wrong" cause being highlighted or the consumption contributing to the problems trying to be solved, would never have crossed my mind.

I guess that's really what the article is about, the decreased engagement with the problems facing the world. While I recognize it as a bad thing, I don't know that it can be blamed on this practice alone (nor am I saying I think that's what Eikenberry is trying to say), and I don't know if I agree the costs outweigh the benefits.

Her scenario about the non-profit book fair is one I am guilty of, though my reticence to further contribute is usually on display at museums or historical sights where I've paid an exorbitant (to a struggling college graduate) entrance fee. However, her other examples are more specific, and, I think, less universal. I've never bought something I didn't need because it went to charity, a la a SpongeBob Pink Pants toy, and I don't shop at the Gap because of Product Red. I buy what I need from the places I already shop, the charitable association only swaying me when considering things of equal value in terms of need or desire.

I understand, is part of her point. Whatever I wind up contributing to charity is a result of my own, self-serving needs. It's consumer and desire driven, selfish at its core. But I would argue that whatever the motives, it doesn't negate the result, which is that projects in need of funding receive some. In a way, it's almost a trap. People with no charitable inclinations, no bigger picture idea are almost tricked into entering into a kind of "one world" community through virtue of the fact that they have a pocketbook and a taste for graphic t-shirts.

Eikenberry seems to have a view of the world that many people participating in consumption philanthropy would otherwise be writing checks and planting trees if only their do-gooder drive wasn't mollified by their pink-topped Yoplait, whereas I am am of the more cynical impression that, rather than replacing activism, the idea of consumption philanthropy stealthily foists it upon unsuspecting shopper, expanding the overall reach of charitable organizations. It's a question of which beget which, the consumption philanthropy increasing apathy or apathy leading to consumption philanthropy as a sneaky way to touch more people (even if they don't notice).

Furthermore, the qualms about who and what gets the money, are, I think some what besides the point. She cites the breast cancer funding specifically, pointing out how it's not as deadly to women as heart disease or other kinds of cancer, but I think that's a tricky road to go down. I think it's almost impossible to state conclusively that one charity is more worthy of attention than another, because the things they hope to fix or ease are so personal. You can show me statistics point to heart disease as a leading killer, but that's not going to change my predilection to donate to cancer funds as cancer has touched my life in a much more prevalent way. Alzheimer's isn't fatal, but the emotional toll can't be measured. Project Smile or Project Linus don't deal with medical issues at all, but I don't think that lessens their importance in terms of the impact they have on the people they touch.

I'm not saying she's not right about some of these things, and I certainly agree they need more thought and discussion. I'll probably go home tonight, re-read the article, and change my mind about half the things I just said. But I also don't think we should dismiss the positive effects of consumption philanthropy, and so thought I'd say so.

And You Can Quote Me: The Polysyllabic Spree; Nick Hornby

It should always be clear why someone gets shot. If I ever shoot you, I promise you there will be a really good explanation, one you will grasp immediately, should you live.

I just wish I had friends who could recommend books like Mystic River, too. Are you that person? Do you have any vacancies for a pal? If you can't be bothered with a full-on friendship,with all the tearful, drunken late-night phone calls and bitter accusations and occasional acts of violence thus entailed (the violence is always immediately followed by an apology; I hasten to add), then maybe you could just tell me he titles of the books.

Witches Can Be Right, Giants Can Be Good

Okay, so maybe quoting Sondheim is both a little a) unrelated and b) theater dork overload, but the basic message of this post from hilzoy reminds me of the basic takeaway of that song. That is, your "enemies" are people, and we shouldn't forget that.

And You Can Quote Me: The Woman in White; Wilkie Collins

This is the story of what a Woman's patience can endure, and what a Man's resolution can achieve.

Are we, I wonder, quite such genuine boys and girls now as our seniors were in their time?

"You will be kinder than ever, if you will walk on fast, and not speak to me. I sadly want to quiet myself, if I can."

"...no woman does think much of her own sex, although few of them confess it as freely as I do."

...sensations...crowded on me...familiar sensations which we all know, which spring to life in most of our hearts, die again in so many, and renew their bright existence in so few...

Something wanting, something wanting– and where it was, and what it was, I could not say.

We go to Nature for comfort in trouble, and sympathy in joy, only in books.

Peaceful, fast-flowing, happy time ! my story glides by you now as swiftly as you once glided by me. Of all the treasure that you poured so freely into my heart, how much is left me that has purpose and value enough to be written on this page?

I loved her.
Ah ! how well I know all the sadness and all the mockery that is contained in those three words. I can sigh over my mournful confession with the tenderest woman who reads it and pities me. I can laugh at it as bitterly as the hardest man who tosses it from him in contempt. I loved her! Feel for me, or despise me, I confess it with the same immovable resolution to own the truth.

I must lose her soon, and love her the more unchangeably for the loss.

"And your mother?"
"I don't get on well with her. We are a trouble and a fear to each other."

"Don't speak of tomorrow...Let the music speak to us tonight, in a happier language than ours."

"I left yesterday to decide, and yesterday has decided. It is too late to go back."

"Are you to break your heart to set his mind at ease? No man under heaven deserves these sacrifices from us women. Men! They are the enemies of our innocence and our peace..."

Is this the end to all that sad story? Oh, not the end– surely not the end!

"Keep me always doing something...keep me always in company with somebody. Don't let me think– that is all I ask now...don't let me think."

The last day has been all confusion and wretchedness. How can I write about it? – and yet, I must write. Anything is better than brooding over my own gloomy thoughts.

"..if you are upset trust the devil to save his own."

I say what other people only think, and when all the rest of the world is in conspiracy to accept the mask for the true face, mine is the rash hand that tears off the plump pasteboard, and shows the bare bones beneath.

Women can resist a man's love, a man's fame, a man's personal appearance, and a man's money, but they cannot resist a man's tongue when he knows how to talk to them.

"I am still walking on the dark road which leads me...to the unknown Retribution and the inevitable End. Wait and look. The Pestilence which touches the rest will pass me...Another step... on the dark road. Wait and look. The arrows that strike the rest will spare me...Another step on the journey. Wait and look. The Sea which drowns the rest will spare me...Darker and darker...farther and farther yet. Death takes the good, the beautiful, and the young– and spares me. The Pestilence that wastes, the Arrow that strikes, the Sea that drowns, the Grave that closes over Love and Hope, are steps on my journey, and take me nearer and nearer to the End."

"I feel my inborn admiration of all that is noble, and great, and good, purified by the breath of heaven on an evening like this."

"Listen!...There will be a change tomorrow."

The events of yesterday warned me to be ready, sooner or later, to meet the worst. Today is not yet at an end, and the worst has come.

"They are all in love with some other man. Who gets the first of a woman's heart? In all my experience I have never yet met with the man who was Number One. Number Two, sometimes. Number Three, Four, Five, often. Number One, never! He exists, of course– but I have not met with him."

I accomplish my destiny with a calmness which is terrible to myself.

It is the grand misfortune of my life that nobody will let me alone.

Conceive my situation, if you please. Is language adequate to describe it? I think not.

I had done all man could to rise after the shock, and accept my life resignedly– to let my great sorrow come in tenderness to my heart, and not in despair.

This was the story of the past– the story so far as we knew it then.

"Bless you, we are all asleep here! We don't march with the times."

The dress of Virtue, in our parts, was cotton print. I had silk.

"The best men are not consistent in good– why should the worst men be consistent in evil?"

Such is the World, such Man, such Love. What are we (I ask) but puppets in a show-box? Oh, omnipotent Destiny, pull our string gently! Dance us mercifully off our miserable stage!

Where is the Rembrandt who could depict our midnight procession? Alas for the Arts! alas for this most pictorial of all subjects! The modern Rembrandt is nowhere to be found.

Youths! I invoke your sympathy. Maidens! I claim your tears.

In Which the Author Sounds Off About Modern Shakespeare Attitudes

A week ago I went into D.C. to sit on an open rehearsal for the Shakespeare Theater Company's production of King Lear, opening on Tuesday. I highly applaud the STC for giving the public access to their rehearsal process, as it is a wonderful window into the world of theater, and it turned out to be a highly enjoyable afternoon.

That said, I took strong issue to something said during the opening remarks. While welcoming the sizable crowd to the space and setting up what we would be seeing in terms of the play and the process, we were told that "this is King Lear like you've never seen it before."

It's an innocuous statement, one frequently bandied about and used to describe almost any Shakespeare production not involving corsets and starched ruffs, and that's why I take issue with it. This production of Lear has been highly lauded and much anticipated, and I'm sure it will turn out to be an evening of exciting performances and will in some way shed new light on the play, but to trumpet it as some kind of pinnacle of innovation is, in my mind, both misleading and detrimental.

If you are, say, the Tiny Ninja Theater, than, yes, you can rightfully proclaim a Lear like no other. But a production such as the STC's, wherein the cast is gender faithful, the staging (from all I could see) very close to presentational and the telling linear and loyal to the work should not be hailed as something mind-blowingly innovative. That it has energy, that it has life, that it is set in another country (Yugoslavia, it would seem) and in an era post-1616 is something that should be embraced and triumphed. But not, not as a brave new world. In all the productions I have seen, but two have been done in the period style, and they were both at The Globe, a space specifically designed to put one in the mind frame of the Bard's original staging.

I take issue with the STC not because they are the only ones, or because this production's claim to innovation is particularly offensive, but because they are just the most recent in a long-line of examples I have come across. In fact, I don't blame the STC at all. I blame the audiences.

I don't know when, exactly, Shakespeare became sacred. Originally written for the working classes of Elizabethan London, his plays were anachronistic, melodramatic, implausible and, in some instances, downright profane. That they also happened to be brilliant gives them sustained life even 400 some years later. But it's also this brilliance that has contributed to the bubble around them, as if they were delicate pieces of spun china instead of the kind of earthy pewter found in the taverns that populated the South Bank. As a result, audiences have developed this mindset of reverence, often couple with intimidation, in regards to the plays. They are, admittedly, sometimes difficult to understand the first time around, and as a result theatergoers have an over-heightened sense of self-satisfaction and expectation. "I am going to see Shakespeare," they say to themselves, "this makes me smart and cultured."

Well, yes, it does. But if that's your attitude than more often than not it comes with the view that Shakespeare should be in the same category as string quartets, books with few periods and restaurants that specialize in dishes covered in coulis or ganache. And that's just wrong.

During my time in England, I worked as an usher at a theater where the RSC was in residence. While none of the three plays were done "traditionally" (and keep in mind that even that is a misnomer, as even the most "traditional" companies these days are often co-ed), The Taming of the Shrew was the one that drew large criticism for its seeming liberties. Setting the oft-disposed Christopher Sly induction in a modern day strip club and then physicalizing the sexual puns within the play, the production outraged patrons who found it shocking and, according to one particularly livid man, pornographic. What upset me more than the reaction to the staging was the fact that behind these complaints lay a clear and obvious ignorance as to what the play was actually saying. There was no true understanding, or it would have been plain that the RSC was simply suiting the action to the word. The patrons who complain so loudly about seeing what Shakespeare wrote illustrated in a clear way are the same ones who go to the shows to ratchet up cultural brownie points and status, not out of any particular love of the plays themselves or support of their continuing place in modern theater.

Which brings us back to the main point. The problem is not that STC, or any company for that matter, shouldn't take pride in their production for being lively and vigorous and trying to see the play in a new light. It's that they feel the need to warn us, to prepare us, to make excuses for their lack of French hoods by promising we get even more credit for allowing them to present something in a exciting way. And that we, as an audience, hold them to those veiled apologies, making it more difficult for fresh and new takes to get the credit and attention they deserve.

If Shakespeare can't be toyed with, messed with, examined and explored and then exploded on-stage, then his plays become museum pieces; carbon copies of productions seen by each subsequent generation without the evolution his language so brilliantly provides for. The play might be the thing, but it's the production that's what brings it to life.

It's up to us to open our minds and make sure it's not D.O.A.

And You Can Quote Me: Brideshead Revisted; Evelyn Waugh

"Just the place to bury a crock of gold," said Sebastian. "I should like to bury something precious in every place where I've been happy and then, when I was old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember."

"But you can't believe things because they are a lovely idea."
"But I do. that's how I believe."

For a few happy hours of rehearsal, for a few ecstatic minutes of performance, they had played splendid parts, their own great ancestors, the famous paintings they were thought to resemble; now it was over and in the bleak light of day they must go back to their homes; to the husband who came to London too often, to the lover who lost at cards, and to the child who grew up too fast.

"I was determined to have a happy Christmas."
"Did you?"
"I think so. I don't remember it much, and that's always a good sign, isn't it?"

But as I drove away and turned back in the car to take what promised to be my last view of the house, I felt that I was leaving part of myself behind, and that wherever I went afterwards I should feel the lack of it, and search for it hopelessly, as ghosts are said to do, frequenting the spots where they buried material treasures without which they cannot pay their way to the nether world.

"They can't hurt us, can they?"
"Not to-night; not now."
"Not for how many nights?"

"If I was rex..." his mind seemed full of such suppositions: "If I was archbishop of Westminster," If I was head of the Great Western Railway," If I was an actress"-- as though it were a mere trick of fate that he was none of these things, and he might awake any morning to find the matter adjusted.

He left the sentence eloquently unfinished.

"I don't want to make it easier for you," I said; "I hope your heart may break; but I do understand."

Assassination Vacation and Take the Cannoli; Sarah Vowell

Assassination Vacation
Sarah Vowell

A few years ago I was lucky enough to catch Sarah Vowell read at Revenge of the Bookeaters, an annual event hosted by David Eggers' 826 program to foster writing. I, like most people of discerning taste, am a Pixar fan and therefore recognized her voice as that of Violet from The Incredibles, but it was the first time I had come across her writing. Enjoying her sly, affectionately-sarcastic humor, I made a mental note to check out some of her writing. I'm sorry to say it took me half a decade to make good on that idea, but I was pleased to find it well worth the wait.

Assassination Vacation looks at Vowell's trip around the country to see the places associated with presidents, their assassinations, and the men who pulled the trigger. As we follow her from Washington D.C. to Buffalo to New Jersey we learn not only about the history of the assassinations but about the circumstances surrounding them and the people on the fringe. The doctor who set Booth's leg, for example, or the waiter who punched McKinley's assassin. The tales are peppered with anecdotes, references to to the musical Assassins and Vowell's own engaging reflections on the downsides of B&B's and her relationship with her nephew.

Having a perverted interest in the Lincoln assassination since the age of seven, not to mention a love of musicals and my own New York mindset, I loved every bit of this book. It was engaging, informative, easy to read while still intelligent and humorous. My one qualm, if I have one, is that only three of the four assassinations are covered. Without explanation, JFK is left off the list, only being tangentially mentioned in reference to other incidents. Since much has been written about that day in Texas, it might be that Vowell felt too much had already been written, but for someone born after 1980 and new to the history presidential deaths, it was a stark omission.

Still, her attention to detail to the other three events more than makes up for it. All in all, a fantastic read and one I highly recommend.

Take the Cannoli

Sarah Vowell

Having enjoyed Assassination Vacation as much as I did, I was eager to dive into another Vowell tome, and Take the Cannoli seemed the perfect follow-up. having recently returned from a stint abroad, I am in the process of rediscovering and falling for America, and so a collection of essays from "the new world' as the cover proclaims sounded just up my alley.

Unfortunately, this collection of essays is just that, and therefore falls into the trap that seems unavoidable for people writing short non-fiction pieces: the awkward ending. I found this to be my biggest problem with I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley, series of pieces reflecting on the life of a 20-something female in New York. Time and time again an enjoyable, thoughtful essay would fall apart in the last paragraph, sounding much like the end of an essay written by a college sophomore struggling to make her word count the night before the paper is due.

Vowell, a more seasoned writer, is able to to avoid this problem more than Crosley, and essays such as "Ixnay on My Way," "What I See When I Look at the Face on a $20 Bill," and "American Goth" are complete, well-written and cohesive. But that doesn't go for all of them, and often I felt she wrapped them up awkwardly, trying to impart a lesson or moral on something that should have been simply an amusing musing.*

While Vowell's voice is as sharp as ever, Take the Cannoli feels more like waiting-room fodder. Something you can dip in and out of, enjoying in the moment but not mourning terribly if you hear "The doctor will see you know" before finishing the page.

*notice how I do precisely this in the Shakespeare sound off...as they say, "I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.