Comedic Genius

When I first made the decision to take the "Shakespeare" course this trimester, I did it because I had enjoyed Mr. Kiczek's classes freshman and junior years rather than out love of Shakespeare.  I had heard that Shakespeare was a genius, and that some of his plays were absolutely hilarious, but I wasn't believing it.  Maybe his plays were funny when he wrote then, but I wondered how they could still be funny today.  I was intrigued, however, because many people held Shakespeare in such a high regard, and swore that his comedies were actually funny. 

When we read A Midsummer Nights Dream, I picked up on some of the jokes, and understood how many people could think that this was indeed comedy.  Then, when we acted out some scenes, in particularly the Rude Mechanical's play, I further appreciated much of the humor, and grew a new respect for Shakespeare and his comedic genius. 

But it wasn't until our entire class went to the production of A Midsummer Nights Dream that I fully appreciated just how funny this comedy was. Much of the acting was absolutely phenomenal, and brought out a whole new side of Shakespeare to me. The final scene, that same Rude Mechanical's production was the highlight of this show, and the highlight of the course for sure. 

As I reflected on the show, I struggled to think of a movie that had kept me so engaged and almost in tears laughing as that production of A Midsummer Nights Dream had. I realized why so many people rave about Shakespeare's work, and that it was still relevant and very funny even today.  I am certainly glad that I took this course, and now think that I may need to continue to see plays that people describe as funny, and not just dismiss them. 

Get on Up: Stepping Onstage and Falling in Love

In what originally seemed like an overly ambitious endeavor, we have covered much in our short time together. We viewed an intimate Shakespearean performance, read three of The Bard's great works, formalized our very own production proposal, and acted out a scene with our peers. Particularly from the performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the talk of the town (class) was wildly laudatory, making it the highpoint for most. Thankfully, I did not feel the course taper down from there; in fact, I felt it just kicked off. For in closing that first chapter, we turned the page to many more. Swinging from comedy to tragedy and everything in between, we breathed many of Shakespeare's distinct aromas. You could say that we were thrown into two separate worlds for this course, and you wouldn't be wrong: there was the world of the text and the world of the world. That world, of course, was the living, breathing terrain of the spoken word.  I had hoped we wouldn't get too bogged down in the world of the text, scrutinizing every word that Shakespeare had written because, in all seriousness, he himself probably did not. Presented for a widely illiterate audience, his success depended just as much on picking the right actors as it did on choosing the exact words; the performances would never sell if the actors were lifeless sticks in the mud. So in that sense, we learned, in equal parts, both why lines were said and how they would be delivered. We learned to navigate these distant lands with skill and fondness, and in the process many have surfaced as true Shakespearean scholars. I'm thankful the opportunity.

The most testing moment, and most revelatory, was indeed our final bout: stepping up to the stage and doing justice to Shakespeare's plays in front of an audience. Kudos to the cast of A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Pearl Theatre Company, who's chemistry and passion flawlessly mixed around the sandy, barebone set for all to see. They served as a counterpoint to the newbies—us—that tried their hand at meeting that standard, and I think everyone gave excellent showings. While undoubtedly a crucial challenge, our performance made me fretful and uneasy; frankly, I'd vote for a ten page paper over it any day. Yet, I'm quite happy we weren't given a choice—that would have given us a chance to skate around what can perhaps be seen as the culmination of one's study of Shakespeare.  Moving from reading to writing to declaiming to acting is a frightful journey—but it's also the most natural. I learned two things from our time acting out our scene from Shakespeare: first, "to be or not to be" is not quite for me (I'll stick to the writing), and second, you shortchange yourself by not watching the scene pan out in motion. Otherwise, you're only getting the bottom frame of the Mona Lisa.

Within the realm of the text, there was much to glean as well. Most impactful, the graveyard scene in Hamlet unfolds the most jarring truth—that despite one's worldly success, we all get thrown back into the same dirty ditch. How quickly and callously the gravedigger tossed the skulls out of the grave genuinely shocked me; coupled with Hamlet's chilling reductions of a court jester, politician, lawyer, Alexander the Great, and Caesar to mere dust, he delivers a woeful prognosis. I couldn't help being taken aback by this scene. Both the visual image rendered and the symbolic message conveyed were utterly terrifying. As we embark on new quests beyond these halls, to do what many of those very people sought to do, that scene actually gave me pause—am I going to do enough that I won't just be some dusty skull in a grave? Although Hamlet is right in saying that there's not much remaining of all those people in a material sense, he's still partially wrong; at least for Alexander the Great and Caesar, they were able to amass a legacy that will live through the ages. Their works, for better or for worse, transcended time and their nations. Certain pursuits, it seems, endure the ages and become immortalized in the writings and memories of our descendants. While I don't think I'm quite nearly cut out to be a conquerer or an emperor, nor do I want to be, this moment of Shakespeare's imbued the importance of acting beyond our lifetime. As Thoreau put it, we must "suck the marrow out of life," so that each day is not lost and that our works may help future generation. So in many ways, this scene may have been the most salient passage of all the books we've perused at Regis.

Art critic Robert Hughes once said that it's not about teaching students literature that's "relevant to their experience," because, in fact, writing creates experience. I wholly agree. Some may say that Shakespeare is a dead white male incapable of imparting anything to a modern reader. They would be wrong. Instead, Shakespeare's plays—being so unlike reality at points—waft readers away to private sanctuaries. From a forest where fairies and lovers intermingle to a lonely island filled with a motley gang of Italian nobles, we get glimpses into playful worlds that we could never imagine. My eyes have been opened while pacing along.

The Finale

When we read Othello last year, the class was more focused on text analysis and so I didn't really consider the fact that Shakespeare's plays were written to be performed. However, in this Shakespeare course, I was able to integrate the performance aspect into my understanding of Shakespeare. This was highlighted by our trip to see the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Pearl Theatre. This production far exceeded my expectations, but also revealed to me why the play was a romantic comedy. Reading and analyzing the book did not quite show me the “comedy” genre it is associated with, despite the scenes with the Rude Mechanicals. However, the live production of the play showed me why it truly was a romantic comedy. Perhaps, it was the director’s witty and modern interpretations of certain scenes, but the actors and actresses were simply hilarious. The sudden shifts from drama to comedy were strengthened by the music and the lighting on stage. From an optimistic setting, the stage sudden changes to a darker color and music, one that immediately momentarily stops the audience’s hearts and keeps them in suspense.

The opening scene was very confusing, one that I still do not quite understand. Only knowing that it was supposed to be a scene of the capture of Hippolyta, I was puzzled at the actors and actresses’ changing of characters. However, as the play progressed, it became quite clear who played which character. It was quite interesting to see that the costumes worn on stage were athletic track gears with glow-in-the-dark stripes; it was essential and fitting, however, given the amount of passionate energy the characters displayed. What truly made me awe at creativity was the director’s interpretation of the character Snug the joiner. Literally interpreting the word “joiner,” the director had an actor and actress join their heads together and act as one. I truly thought that the characters the actors and actresses played best were the Rude Mechanicals. Jason O’Connell, who played Nick Bottom, made every action and movement display his character’s desire to control everyone’s part. The controversial relationship between Peter Quince and Nick Bottom was shown to be one of harmonious love. The director showed Quince and Bottom hugging after every command Bottom made to his fellow comrades. Later on in the scene when the Rude Mechanicals performed their play of Pyramus and Thisbe, we see that the criticisms said by the Athenian nobles were heard by the Rude Mechanicals. When Moonshine was criticized, the actress said her lines with a sudden stopping and proceeded to sob. However, the play quickly escalates to one of laugher as the crevice of the wall originally shown in the play as a V sign, was now hilariously the pelvis area. Although this was my first experience of watching a live Shakespeare production, I dare to say that no other productions, be it movies or videos, have made me laugh as hard as this production at the Pearl Theatre Company. 

This performance aspect was further integrated with our Hamlet paper and our own live production. While the Hamlet paper allowed us to think of how we want to have our production conducted, the final performance allowed me to act and see it live with my own eyes. Fortunately enough, I was in the Hamlet group for the final performance and was able to put my idea of the "to be or not to be" soliloquy on a live stage. Preparing for the final performance ourselves and working with my peers was a valuable experience as I came to understand and see Shakespeare's works in different angles from the various interpretations of the text. 

The Significance of Setting

The first sentence of the course description reads, "Shakespeare never wrote for a classroom; he wrote for an audience."  So, it was no surprise when, one day, Mr. Kiczek pulled the clunky projector down in room 312 and began to show us a film clip; it had become commonplace in the course. When he began to show a part of the Globe Theater's production of The Tempest, I noticed something quite unique.  Caliban, Prospero's "poisonous slave" (1.2.383), entered the stage covered from head-to-toe in clay-colored paint.  Interestingly, the colors of the paint perfectly matched Caliban's clay-colored cave and various other parts of the stage.  This simple gesture taught me an invaluable lesson: one's surrounding environment plays a pivotal role in one's development.

In the Globe's adaptation of The Tempest, the use of color tells an incredible amount about Caliban's development, and how his experience with his environment (the island) has shaped him.  In one of his first lines, Caliban says to Prospero, "This island's mine by Sycorax, my mother, / which thou tak'st from me.  When thou cam'st first, / Thou strok'st me and made much of me" (1.2.397-399).  Clearly, Caliban claims that the island is his; it belonged to his mother, so he feels that he is the rightful owner.  The Globe's version realizes the import of this fact and, by painting Caliban the same color as the stage, constantly reminds the viewer of Caliban's roots in the island.  Caliban also includes his relationship with Prospero as part of his current disposition: Caliban feels that Prospero has mistreated him, that the colonizer has oppressed the colonized.  By painting Caliban, the Globe emphasizes Caliban's supposed innocence as the victim of Prospero's persecution. In addition, Caliban's coloring matches the great vertical columns, suggesting that he seeks to rise to power once again, and to reestablish his claim to the island.  All of his animosity towards Prospero, mixed with his lineage, lead him to seek power.  Thus, the Globe's decision to paint Caliban reveals so much about the character's situation. Shakespeare plays with this idea of environment many a time in his plays, especially those encountered in this course.

The setting of A Midsummer Night's Dream explains so much about each of the characters.  Helena, Hermia, Demetrius, Lysander, and Theseus all come from Athens, a prominent Greek city, where power lies in the hands of the duke.  On the other hand, Puck, Oberon, Titania, and all the fairies come from the woods, where magic reigns.  Thus, when the Athenian characters enter into the woods, it becomes quite clear that the power remains in the hands of the magicians; simply put, it is the fairies environment, and they can control it.  

In Hamlet, Hamlet's entire downfall is caused by his unstable environment.  He begins the play as an unbalanced character, but his insecurities only become magnified as he is pressured by his environment.  He feels the burden of his father's recent death.  He grows angry at his mother's lack of mourning and her all-too-quick marriage to Claudius.  The coming of his father's ghost.  These unwanted changes in his life open the door to his tragic end.  

And, of course, setting plays possibly the largest role in The Tempest.  Although Caliban wears the colors of the island in the Globe's production, it is clear to all that Prospero controls every aspect of the isle.  He causes the shipwreck.  He has power over each person who sets foot on that island. Yet, environment plays an even greater factor in this play than what meets the eye.  After all, what caused Prospero to leaved Milan in the first place?  Those around him, namely his brother Antonio, had forced him away.  These events were totally outside of Prospero's authority but, when he moves to the island, everything is inside his realm of power.  A change of setting has transformed him from a man with nothing to a man with everything.

Through Shakespeare's works, the meaning of environment has become abundantly more clear to me. After viewing that fragment of the Globe's production, I have realized the extreme importance of setting in everyday life.  There are an incalculable number of factors in a person's "setting" today; as in Shakespeare's plays, "setting" constitutes much more than physical location.  It also encompasses wealth, family situation, friends, and countless other parts.  But, is it really possible to define a person independent of setting?  No--the real Caliban can never remove his discoloration.

"Are we in the right place?"

 “Are we watching the wrong play?”

I remember asking this question as the lights of the theater dimmed and a man began screeching and bellowing like a monkey. It was the first play I had ever watched so I was not sure what to expect. I thought the entire play would be monotonous and lifeless with the occasional joke to make sure the audience didn’t fall completely asleep. So it was a big surprise to see the actors immediately start with a compelling, energetic interpretation of the opening scene of the play. At that moment, I knew I was in for a long night full of laughter.

Prior to this performance, I had lukewarm feelings about A Midsummer Night’s Dream. While I enjoyed reading it, I hardly ever laughed at any of the passages that seemed like they were meant to be funny. The words themselves seemed dull and without life. I knew from my previous encounters with Shakespeare that his works were better seen than read but I simply could not see much humor or entertainment in anything other than the antics of the Rude Mechanicals. However, after our class trip, my view on the play completely changed. Seeing how five actors and the creative director could breathe so much life into what previously looked like dry words on a page to me altered my perspective on the play and made me truly appreciate A Midsummer Night’s Dream as a form of entertainment. For example, the way the director played around with the chink in the wall that separated Pyramus and Thisbe was simply something I never would have thought of while reading the play. Little additions and interpretations like this made me reconsider what I thought I knew about A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Shakespeare as a whole.

As a result of the performance, I received a greater understanding of Shakespeare. I came to the complete realization of how truly important it is to witness Shakespeare’s works rather than simply reading his plays. The energy and emotion put into the play by actors is something that cannot be felt by looking at words in a book. The interesting interpretations different directors have for each of Shakespeare’s works can completely change the way you understand his plays like it did for me.

The Dark Prince

First level came with the Hamlet production letter—marinating in the big soliloquy’s over and over again until a lucid enough vision of the play emerged into mind. To justify my production, I had been looking for lines that really outlined the suffering of life that would go along with my production’s setting—a miserable colony, Roanoke to be specific, in the, so to speak, “undiscover’d country from whose bourn / no traveler returns” (1.3.80-81).  I brought up a lot of lines from the soliloquy that originated the abovementioned phrase in my paper, and, as horrifically sentimental as it sounds, the language kept on rolling around my skull with their emotional weight as I threw the words onto paper: “thus conscience does make cowards of us all,” “for who would bear the whips and scorns of time,” and especially “for in that sleep of death what dreams may come / when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.”

            But then came memorizing those very same lines for the performance—the second level, as it were. Not only stringing the words together in proper order: my mind would subconsciously substitute in synonyms for certain words or remove words entirely for the sake of what felt right to me instead of sticking to the text, and fixing those errors made me wholly aware of the powerful quality to certain word choice in the “to be or not to be” soliloquy. Why one should say “outrageous fortune” instead of “outrageous misfortune,” or “the thousand natural shocks” instead of just “the thousand shocks;” this discipline forced me to come to terms with the true injustices and emotions dealt with in the soliloquy.

            Madness and personality came after memorization. What movements felt natural: should Hamlet be calmly sipping a glass of scotch as he laments the scorns of time, or should he be absolutely freaking out? To be candid, I found myself constantly being drawn back to that awesome interrogation scene from the “The Dark Knight:” a wholly dynamic scene that heavily relies on emotional volatility, a characteristic that I think works especially well with the hyper intelligent and possibly hyper mad character of Hamlet—thus the sweeps from calmness to craziness that I hopefully conveyed in my performance yesterday. Essentially, in trying to evolve from a prosaic delivery of the text into the emotions and enterprises of great pitch and moment that define a character, I grew into a third-derivative appreciation for Shakespeare—the final link to realizing how these characters were written for viewers, not necessarily readers, in the diverse emotions they lend themselves too. Truly all molds of emotive humanity—I tested out a lot of different performance styles for this scene before settling on “calm-angry-crazy,” everything from the aforementioned “wistfully-drunk-reflective” to “charitably-whimsical-casual.” And though I had to make a choice in the end, so many different styles (and hundreds of styles more, I am sure) felt right in their delivery—in other words, I came to the daunting realization that the themes of these plays, or at least the theme of pointless mortality in Hamlet, fit right into the folds of all styles of humanity, even mine. And that will keep me coming back for more.

A Million Different Quinces

            In many English classes throughout my Regis career, I have felt that the in-class textual analysis was focused on one or two central themes, and the discussions that followed almost strictly stuck to those themes.  While reading Dubliners, we focused on the imprisoning and stifling setting of Ireland; while reading Frankenstein we focused on the danger of knowledge and the idea of appearance.  In this class, however, while guided in discussions focused on central themes, we held the reins, and our assignments fully captured the freedom we had in the class.  Our A Midsummer Night’s Dream paper had five prompts, each representing an essential theme, but we always had the option of creating a prompt of our own.  The Hamlet paper also had very few guidelines—while we had to include certain elements, almost every aspect of the production was ours to create, including the setting, the stage directions, the actors, etc.  The final project capped off what was a very experimental and exhilarating trimester.  Through actually being able to direct a scene, we fully embodied the ideas of personal poetic interpretation and textual analysis, while being able to create art!  In fact, other than the drive to get a good grade, a very important incentive existed with the final project: the want to entertain!  I worked hard memorizing my lines and stage directions so that those who viewed my scene would feel joy and would laugh at my drunken antics, and while reciting lines over and over wasn’t necessarily fun, the license to create a set and design costumes and set the lighting was definitely a great experience.

Yet what was even more amazing than the design of the mechanics of the production was the lead-up to the performance.  Initially practicing my lines, I thought of Mr. Milea and his portrayal of Quince as nervous and jittery. Stupidly trying to emulate him, I almost completely copied his style of performance.  Luckily I soon realized I possessed neither the skill nor the personality to put on such a performance, so I changed my outlook.  I started to have fun with it, and only after reciting prologue after prologue in various voices while wearing various costumes did I realize that there really existed infinite different Quinces, all of whom would be perfect for the production.  I tried the stupid Quince, one who had no idea how to speak correctly or monitor volume (as I wore baggy pants and a dunce hat).  I tried the quiet and intelligent yet out-of-place Quince by wearing a neat shirt and tie and speaking softly and slowly.  The beauty of the whole thing was that one Quince wasn’t objectively better than the next, yet I had the power to choose which I wanted my rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream to portray (so I picked the drunken Quince, naturally).  And after my performance, I spoke to Mr. Milea and as I told him how our Quinces were very different, his simple response was a fitting culmination, I believe, of our Shakespeare class.  His response, while I do not remember the exact words, was along the lines of, “Yeah, they were different, but it’s all the better that way!”

            As cliché as it sounds, it was this very subjectivity that allowed me to appreciate the idea of perspective not just within the theater, but also how it relates to the world at large.  And while there was no single moment or assignment that particularly catalyzed this revelation, the class, slowly through performance and close reading, taught me to think in different ways, to try to comprehend the meanings of plays from different angles, and to have the open-mindedness to accept other people’s views of these timeless masterpieces.  I’m happy that I didn’t steal Mr. Milea’s execution of Quince’s prologue, just as I was happy and entertained to see the other groups conduct their own forms of Shakespeare plays that I would not have imagined myself.  For example, Brit O’Daly’s crazed and contemporary “to be or not to be” soliloquy, using a chalkboard and Siri, was quite original, and this originally made the performance so great and memorable.

To prove this idea of perspective, I have added two clips, two starkly different performances of Hamlet’s “what a piece of work is a man” speech.  While the clips stand in such contrast, I believe that both are beautiful and telling portrayals of Hamlet’s character and are central to the overall meaning of the production, a testament to how there is no single correct way to portray any Shakespeare play, and that the differences in performance make Shakespeare's work so telling and entertaining.