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selenak: (Goethe/Schiller - Shezan)
For the purpose of this reply, I shall understand the question to mean specifically theatre plays, not "drama" in a wider sense including tv shows, or not-stageplay based movies. This being said, here are some of mine, in no particular order:

Friedrich Schiller: Don Carlos

Good old Schiller wrote many a historical drama, and his Wallenstein trilogy is somewhat closer to actual history than Don Carlos, the titular hero of which has little to nothing to do with the historical Carlos, and the actual hero of which is an OC. (Which makes Don Carlos still more historical than, say, Maria Stuart, which in addition to the famously not occuring meeting between Elizabeth and Mary also includes invented Leicester/Mary invented backstory, and another OC in the form of Mortimer - not nearly as cool as Posa. And let's not even talk about Schiller's take on Jeanne D'Arc wherein she falls for a sexy Englishman and dies on the battlefield.) But Don Carlos just works as a drama. It has it all: a tragic villain in Philip of Spain (seriously, Schiller's Philip is all the more remarkable because he's written at a time when not just Philip but Catholic Spaniards in general showed up only as moustache twirling villains when a Protestant author was doing the writing - whereas Schiller's Philip is so much of a tragic villain that "is Philip the true tragic (antihero) of the play?" is a favourite school essay writing topic, and the role is one of THE big roles for German actors to tackle once they've passed out of the youthful hero stage), the most famous bromantic (do we still say that? Or slashy?) relationship in German fictional literature in Carlos/Posa, while Posa also has tension of Carlos' Dad Philip, and not one but two more dimensional and actually interesting women in Queen Elisabeth and the Princess Eboli. The big OC of the play, Posa, is that rarity in fiction, a hardcore idealist who is at the same time manipulative and hasn't met a complicated plan he didn't like when a simple one would have done better (basically, he's Roj Blake without an Avon, because Carlos definitely isn't Avon, and nor is Philip), and the Inquisitor puts all other creepy Inquisitors to shame in his relentlessless, passionless inhumanity (think post reveal O'Brien in 1984. And it has some of the best dialogues and rethoric ever written in a stage play. "Sire, geben Sie Gedankenfreiheit!"

(Alas, there isn't a good translation in English that I'm aware of. The one available for free online is some flowery Victorian 19th century thing which isn't up to Schiller's 18th century cutting edge German.)

(Some guy named Verdi did a pretty nice musical version in both French and Italian with universal accessability, though. (*veg at [personal profile] cahn)


William Shakespeare: Julius Caesar

Speaking of plays with some of the best dialogues and rethoric written for the stage... Never mind clocks on towers strike in Shakespeare's ancient Rome, this one is a tense political thriller in its first half, and then presents us with the fallout. It's another one of those where the title character isn't actually the main character or hero, though while Brutus is the closest thing the play has to a hero said second half is also an illustration of "why you should never let Brutus do the planning, and actually, Cassius does care". The small "Cinna the Poet" scene is one of the best and disturbing illustrations of what mob violence means. And it's a play without neat answers - no matter how it's produced, you're neither cheering for the victorious triumvirate at the end, nor can you see Brutus winning. And there hasn't been a depiction of the running up to Caesar's death, the assassination itself and the aftermath since that hasn't been influenced by it or argueing with it. I've yet to see a production which doesn't captivate me.


George Bernhard Shaw: Saint Joan


Of the many, many depiction of Jeanne d'Arc, this is still my favourite, and I think you can make an argument that it's Shaw's greatest play. I've watched it on stage, I've seen it filmed, I've heard it in audio form, and I never, ever, had enough of it. Historically speaking, it's also the first one that takes the by then publicly available trial records into account, and of course said trial was one of the reasons why Shaw went for Joan as a heroine to begin with. The dialogues are all brilliant - Shaw at his best there - but the play also has heart, which isn't always the case in his oeuvre. Notably in contrast to almost every other depiction (that is, where she is the heroine, not counting Shakespeare's villainess), Shaw doesn't present her opponents as evil, but as earnestly convinced of their own righteousness (Cauchon) or simply being practical (the Earl of Warwick), and by using Stogumber's English patriotism as a comic foil of Joan's French one, he even avoids letting the play be abused for propaganda value (as happens to poor Jeanne by the French extreme right these days). The fact that no one twirls his moustache has been led to the play being described as not having a villain, which is and isn't true. I think it has one, and that's why you really need the epilogue, with its "Woe to me if all man praise me", and Joan upon learning she has been declared a saint asking whether she should do a miracle and return, upon which every single one of the characters who just praised her being horrified. Also the earlier question to Stogumber, who through the shock of watching Joan's gruesome death in the fire had a change of heart, being asked whether he couldn't have known already, as a Christian, that painfully killing someone is horrible, whereupon he says he'd known in theory, but seeing it was a very different thing. The villain is the state of the world, both in Joan's time and Shaw's (our) own, which keeps demanding human sacrifice. And thus the play doesn't end on a triumphant "she died, but she won!" note but with this: "O God that madest this beautiful earth, when will it be ready to receive Thy saints? How long, O Lord, how long?"

(BTW, for a fascinating discussion of Saint Joan at the time of its publication, see the letters of T.E. Lawrence to Charlotte Shaw - wife of GBS - about it. Not only did he identify with Joan but he drew a line from the scene where she signs the confession to his night in Deraa. I'm quoting from said letters here. )


Michael Frayn: Copenhagen and Heiner Kipphardt In der Sache J. Robert Oppenheimer: listed together because the question of ethics in scientific research, the unreliability and subjectivity of memory, and the different types of responsibility are all themes both plays have in common. Along with the nuclear bomb and WWII as a backdrop. Frayn's play is set when all three main characters - Werner Heisenberg, Nils Bohr and Margarethe, Bohr's wife - are dead and while it circles around the question as to what exactly Heisenberg said to Bohr during his visit in Copenhagen mid war and what Bohr replied as a read thread, it is also uses the fact Margarethe is a third main character to question both of the physicists in their assumptions, to being out the complicated emotional dynamics between them, and to keep the scientific language understandable for an audience which mostly wouldn't have been able to follow a rl Heisenberg and Bohr discussion. There's also a chamber play intimacy achieved with the three characters as the only appearing characters which isn't there in the second play, which uses the 1950s Oppenheimer hearings as its basis (though while it quotes from the actual hearings, it also dramatizes and reorders etc.), meaning you have plenty of characters (though Kipphardt did cut down the number of witnesses from RL). As with Frayn's play and Heisenberg, here it's Oppenheimer being asked what he truly intended, what his responsibility is (and to whom - country in war time, humanity?), and whether or not he betrayed someone and in which sense. Again, as with Margarethe Bohr, the fact that several participants in the hearing aren't scientists is used as a device by the dramatist to use "comprehensible" language. And both Heisenberg and Oppenheimer start their respective plays with one idea about the past and what they did and leave with another. Kipphardt's play is not well known in the English speaking world, but it often ends up as part of the German curriculum, and is one reason why when Nolan's movie Oppenheimer used the 1950s hearings as a framing device this did not surprise or trouble me (as opposed to many a critic who wondered why it couldn't have been solely set in the 1940s). Anyway, both plays ask questions about scientists and their responsibilities without giving an easy answer and use some of the key events of the 20th century as their background without trivalizing them. Kudos.

Lastly, in case long term readers are wondering: Goethe's Faust (either Faust I or Faust II or the Urfaust) isn't on this list because while it's one of my all time favourites, I wouldn't call it a historical play, vaguely medieval setting and the fact there was an actual Faust not withstanding. Goethe went out of his way to avoid tying his version of Faust to a particular era in German history. I mean, the Gretchen plot in I has to happen at a point before the Enlightenment, but that's about it.

The other days
selenak: (Default)
A first few Yuletide recs:


Agatha All Along:

Smart and Powerful: in which Jen encounters Agatha for the first time in the early 20th century. Banter, UST and foiled murderous intentions ensue.


Dune:

Adam's Rib: in which Irulan attempts to interview Paul for her histories between Dune and Dune Messiah. (It works for the Villeneuve movies as well until we get the third one, at least.) Very plausible take on these two and what they do and don't share, having grown up as the first born of great houses with Bene Gesserit training.


The Godfather:

Valediction: Tom Hagen and Connie Corleone after Sonny's death.


Macbeth:

The Future in the Instant: Lady Macbeth makes a choice, which involves talking to her husband at a key point of the narrative.


North and South:

Plum Pudding & Clustered Grapes: Margeret wants to host a Christmas dinner for the workers. No one else thinks this is a good idea...


The Odyssey:

The Hekubiad: In which Hecuba did make it to Ithaka post Troy, and provides us with her own pov on ensuing events.

Roma Sub Rosa Series - Steven Saylor

Sub Rosa: Saylor's take on Lucius Sergius Catilina was for me one of the most captivating elements of the book series, and this short story captures a lot of why, as we get a glimpse on Catilina and Meto shortly before the final battle.
selenak: (Bardolatry by Cheesygirl)
I was in London mostly for work reasons this last week, but I did get some sightseeing and friends meeting done as well, not to mention some book shopping and theatre going, and I'll post a pic spam as soon as I am able. But first, have some reviews:

Plays:

Antony and Cleopatra: staged at the Globe, with Nadia Nadarajah and John Hollingworth in the titular roles. Antony and Cleopatra is one of those plays which just doesn't work for me when I read it but magically does work when I see it performed. In this particular case, there was of course also the charm of seeing it played on a reconstructed Elizabethan theatre, and the particular concept of this specific production, which was letting the Egyptians talk in sign language and the Romans out loud. (Going by the programm, the actors playing the Egyptians are indeed deaf; the Roman actors learned how to do British sign language as well.) (The costumes went for a standard antiquity look.) This made for strengths and weaknesses - on the one hand, the audience was focused even more on facial and body language, plus Antony either using sign language as well or not immediately said something about his current standing with Cleopatra, and the production had the audacity of letting their last scene play out mostly silent - you could have heard a needle fall, and it was breathtaking. On the downside, it meant that early on, the audience had to make up their minds whether to read the subtitles (the play was subtitled throughout, i.e. deaf people could enjoy the solely spoken parts as well) or watch the performances until getting in the rhythm of things. Also, some of the poetry of the language was lost - well, expressed in a different way, I suppose, but the last time I saw this play staged, it was at Stratford with Patrick Stewart as Antony and Harriet Walters as Cleopatra, and once you've heard these two recite those lines...

Otoh: the one point where we hear sounds from Cleopatra - after she, Iras and Charmian have been taken captive by Octavian's people, and a soldier holds her so she can't sign, meaning she has to speak out loud - it felt like a horrible violation, which tells you something about how immersed into this performance I've become.

Hadestown: a musical of which I'd heard a lot of good things, and justly so. Takes both the Orpheus & Eurydice and the Hades & Persephone myths and narrates them in a vaguely Depression era environment - but not "secularized", as it were, i.e. Hades isn't simply an industrialist, he really is a god and Persephone a goddess, etc. This said, the musical does lean into the whole Hades = Pluto = Plutocrat, master of the riches of the earth - symbolism, and the power he has is that of money in a world full of poverty; the famous scene in Ovid where Orpheus manages to make all the Shades who are getting punished in the Underworld - Tantalus, Sisyphus, even the Furies themselves - stop their torment and cry transforms into him being able to stop the exploited Dead/factory workers who've just given him a beating on Hades' behalf from working and make them feel again, for example. Eurydice doesn't get bitten by a snake, she makes a deal with Hades, who in turn is on the outs with Persephone, who increasingly can't cope with the constant switching between Underworld and World of the Living that makes her life. The fifth lead is Hermes (played by an actress looking Dietirch-esque in 1930s suits). The music is great, and the musical has the courage of its convictions apropos the ending.

Stranger Things: The First Shadow: yep, it's a theatre play that works as a prequel to the Netlix series, written by Kate Trefry based on a story from her and Jack Thorne (who has written Harry Potter and the Cursed Child as a way to prove he can write sequels/prequels to hits in another medium). Set during the 1950s, this is the tale of Henry Creel (as sketched out in flashbacks in s4 of the show), plus a new character, Patty Newby (adopted sister of Bob the Hobbit whom Joyce dated in s2), with the teenage versions of Joyce, Hopper, Bob and to a far lesser degree the parents of our future heroes getting involved in varying degrees as things go increasingly weird. Spoilers for the play and the series ensue. )

Books:

Sarah Gordon: Underdog: The Other Other Bronte. Poor Charlotte. Whenever she shows in fiction these last few years, it seems to be as a villain and/or the embodiment of sibling jealousy. Last year, she played the role of the envious sister in the frustrating movie Emily about
guess who; this year, she's the bad girl in this play which I did not have the chance to watch but bought the script of. It's (supposed to be) about Anne and much as the novel The Madwoman Upstairs does, about how Charlotte done her wrong. (Different authors, btw, but both postulate Charlotte, realizing her first novel The Professor sucked, stole the premise from Anne's Agnes Grey to create Jane Eyre. Only this play goes way beyong "Jane Eyre is a plagiarized Agnes Grey!" charge and the historically more accurate "Charlotte didn't allow any reprintings of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall once Anne was dead and thus is responsible for Anne's masterpiece getting forgotten for a century until it was rediscovered"; nope, Underdog has Charlotte constantly belittle and bully Anne like you wouldn't believe. (What about Emily? may a Bronte reader familiar with the fact Anne was closest to Emily and vice versa in the famliy ask. Well, much like Anne hardly shows up in Emily the movie, here Emily is an also ran in Underdog the play until near the end, when she tells Charlotte off for constantly bullying Anne just before her death. But really, otherwise she's just sort of there and not really taking Anne that seriously as a writer, either. As for Anne: supposedly this is her play, but the authorial eagerness in making her the perfect (not Victorian perfect, 21st century perfect) heroine who can see that Charlotte and Emily write unhealthy m/f relationships and is the true pioneer of feminist fiction paradoxically means she's never three dimensional. Also, this is a tale told by its villain, i.e. Charlotte. There's just one sequence where Charlotte isn't present and which isn't about her (Anne's first governessing job). But otherwise, Charlotte is the narrator, trying to justify herself but really unmasking, in a very 19th century novel style, though Wilkie Collins more than any of the Brontes. In conclusion, To Walk Invisible the movie is still the only take on the Sisters which manages to portray all three with sympathy and skill.

Katherine Moar: Farm Hall. Another play, this one set in the titular place in1945 where the British government hosted the German scienistst they'd gotten their hands on until the nuclear bomb(s) dropped, trying to figure out by recording them how far the German atom bomb project had gotten and what they knew. It starts with a quote from Michael Frayn of Copenhagen fame and very much feels like Copenhagen fanfiction in terms of Heisenberg's characterisation (maybe a touch sharper about his ego early on, but two thirds in, in the aftermath of the Hiroshima news, he does talk Otto Hahn through how it could have worked, thus as in Copenhagen providing the counter argument to "he wouldn't have been able to figure out the key bits anyway"). However, it's much more of an ensemble piece. A well done play, but unfortunately I kept having my disbelief suspension snapped, for example when they have some of the German scientists wonder about American movies being so popular and being produced with so much effort when there's a war going on. Dear Katherine Moar, while the German film industry undoubtedly greatly suffered from the Nazi caused exodus of many incredibly talented people, it really got dream funding from the government (a firm believer of panem et circenses, Goebbels), and was producing films for the purpose of entertainment and propaganda right until the bitter end. I mean, freaking Goebbels ordered parts of the army to play spear carriers in Veit Harlan's Colberg in 1944. =>' No German living at that time would have been the least bit surprised that the US film industry is doing well in the war. Also, I had the impression the Carl Friedrich von Weizäcker characterisation is mostly based on him being the son of a prominent, privileged family, so he gets to be the spoiled young man of the ensemble, and wellllllll, not the impression I had. Most characters go through similar arcs - they start out feeling smug in their scientific superiority and determinedly not talking about recent genocides, get the superiority shattered and, some of them, starting to confront the recent past. As fanficton, it works; I'm not sure it does as a play.

Lucy Jago: A Net for Small Fishes. A novel that deals with the same Stuart court scandal I wrote a story about, Frances Howard (Essex, Somerset) and the Overbury Affair, in this case, though, narrated by Anne Turner, the long term friend who got Frances the poison. It's written with much sympathy for both ladies, Anne and Frances, and when I came to the afterward, I saw it drew from the same main source I had used ("The Trials of Fances Howard", i.e. the most recent and most balanced account of the Overbury affair. Lucy Jago doesn't provide Frances with the same motives I speculated about, but I find her version plausible as well, and I appreciate the complexity of the relationships - especially Anne and Frances (I was half afraid she'd do a Philippa Gregory and go for the mean girl/ exploited good girl approach, but no, absolutely not). Even bit players like Queen Anne are interesting. A compelling historical novel.
selenak: (Jessica & Matt)
[personal profile] aurumcalendula asked me about those. With the caveat that I could list more and of course it also varies depending on the mood I am in, and with the qualification that I'm excluding straightforward from-stage-to-screen film versions of a single play (the phrasing is not accidental, you'll see why), here are some of my firm favourites:

1) West Side Story. It's probably a cliché but true: a masterpiece in its own right, but also as an adaptation of a) Romeo and Juliet, and b) a stage play into a musical. Now of course you can produce West Side Story itself in very different ways on stage and we now have two different film adaptations to compare and contrast. But just looking at the music, the script and the lyrics, it's so very, very well done. It's not just that the took a few basic ideas (i.e. lovers from feuding communities/families, tragic ending) and left it at that, but that nearly every scene, character and storybeat has its parallel. (And Arthur Laurents was justifiable proud of doing good old Shakespeare one better in coming up with a reason why the message about Julia/Maria's survival doesn't reach Romeo/Tony in time that is both connected to the overall themes and a character decision when in the original play it's just random bad luck (i.e. a plague outburst means Brother Laurence's messenger gets quaranteened). And the music, good lord, the music. What can be said that hasn't already been? Balcony Scene/Tonight: a perfect match in genius, and despite all the million ripoffs and parodies, feels as urgent and passionate as ever.

([personal profile] cahn, yes, I considered both Don Carlos and Macbeth and Othello from Verdi, but while I am fond of all of them, they're not my faves the same way West Side Story is.)

2) A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest in Neil Gaiman's The Sandman (as well as the use of William Shakespeare as a character, still probably my favourite fictional version of Will S.). These two plays who are themselves very meta, containing plays-within-plays, the magic of stagecraft versus real magic and so forth, work terrifically juxtaposed with the Sandman themes. Plus I've said it before, I'll say it again: Neil Gaiman is the only author to pull off a use of Prospero's final monologue, traditionally regarded as Shakespeare's personal goodbye, use it as his own farewell to his opus magnum and make that feel not pretentious but entirely apropriate.

3) Black Ships by Jo Graham (as an adaptation of The Aenaeid). Here there is tough competition in the form of Ursula Le Guin's novel Lavinia, but I still love Black Ships best. The novel takes the Sibyl who guides Aeneas to the Underworld in Virgil's epic and makes her the main character, one of the Trojan refugees, originally called Gull but bearing other names and identities throughout the story. Any adaptation of a Greek Trojan War related myth has to decide whether or not to use the Gods, i.e. do they exist or do the characters simply believe they do (not the same thing, especially since in the Iliad, the Odyssey and the Aeneid, there are direct divine interventions galore). They do exist in this version, but not in their best known GraecoRoman forms, which hail from different eras, as the novel offers a plausibly feeling historical context for its characters to live in. (Thus for example Wilusa/Troy has been destroyed repeatedly, once in the sacking that followed the largest Greek vs Trojans war, which resulted in the capture of Gull's mother along with many other Trojan women, and a few years later in the sacking that leads to Aeneas & Co. starting their quest.) At a guess, the trickiest challenge must have been figuring out how to present the Dido story, and not jiust because Carthage was founded centuries after the most probable date for the Trojan War, but the choice Jo Graham made - swapping Carthage for Egypt - really works not just for this novel but in the overall context of her other books because of the significance Egypt has in them.

4) The first season of Jessica Jones as an adaptation of Brian Bendis' Alias comics. It used the best known storyline of the comics - the Kilgrave arc - and managed both to keep what made it effective and disturbing and put a slightly different, unique spin on it. The casting is superb throughout, both for the characters based on their comics equivalent and for characters unique to the show (like Malcolm) or taken from different comics (like Jerry, or Trish and her mother - Jessica's estranged blonde bff in the Alias comics when we meet her is Carol Danvers, who could not have been used for obvious reasons). The use of colour - purple, most obviously, but also others - and the general, in lack of a better term for a tv series, cinematography, is superb while serving the story, and given this is an adaptation of graphic novels, this is not unimportant as an adaptation quality. Just taken as its own thing - i.e. just this season, not regarding the second and third one, or The Defenders - it is probably my choice for favourite comics-to-tv-format adaption, if we're talking about specific comics storylines, not adaptations of characters (because Lois & Clark the tv show is still my favourite version of Clark Kent/Superman and Lois Lane, but Lois & Clark had decades of Superman lore in multi authored interpretations to base this on, whereas Jessica Jones adapted graphic novels written by one single author who invented the character and the story they were adapting.

5.) Speaking of novel-to-tv-screen: always and forever, I, Claudius (the tv series), based on I, Claudius and Claudius the God by Robert Graves. Not only does it have some of the best actors available in 1970s Great Britain, but the usual small tv budget - no mass scenes possible, no special effects, such as there were - even works to the series' advantage. You don't need to be shown gladiator games to understand how the various characters respond to them. Whatever Caligula did exactly to his sister and lover Drusilla is not shown, but it's still one of the most terrifying scenes on tv when Claudius knockes and Caligula opens that door, precisely because it's left to your imagination based solely on John Hurt's and Derek Jacobi's performances. The script is immensely quotable, and while some of that is in the original novel, it manages to improve on it by giving us relationships Graves only hinted at (the friendship between Claudius and Herod Agrippa, say) or didn't bother with (the friendship between Julia the Elder and Claudius' mother Antonia). Even the old age make-up (especially for Jacobi and Sian Philips as Livia) is better than much of what I saw in decades to come.

The Other Days
selenak: (Bardolatry by Cheesygirl)
To quote a German poet, Du sprichst ein großes Wort gelassen aus, [personal profile] landofnowhere. Entire libraries have been written on this subject, for good old Will's influence can't be overestimated. For the first one and a half centuries, the influence wasn't felt that much, because the most that could have happened was that some travelilng theatre troops may have adopted some Elizabethan plays, but that's mainly a theory about Marlow's Doctor Faustus. Daniel Kehlmann when writing his novel Tyll decided to make Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of James VI and I, aka the Winter Queen, into an important pov character in said novel because he realised she was probably the only person in Germany (well, German speaking lands, there not being a state named Germany at the time) in the first half of the 17th century who not only knew Shakespeare's plays but must have seen Shakespeare in person, given the Lord Chamberlain's Men became the The King's Men when her father became King and must have performed for her family a lot.

Anyway, however much travelling players may or may have not transmitted between ca. 1600 and ca. 1750, the big cultural influence started (and never stopped) in the second half of the 18th century. This was when everyone, meaning a considerable part of the literary scene, started to get a wee bit tired of the cultural gorilla of the times (and ever since Louis XIV), i.e. French art, literature, and manners. Especially of the strict adherence to the three unities rule in French drama. Also, German literature started to become a thing and the Alexandrian verse used in French drama doesn't flow naturally in the German language. As opposed to English blank verse. Also, Hannover, one of the more influential and powerful German principalities, happened to rule Britain (or the other way around, but hey), which meant a lot more cross cultural pollination (and motivation to learn English if you wanted to have a career). So not only did the first few serious translations attempts of Shakespeare begin, but Shakespeare mania. The Sturm und Drang poets loved him, from young Goethe onwards. (Note: it's a bit of a deceased equine, but Sturm und Drang is not the same as Romantic. Every German teacher will get a bit of a fit if you refer to Goethe & Co. as "Romantic" in a literary sense, as the English speaking world tends to do. God knows Goethe would have had a fit. He had something of an anti Romantic bias in his later years, which is when the German Romantic literary movement was going on in, the 19th century. Sturm und Drang is 18th century.) So young Goethe, in 1771, wrote his first theoretical text about the Bard, Zum Schäkespeares Tag, which basically goes "Fuck the three unities, Shakespeare is life, he's the best, and no one else has ever been able to present the richness of nature the way he did, if we're ever going to write decent dramas in German that needs to be our role model, and also fuck the three unities!"

This became an increasingly popular attitude among the younger writers. Mind you, the drama young Goethe wrote, Götz von Berlichingen, while clearly trying to follow up with practice upon theory, does strike one as pseudo Shakespearean and isn't one of his masterpieces. (It's JWG trying to write something like the Henry IV plays using German history, and today mostly gets renembered because the titular character tells someone to kiss his arse in it. This to many a German student in the 19th and early 20th century was ever so tiltilating.) But the amazing thing is that German literati weren't the only ones getting interested in Shakespeare. So did people like Ulrich Bräker, self educated farmer's boy who responded to being gang-pressed into Prussian military service by deserting in the very first battle of the 7 Years War at the first chance he got (good for him), and later didn't solely write his memoirs but also a commentary on Shakespeare's works where he compares Henry V, the quondam Prince Hal, to Frederick the Great and doesn't mean it as a compliment. (To either man.) (These commentaries are really interesting to read because they are basically an 18th century guy blogging about Shakespeare's plays without knowing anything whatsoever of what other people have said about them.)

Come the 19th century, Shakespeare Mania proved it had come to stay, not least because we got our first big classic translation (the earlier attempts, including the ones Ulrich Bräker must have read, are respectable but not great), a masterpiece of literature in its own right even though it does bowlderize the sex jokes a bit, to wit, the Schlegel/Tieck translation. (So named after two of the primary Romantic - yes, this time really Romantic - writers involved in same.) BTW, this did not mean people stopped translating Shakespeare into German. They still haven't stopped. And there are a few other translations regarded as masterpieces by now, like, say, some of Stefan George's takes on the Sonnets. Also the advantage for translators is of course they can translate Shakespeare into the German of their present, whether that's early 19th century German like the Schlegel-Tieck gang or current day German. And they do.

Anyway, along with all the translations, there were the increasing number of performances. Soon every major ensemble had at least one Shakespeare play per season in their repertoire. Also: what was performed were the actual plays. (Theatrical history minded Germans are still a bit proud of the fact Shakespeare got performed in the original - translated - form while in Britain they were still staging the rewrites with happy endings for Lear or additional scenes for Romeo and Juliet where Juliet wakes up and has dialogue with Romeo while he's dying etc.) And all this performing and translating also meant Shakespearean subjects for painters and composers, most famously of course Mendelssohn.

Sadly, the 19th century was of course also the time when nationalism became en vogue and rose to an ever increasing fever pitch. This led to some surrreal and bizarre attempts at Shakespeare theory trying to prove he really must have been German. (I mean, better German than the bloody Earl of Oxford, right?) And that Hamlet, the character, is really meant to symbolize the German soul. (Don't ask.) But even leaving these distortions aside, the saner way of influencing merrily continued. If you want an example of non-nationalistic 19th century literary Shakespeare criticism, try Heinrich Heine.) And if you want an example of a later famous composer tackling the Bard in his struggling days when still learning the ropes, check out young Richard Wagner making an opera out of Measure for Measure, with some interesting rewrites. This play is actually set in Vienna, but Wagner transports it to Sicily. And it ends not with the Duke unmasking himself etc., but with a popular uprising against Angelo (that's Wagner the 1848 revolutionary for you); also, Isabella ends up not with the Duke (and not as a Nun), but with Lucio.

Come the late 19th and early 20th century, an argument could be made that the globally best known and most popular Shakespeare production was Max Reinhardt's Midsummer Night's Dream, not least because he did go on a world tour with it. (Decades later, as an old man and exile in Hollywood, he also did a movie version. But Reinhardt was a theatre director - in his day and for at least two decade, THE theatre director - , and cinema wasn't his medium.) And the fact that by then, of course there were plenty of German plays to perform never stopped the contiued success and demand for Shakespeare performances, or the fact his works keep getting reinterpreted and projected into by every era and by a lot of other artists. During the Third Reich, you had, one the hand, several absolutely vile productions of The Merchant of Venice, obvious reason is obvious. But you also had a production of Richard III, directed by Jürgen Fehling and produced by one of the most prominent theatres, the Theater am Gendarmenmarkt, which according to many a description went for a "demagogue murders his way to the top, becomes evil dictator, is eventually toppled" direction that between black leather for Richard's henchmen and Richard evoking the most prominent current hunchbacked, lame footed guy in politics, i.e. Goebbels. (Mind you, those descriptions were written retrospectively. You can bet no current review mentioned something like that, though then again, they wouldn't have. And there are stage photos.) Richard was played by Werner Krauß. Who also played Shylock in those antisemitic Merchant productions, and notoriously every Jewish character except the title role in Jud Süß. (Krauß had had a long and distinguished career before the Nazis. Being a great actor does not, alas, mean being a good or at least semi-decent person.) And there you have the ambiguity of German Shakespeare interpretations in the worst time of German history.

(Shakespeare was never cancelled, btw, though some current day English writers were in the last WWII years. Some other stage hits originating in Britain like Oscar Wilde's plays got excused by declaring that hey, Wilde was Irish, but to my knowledge no one even tried demanding a justification as to why Shakespeare was still put on the German stages. He just was.)

These days, Shakespeare is subjected to the same Regietheater extravaganzas as every other classic and continues to be newly translated. I think the Histories have gone out of fashion - except for Julius Caesar, that's still performed a lot - , but otherwise the same plays are popular or less popular as they are on English speaking stages, and poets keep tackling the sonnets. And we have Oxfordians, God help us. (About fifteen years ago, a director produced Macbeth in my hometown titled "Macbeth, by Edward de Vere, "Shakespeare".) Not to mention that Roland Emmerich is from Suabia. I don't think anyone, not even the loathsome bunch of current neo nationalists, tries to claim the Bard was really German, though. (Progress?) Though you do occasionally, just occasionally, come across a writer admitting they like the Schlegel/Tieck translation better than the original... Der Rest ist Schweigen.

The Other Days
selenak: (Agnes Dürer)
Fairy Tales:

The tale you tell: this is a crossover with Into the Woods, and a fantastic take on the Baker's wife and her backstory. To say more would spoil a great twist.

There were several lovely takes on the Six Swans fairy tale, and these two are my favourites:

roses and sentiments, drowning in the sea of clouds: Character study of the youngest brother. Co stars several other hybrid mythological creatures, and pushes my emotional button about siblings with its take on his relationship with his sister.

The sound of silent wings: this one has a truly original take on the King, and is the first one to make me truly root for his relationship with our heroine and see him as worthy of her.

Ladyhawke:

Restless Creatures: what our three heroes died next. Funny, charming and deeply felt.

The Last Kingdom:

Losing End of Time: a beautfiul study of the friendship between Hild and Uthred.

Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power

The same damn thing that made my heart surrender: Disa, Durin, and Elrond meet in the middle. Disa pov, and as awesome as her.

Only blood can bind: How Adar decided to turn against Sauron.

Ms Marvel:

Three times Kamal thought about revealing her identity, and one time she didn't Three times Kamala Khan thought about revealing her secret identity and one time she knew better.

She-Hulk: Attorney at law:

pro hac vice: Matt Murdock needs help on a case; Jennifer Walters doesn't mind taking a cross-country flight on short notice. Flirty banter and shared rage about injustice ensues.

Baggage that goes with mine: in which Jen visits Matt in New York and gets to know Daredevil's circumstances. Witty and charming, and I'm really glad the MCU came up with this pairing.

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds

Shopping Trip: lovely slice of life story about Uhura and Una/Number One.

To Fix What Is Broken: Hemmer pov of the time between the end of Discovery's second season and SNW's first, in which not only the Enterprise needs to be repaired.

Twelfth Night:

(love,)without retention or restraint: wherein Sebastian, aware he hardly knows his new wife, befriends the woman who knows her best - Maria. Great take on the relationship between Olivia and Maria, and, I think, a rare use of Sebastian in a story that's not about his relationship with Antonio.
selenak: (Bardolatry by Cheesygirl)
[personal profile] watervole asked me to talk about A Midsummer Night's Dream, a performance of which, starring the late Gareth Thomas, we both watched together. (In tandem with James Barrie's play Dear Brutus which it partly inspired and with it shares some themes.) Now because I attended an entire class about this play in my university days, I saw a lot of live and filmed performances as well as some movie versions, and I can easily ramble on about it. In Sandman, Neil Gaiman uses the idea that A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest are the sole two Shakespeare plays whose plot doesn't have an obvious source (be it another play or prose) to let these plays be written by Shakespeare for Morpheus, the King of Dreams, in payment for getting his poetical gifts unlocked. He's not the first or the last writer to bring these two plays into context; both have magic, play-within-a-play structure, characters who double as directors putting on a show in more than one sense, and comments on the theatre itself in the text.

The Dream is the more popular of the two (though it also has its haters, like Restoration diarist Samuel Pepys, who wrote in his journal that it was the most insipid thing he ever saw). I saw it first when I was still in school and my hometown's theatre put it on. I only remember a few details: the actors playing Oberon & Titania als played Theseus & Hippolyta (something that happens a lot and only is tricky at one point where the fairies come on stage directly after Theseus and Hippolyta leave, and it spares a provincial ensemble two extra actors), there was a lot of overt homoerotic subtext between Oberon and Puck (when I later saw productions where Puck was either made up to look like a youth/child or like a hobgoblin, I was startled because of that first impression - the actor from my hometown was just dressed in green and very much an adult when fondling and rubbing himself against Oberon's legs), and the most prominent actor of our ensemble played Nick Bottom (go figure). In contrast to the majority of more recent productions, Oberon, who is the successful director in this play as opposed to Peter Quince who tried to direct but finds his star taking over, was definitely presented as the play's winner, getting all he wanted by the end, with the overall production implying this was how harmony gets restored. That was in the 1970s; Oberon as the clear winner is also what Max Reinhardt's 1930s film version presents. (A Midsummer Night's Dream was one of Max Reinhardt's most famous theatre productions in both pre and post WWI German theatre, and he toured the world with it; alas, by the time of the Hollywood film, he was old, film wasn't his medium of choice anyway, and what so many attendants of the stage productions had described as the most perfect theatre magic they ever watched comes across as very stagey and creaky glitter on film.)

In the early 1990s, when I was at college and attending that Dream-devoted class, that was changing. The stage Oberons in the productions we were studying tended to, via some pantomime or redistributed lines, at the very least share their win, and more often it was Titania who took them back. Meanwhile, Theseus, whether or not he was played by the same actor as Oberon, went from standard (and not interesting) gracious Duke - this play's Athens being the most Elizabethan place imaginable - to taking on more villainous colors, as people started to examine the implication of him having defeated Hippolyta in war before marrying her. I don't think I ever saw Fascist!Theseus before the most recent RTD tv film, but I did see several Colonialist!Theseus versions.

The young lovers were probably the characters where the interpretations least vary through the many productions I saw. Well, except in quite how harshly Demetrius treats Helena when she chases after him, but other than that. (Again, the RTD film was the first production I saw where Lysander and Demetrius came across as two distinct personalities to me, and which had Lysander fall for Demetrius instead of Helena first when the magical love drop business starts.) In more recent productions, the lines that near the end of play make the lot of them sound like the type of aristocratic snobs Shakespeare must have known a lot of as they make fun of the mechanicals get either removed or redistributed to Theseus (if it's Villain!Theseus time, though he in the play is the only not to not make fun of the actors). Given that the lovers earlier sounded almost exactly like Pyramus and Thisbe, overwroughtness included, I always thought that them mocking the actors both was a comment on how we never recognize our reflection and Shakespeare making fun of himself to boot, since Romeo and Juliet preceded this play, and when he has the mechanicals declare that while Pyramus and Thisbe are dead, their parents are now reconciled, he's definitely spoofing himself rather than the Ovidian tale (which says nothing about the parents reconciling).

But there's a reason why our leading actor back in the day didn't go for Oberon and certainly not for one of the young lovers, but for Nick Bottom. "Let me play the lion, too" Bottom is both a great reflection on a star actor and a perfect part for one, and here I've seen the most variations, from Dream to Dream. I've seen Bottoms who are good natured and Bottoms who are bullies towards their fellow mechanicals, especially Peter Quince, Bottoms who turn out to have genuine talent when they play Pyramus, and Bottoms who are hamming it up to the nth degree. The encounter with Titania maintains its charm through most productions because while Titania might be ensorcerelled, Bottom, his good opinion of himself as an actor not withstanding, does respond to her compliments with the matter of fact statement that he doesn't quite see why she has this opinion, but okay, and responds to the high flown poetry with good natured prose instead of pouncing on her. (Whether Titania does more than kiss and stroke him varies from production to production, but in the ones I've seen, the initiative is always with her.)

There's quite a lot of magical roofying going on, and the play isn't particularly bothered by consent questions regarding this. (See: Demetrius still under the spell when everyone wakes up.) That Oberon does this to Titania in order to get the better of her in an argument - and not by using the magical flower to make her hopelessly in love with himself, but with a creature he sees as grotesque, to humiliate her - is a disturbing quality of many the play has, and one that's hardly remedied by him feeling sorry for her and lifting the enchantment - after she handed over the "Indian boy", the symbol of their quarrel. The boy is another element that increasingly doesn't seem to make the cut in modern productions. Why does Oberon want him? Why is Titania first so insistent on keeping him as the child of her dead friend and then, once the magic is lifted, no longer waste a thought on him? There's the association of fairies stealing children, of course - which btw Gaiman also uses in Sandman - and it all contributes to making the woods, and the fairies, so powerful and disturbing a storytelling element. Victorian depictions not withstanding, they're never, in any sense, safe.

There are all kind of theories as to whether the play was written for or premiered at an aristocratic wedding, and I've seen productions using this idea, too, with yet a third framing. There is a passage - when Oberon tells Puck about the story of the magical flower - that's assumed to be a compliment to Elizabeth the Queen, the "fair vestal throned in the west":

A certain aim he [i.e., Cupid] took
At a fair vestal thronèd by the west
And loosed his love shaft smartly from his bow
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft
Quenched in the chaste beams of the wat’ry moon,
And the imperial votress passèd on
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
(II.i.)

If you believe many a historical novelist, it's also an allusion to the spectacular masques and plays Leicester, Robert Dudley, Elizabeth's most enduring favourite, put on for her visit at Kenilworth, and which a child William Shakespeare may or may not have seen if he with some other Stratfordians walked from Stratford at Kenilworth. (It's doable.) You even have people theorizing that if this passage is a compliment to Elizabeth, the Titania/Nick Bottom affair is a critique, since Elizabeth-as-the-Fairy-Queen certainly was an established trope by the time Shakespeare was an adult, and none of her favourites, with the exception of Essex, was ever popular with the people. Personally, I don't quite see it, mostly because Bottom is not aiming for his fairy queen's favor and is generally a figure of sympathy throughout the play, and if you want to critisize supposed bad favourites, you don't make the audience love them. (Shakespeare was far too much of a pro not to know any audience will love Nick Bottom.) But it's certainly easy to imagine Elizabeth's court watching this play, laugh, and ever so slightly remain disturbed, not quite sure what exactly they have seen, any more than the characters in it are.

The other days
selenak: (Default)
In case you, like me, need some distraction today.


Susanna Clarke does a book meme: Sure, the Guardian calls it something else, but that's what it is, and the author of "Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell" as well as "Piranesi" answers the questions.

Much Ado about Nothing/ Romeo and Juliet:

Second Act Comedy: in this Shakespearean crossover, Beatrice and Benedick save the day in Verona. And how!
selenak: (bodyguard - Sabine)
Browsing through the delightful Chocolatebox 2021 archive, here are some of the stories that immediately captured me:

The Aeneid:

we are a woven thread (find the strand): in which Aeneas on the occasion of his visit to the Underworld encounters Cassandra again, in a most unexpected fashion. Beautiful and poignant.


Babylon 5

Prison of Glass: Garibaldi runs into Bester post-canon. Perfect voices for both.

Keep your enemies close: hilarious fanart for Londo/G'Kar.

Discworld:

Here There Be Dragons: how Sam Vimes and Lady Sybil kissed for the first time. Lovely and fun.


Shakespeare's Histories:

All the water in the rough rude sea: in an AU where Bolingbroke has died and Hal has become Richard's heir, this vignette imagines their relationship and comes up with terrific parallels and contrasts to canon. And with sparkling dialogue befitting two of Shakespeare's most eloquent monarchs.
selenak: (Katniss by Monanotlisa)
The Donmar Coriolanus with Tom Hiddleston in the title role was put up on Youtube. I liked it, with the caveat that I preferred Ralph Fiennes' interpretation - both in the title role and as a production, though the later is a bit unfair since it's a movie, not a stage production, and thus of course can do more in terms of cinematography. Where I think Fiennes as the advantage: Fiennes' Coriolanus really does come across as one of those military types unable to function in civilian society, and thus unable to even go through the motions of campaigning. Hiddleston, despite declaiming all the lines about pride with conviction, still comes across as too sociable for me to believe he couldn't pretend even for five minutes. Also, the Fiennes Coriolanus had Coriolanus and Aufidius mutually obsessed with each other not just in words but by acting, and thus was way slashier, imo as always, while the Dommar Coriolanus had me believe the Aufidius was hung up on good old Gaius Martius, but not vice versa, at least not to the same degree.

What I liked about the Domnar in particular: our scheming duo of Tribunes, who were instantly recognizable politicians, and good for you, production, of making one female. The gratitious shower scene, providing us with the chance to see how hard Tom Hiddleston trained to be cast as an action hero. And, to be fair, the facial acting in the big Volumnia and Coriolanus confrontation where you see just when he makes his decision, knowing it will kill him.

Both productions - both Coriolani? - tried to get around the fact that Virgilia, Coriolanus' wife, has hardly any lines and is completely overshadowed by Volumnia his mother by providing her with a lot of silent reactions to what's going on and with silent interactions with her husband emphasizing physical tenderness between them. (I do suspect this is also done to banish Freudian interpretations of Coriolanus and his mother.) This is most effective in the early scene where Volumnia upon hearing the reports of her son's battle bravery wishes he had even more wounds to distinguish himself, and Virgilia, who is played by Katrine from Borgen, is silently horrified. Now Volumnia, otoh, is a fantastic female Shakespearean role. Not sympathetic, but, like Queen Margaret in the York tetralogy, a gift for an actress. In the Domnar production, I felt they tried to soften her in her big scene, where you don't get the impression she realises that by saving her city, she's also dooming her son, and that her accusations earlier came out of desperation and love. Otoh Vanessa Redgrave in the Fiennes movie played a Volumnia who does realise but does it anyway, and also means every word, and she has that inner hardness. Both make for very affecting scenes, just in different ways.


On to the other Coriolanus, i.e. Snow. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is the Hunger Games prequel published this month, featuring seventeen to eighteen years old Coriolanus Snow, the tenth Hunger Games and a lot of song lyrics: Portrait of the Dictator as a young Sociopath, essentially. Even more than an origin story for Snow, it's an origin story of the Hunger Games as they show up in the trilogy, and that to me was the most interesting part, along with the fact that the novel - which does remain in young Coriolanus' pov, but not in first person, as with the Katniss novels, but in third person - fleshes out the Capitol. Collins is good with the post war society feel; just barely papered over ruins, everyone still very much affected by the war. (Including our villain protagonist, and not just because his family went from rich to genteel poverty - poverty by Capitol standards, which is still laughably privileged when compared with the Districts - but because he grew up with bombings as part of his every day life.) The Games themselves aren't yet the successful high tech media spectacle they'll become, but a post war revenge act that's starting to become routine and which (some) of the Capitol kids are still capable to be appalled by. The arena is truly an old sports arena (with bomb damage), in which the tributes are locked with some weapons in order to kill themselves with. There are no rewards for the "victor". There are few cameras and mikes, but they don't cover the entire arena, and are static. The tributes themselves aren't fetishized and fed before hand but literally locked into cages of the zoo. The interviews, costumes, sponsors and betting system, the mixture of privilege and gilded slavery the victors later life in, in short, the way the Games become a gigantic commercial sports event allowing the audience to "participate" and feel great about themselves by simultanously rooting for "their" tribute of choice and being entirely unbothered by the fact this is a bunch of children forced to slaughter themselves - all this will be invented and added during the course of the story, and I'll give you three guesses as to who does most of the inventing. (As with the original books, there's also some neat media satire and history going on; when it's possible for the first time to bet on a tribute, it's still possible to place your bet in the post office as well as via phone calls, for example.)

In terms of young Coriolanus, I'm not so sure the story works if its aim is to answer as to where human evil comes from, but then I'm not sure that it is. Early on, he's self-centered, a great many of the actions the characters around him interpret as good or compassionate are really caused by him working for his own advantage, but otoh he's not an evil clockwork; he has nightmares, shakes, can be horrified when witnessing sadism on display and believes himself to be attached to several people. By the end of the story, he's set on the course of becoming President Snow with no regrets whatsoever and not a flicker of empathy in sight, and he got there through his own choices. However, even if you didn't already known he'll be the main antagonist of the Hunger Games, I don't think the narrative ever gave me the sense that this particular character would make other choices, so if this is supposed to be a question of nature versus nurture, it's definitely settling on the nature side. I'm just not sure that this was one narrative goal.

We get several characters who are in the same or extremely similar situations Coriolanus is in, and who make different choices. Unlike the Capitol kids Haymitch observes decades later in the movie version, here some of the Capitol teenagers are able to see not just the wrongness in the fate of one particular tribute but of the entire system, and act on it. Incidentally, that we see Capitol society - and later the Peacekeepers in training - not as homogenous but as individuals with differing opinions and ethics is definitely one of the advantages of choosing a a third person Snow pov, as opposed to making this novel's main tribute character the pov.

Trivia: Collins really does like her songs. The novel provides us with the origin for both Katniss' Meadow song and The Hanging Tree, adding a thick layer of irony to the way it'll be later used in Mockingbird, and there are other songs, including a national anthem for Panem. Collins also seems to subscribe to the believe that loving music by itself signals something about human sensitivity and capacity for empathy - young Coriolanus goes from neutral and very occasionally respective on music to actively resenting it through the course of the story, which is one of the marker as to his degree from neutral (neither good nor bad) to evil in his development. Between Hitler's passion for not just Wagner but Franz Lehar and Stalin's love for Mozart (and other composers, and live recordings; see also, the Death of Stalin opening sequence which uses a event), Louis XIV liking ballet so much he performed in it and good old Frederick the Great playing and composing flute music, I really really REALLY doubt that being a despot and loving music is in any way incompatible. But in The Hunger Games verse music and singing has strict positive connections, so that fits within this world.
selenak: (Bardolatry by Cheesygirl)
Yesterday JMS answered a couple of questions about Sense8, the characters, the development of their background etc; there's a great thread here, and also a later tweet, in which he says: You'd have to ask the others what parts went where, but for me, my shyness is in Kala, my nerdiness in Nomi, my naivete in Capheus, my family situation in Wolfgang, my belief in helping people in Will, my love of music in Riley, my painful sincerity in Sun, my goofiness in Lito.

The family situation & Wolfgang is also mentioned in the earlier thread, and now I'm headdesking for not noticing this when I read his autobiography, because yes, the parallels are pretty blatant. (Except for dear old Dad's demise.) Back when I reviewed the memoirs, I was struck by the fictional parents written by JMS, like Sheridan's father or of course Angelina Jolie's character in The Changeling being good, protective and kind parents, in a striking contrast to his own experience, but I had overlooked Sense8. Because good lord, yes, the Bogdanovs (not limited to Bogdanov père). (Whereas, say, Will's father is another wish fulfillment.)

Elsewhere in the multiverse, have some Star Trek: Picard inspired fanfiction, which is spoilery to the max for the first season, so I must disguise the recs under a spoiler cut )

And lastly, at the 2016 Shakespeare anniversary the Guardian had 25 actors record Shakespeare monologues. They can all be watched here. I've seen Damian Lewis' Marc Antony (the Caesar's funeral speech) singled out, and he's good, but my favourites were Eileen Atkins' giving up Emilia's advice to Desdemona from Othello, which is one of my favourite parts of the play, and Paterson Joseph doing Shylock, not the "hath not a Jew eyes..." speech but the earlier reply to Antonio when Antonio wants the money to begin with.
selenak: (BambergerReiter by Ningloreth)
At some point while watching, I thought: this is surely the cinematic equivalent of Any Two Guys slash fiction. Without, err, the slash. (Though the Hal/Falstaff subtext was certainly thick.)

What I mean is this: The King is fanfiction of fanfiction, if you like, i.e. it’s based on Shakespeare’s Henry IV and Henry V plays rather than on the history said plays are based on, and deviates from the actual story even further. Which would not be a problem if it would do so in an interesting way. Instead, it’s like that type of fanfic where one’s problematic faves are rewritten with their flaws edited out until they’re beyond recognition, lose all character in the process and have become types.

I would suspect Falstaff of having invented this version though if he had it would have been funnier )
selenak: (Bardolatry by Cheesygirl)
Courtesy of Amazon Prime, I had the chance to watch two movies I missed during their original release, to wit:

The Post: aka Steven Spielberg does the Pentagon Papers as "The Education of Katherine Graham". It's a well-made movie (duh!) with an excellent cast both in major and minor roles, including Matthew Rhys, evoking missing-The-Americans-pangs in me, as Daniel Ellsberg in a near silent role but with his body language telling so much about what's going on within Ellsberg as he witnesses McNamara going from a private conversation in the plane about how the situation in Vietnam is going from bad to worse to the creepily cheerful optimism once he faces the press outside. I noticed the scriptwriters credited were a woman and a man, and they provided a good emotional arc for Meryl Streep going from endlessly condescended to society hostess to risking it all. Tom Hanks as Ben Bradley is yet another incarnation of the honest American persona (flamboyant news editor variation), though for all that Bradley's stomping around like he's in The Front Page, Hanks' best scene is a quiet, introspectively self critical one. Earlier, he's accused Kay Graham that she's letting her friendship wth McNamara influence her, and she's pointed to his friendship with the Kennedys and the fact he did pull his punches accordingly during the Kennedy administration, which he angrily refuted; now, in the follow up scene, he realises she was right, and that you can either be sincerely friends with a politician, or you can be a good reporter, but you can't possibly be both.

For all the obvious topical relevance of the "government versus press"/"whistleblowers: traitors or true patriots?" scenario - and Spielberg wisely goes less is more with Nixon, keeping him entirely to an angry, ranting voice we hear without seeing his face, we only see the White House - this film feels both eerily like a West Wing episode and deliberately old fashioned, and not just because Spielberg's camera positively drools over ye olde printing machines and their lettering. Also not because it's set in a past era. No, it's the part where everyone in the ensemble is basically idealistic and well intentioned. The opening sequence, introducing Daniel Ellsberg as a military observer getting motivated for his later wistle-blowing, is set in Vietnam, it's brief, it's effective, but it also reminded me how impossible a Vietnam movie from Steven Spielberg - who actually is of that very generation - would be, because it's so counter everything a Spielberg movie stands for. In that brief sequence, we see US soldiers getting shot in the jungle, and later much of the indignation of our heroes centres on the Pentagon Papers proving that various US administrations, Republican and Democrat alike, escalated the US presence in Vietnam without admitting they were doing it and despite early on realising this couldn't possibly end well kept continuing the war to avoid the humiliation of an US defeat. Of course, that's one aspect of the Vietnam war to get indignant about, but you know what's actually missing here? War crimes. Little girls burning in US napalm. (If Spielberg ever was assigned to do a film about the My Lai Massacre, he'd undoubtedly focus it on the lone G.I. testifying to the truth, not on either all the other G.I.s going along with it and being or the Vietnamese dying.)

In The Post, Ben Bradley might be frustrated that the New York Times always has the better scoops and the great reputation and be gleeful when he finally gets the chance to let the Washington Post participate in a major major story once the Time gets slammed with a government injunction, but since this isn't a Billy Wilder script and Ben Bradley is played by Tom Hanks, we don't doubt Bradley's primary motivation isn't beating the competition, it's getting the truth to the public which needs to know. The scene early on at a dinner in which Kay Graham leads the other women to the next room once the men (and only the men) start to discuss politics is devastatingly effective in demonstrating the sexism taking for granted by everyone (also how much Kay has internalized it and needs to overcome it to believe her take on the situation is just as valid), but none of the characters are malicious about said sexism; you just know that once they learn better, they will be better. Of course they won't cling to their privileges, not these basically likeable men.

Now, given the sheer current day awfulness on both sides of the Atlantic, I can't decide wehether I find escape in a Spielbergian world where people might be wavering but will of course to the right thing soothing or frustrating. I mean, I want to be inspired by hope. I do. It's just - let me put it this way. I hear this scriptwriting team was also responsible for the excellent Spotlight, aka the movie about the Boston Globe's investigation into the sexual abuse scandal of the Catholic Church. The Post ends with our heroes triumphing and a winking epilogue in which there's a break-in at the Watergate Hotel. But not to worry, audience, the Post is on the job and Truth Will Prevail. Spotlight ends with a devastating credits sequence listing sexual abuse scandals outside of the Boston area everywhere in the world. Going on, and on. I think I've made my point.


All Is True: aka Kenneth Branagh Does Shakespeare's Retirement, directing and starring as Will, with Judi Dench as Anne, Ian McKellen as the Earl of Southampton and Ben Elton writing the script. The one part which made me sceptical about this in advance was McKellen, much as I love him, playing Henry Wriothesley, who wasn't just younger than Shakespeare but half a century younger than Sir Ian at this point, but I'm happy to say 'twas all worth it. More on this in a moment. Anyway, Branagh's movies can be somewhat over the top, and the longer trailer was somewhat misleading in that it put the emphasis on comedy. Which this film decidedly is not. (The trailer nearly used up all the funny bits.) What it is: a quiet chamber play that doesn't try to be Shakespearean. Which is a plus. (Making movies about writers that have the writers and their lives resemble their best known characters and plots is what puts me off most fictional takes on Jane Austen, for example.) Ben Elton seems to agree with me - and Neil Gaiman, who in his take on Shakespeare at the very end of Sandman includes a scene between a retired Will and Ben Jonson that makes the same point All Is True makes in two scenes, one between Shakespeare and a visiting Jonson as well. No, if you're a writer, you don't need to have lived through all you're writing about. This is not how writing works.

This being said, of course a movie needs a plot. This one is far more Arthur Miller than Shakespeare, if we're making a dramatist comparison, as returning-to-Stratford Will is confronted by the fact he doesn't really know his estranged family any more, he hasn't really dealt with the loss of his son, and that the way he hasn't dealt with it also means he's been unwilling to see the surviving twin, Judith, for who she really is. Elton's script does a great job of using the few facts we have about Shakespeare's family - Susannah the oldest daughter able married to the Puritan-leaning Dr. John Hall and at one point embroiled in a law suit when a Stratford loudmouth tried to slutshame her, Judtih married rather late (as was her mother) - and coming up with distinct personalities for both sisters, their mother and their husbands. (Though if anyone other than Will emerges as the central focus eventually, it's Judith, in a way that would have pleased Virginia Woolf.) The picture he draws of Stratford as a community also is plausible - Will can't just skip Sunday mass, he'd get fined as was his father, the late John Shakespeare, whose fall from grace from alderman to indebted drunkard remains unforgotten, the Puritans are gaining influence, but aren't just painted as caricatures (Dr. Hall isn't very likeable, but gets a devastating scene showing his sincere commitment to his patients), and the local self important MP is none other than Sir Thomas Lucy of apocrphycal "Will once shot his deer" tale (who delights in snubbing Will and gets himself gloriously snubbed by the visiting Southhampton).

Which brings me to good old Mr. W.H.; btw, the movie does let Will point out to Anne that the sonnets were printed without his consent. McKellen might be many a decade older than Southhampton was at that point, and I'm not fond of Henry Wriothesley to begin with and tend to favour fictional Shakespeare tales where someone else was the Fair Youth, but like I said: all worth it, because the scene between Southhampton and Shakespeare is incredible (with the earlier "Southhampton disses Lucy" just McKellen and the audience having fun), both Branagh and MKelllen on top of their game. It's also the scene that by itself justifies this being a movie about William Shakespeare as opposed to, say, anonymous Elizabethan/Jacobean Dad X coming home to estranged family. It's about aging and love and longing and class and intimacy of various types. In this version, Southhampton is aware of Shakespeare's genius and, no longer young himself, now does look at those sonnets as his immortality - but he's also an aristocrat to the core who when Will finally says he'd hoped his feelings were in some way reciprocated goes "nope, you're a glovemaker's son, I'm an Earl, get real". And yet the scene doesn't end on a rejecting note. Earlier, in what only afterwards strikes you as the acting showcase it was because it's played so lowkey yet intense, Will goes from casual conversation into reciting one of the actual sonnets (and no, not bloody "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day", thank you, Ben Elton, for recalling there are a lot of others to choose from) and it becomes a naked love declaration. And at the end of the scene, when he's already half out of the door, Southhampton turns back and recites that same sonnet back at Will, word for word, with since the poem's "I" now is the other party takes on a new meaning. And yes, it's an acting showcase as well, but one that feels entirely natural for how the scene has involved and who these two characters in this version are.

Lastly: a very human Shakespeare, this one, neither the jerk of some depictions (looking at you, Rupert Graves) nor the romantic hero of others (step forward, Joseph Fiennes). I remain moved and impressed by this film.
selenak: Siblings (Michael and Spock)
Day 2 - Favorite Federation Race:

Well, while Enterprise, the scrappy of ST shows, made me surprisingly fond of Andorians (not only the ST people they fleshed out when no previous show had bothered to but hands down their most succesfully developed aliens, full stop), I’ll have to join the likely majority here and go with the Vulcans, in their arrogant, messed up, micro expressions glory. They’re not my favourite alien race in general, but among Federation members? Yep. Decades of representation just bear their fruits.


The Other Days )

In non-meme news, the Everywoman ficathon has brought some lovely new stories to read. For example:

Star Trek: Discovery:

All for the best : Michael directly after joining the crew of the Shenzou, between cultures all over again.

The Future is made of relics: Michael and M!Georgiou post season 2.

Shakespeare Plays:

The Garden of Heavenly Delights: Desdemona and Ophelia in the afterlife. Witty and to the point.

Egyptian History:

Sunrise: a compelling look at Nefertiti.
selenak: (Bardolatry by Cheesygirl)
[personal profile] rydra_wong and [personal profile] rachelmanija started it, so how could I resist:

Rambling on about Bard plays I‘ve seen )
selenak: (Spider-man by Peaked)
Ifinally got around to watching Spider-man: Into the Spiderverse, and lo, it turned out to be as great as advertised. All the Spiderpeople were characters in their own right, even the pig, and yet Miles, whose origin story this was, managed not to be overshadowed. The animation was wildly inventive, embracing its comicbook-ness, and used the medium it was instead of pretending to be something else. By which I mean: gags like Spider-Man Noir only showing up in black and white would not have worked, or not worked the same way, in a live action version.

only slightly spoilery ramblings )
Basically: deserved all the accolades it got, and was impossible to resist.

On a more serious and sadder note: as today is Shakespeare's death-day and traditional birthday, it's an eerie coincidence to me that I just learned John McEnery has died, who played Mercutio in the 1968 Romeo and Juliet. In honor of both him and Shakespeare, here's Mercutio's Queen Mab scene from said movie:


selenak: (Bardolatry by Cheesygirl)
[personal profile] likeadeuce asked my about Shakespeare adaptions or retellings (a la „10 Things I hate about you“ for The Taming of the Shrew“ for example) I want.

First, the problem is that retellers and adapters whose takes I end up loving have a more audacious imagination than I do. If you’d asked me whether I want a High School AU version of a Shakespeare play, I’d have said no, and yet, „10 things I hate about you“ managed to superbly keep what works about „Taming of the Shrew“ and chuck out the horrid dated gender stuff. I wouldn’t have suggested a Tempest production set in the Arctic, and yet, when the RSC did just this, starring Patrick Stewart as Prospero, it turned out into my favourite Tempest of all times. Yet another Midsummer Night’s Dream, this one with bonus fascism? God no, and yet, when watching RTD’s adaption, again, I loved it.

Speaking of my favourite living Welsh writer, though: given how his ruthless cutting and redistributing of lines complete with new pairings and unexpected revolution paired with our Rusty’s penchant of mixing comedy and darkness made his take on Dream so fascinating, though, I’d like to see him have a go at Twelfth Night. I’m counting on canon on screen/stage same sex relationships at the very least, and maybe different end games, but I’m also curious how he’ll handle Malvolio. And Feste. And which setting he’ll choose.

In terms of retellings: I felt somewhat let down by the BBC’s Hollow Crown take on the York tetralogy. Now granted, the Henry VI plays simply aren’t Our Will at his best yet but in the try out stage, but still, there’s far more potential than what we got on screen. Now, Ian McKellen and Richard Linklater already did the „Richard III in Alt! 1930s Britain“ thing, and what I have in mind is more a transposition into another culture. How about taking a hint from Kurosawa instead, hiring a Japanese team and do the York plays retold with Samurais? (Perhaps this time keeping pissed off peasant Jack Cade?) Or settle them in the post-Genghis Khan era of Mongol history, when the various branches of the Borjin Clan had a go at each other for supremacy? (For occupied France, read China.) And I would like it to be a retelling rather than something still using the Shakespearean names, completely told as a Japanese or Mongol story, respectively.

Lastly: did you know that young Richard Wagner, before discovering Norse mythology, Schopenhauer and German nationalism, composed an opera adaption of Measure for Measure which turned this late, cynical Shakespeare play into something that culminates in the people staging an uprising against anti-sex laws, gets rid of the Duke/Isabella conclusion (Isabella still doesn’t get to stay a nun, though, she ends up with Lucio instead) and transports the whole action from Vienna to Sicily? It made me wonder what an adaption into another medium could do with that play. And whether you could somehow make sense of the Duke in a modern context, and make the endings – Isabella who really didn’t want to marry hitched to a man she hardly knows, Angelo who was ready to rape and kill pardoned into marriage with Mariana – palpable and plausible? I’m tentatively eying a vlog AU a la The Lizzie Bennet Diaries set in the movie industry, with the Duke and Angelo as producers.

The Other Days
selenak: (Branagh by Dear_Prudence)
Second post of the day, as I thought everyone who commented on this entry might be interested: Ian McKellen just tweeted the official trailer for All Is True, the Kenneth Branagh/Judi Dench/McKellen starring Old Will Shakespeare In Stratford tale:



(As for the thing that puzzled me most about the original announcement, seems that McKellen, in a blond wig, is indeed Southhampton, and not in a flashforward. Yup. That stint in the Tower after the Essex rebellion must have added decades. Otoh, this is a more sympathetic Southhampton than I've seen before.)


And while we're talking trailers, I've noticed a certain irritation in my flist/circle that the two Presidents Bush are getting nostalgia benefits due to the awfulness of Individual 1, as Mueller's investigation calls him. Now I have no strong feelings about Bush the Elder either way, though I have to say, the two Germanys would not have gotten unification without him (what with Thatcher endlessly replaying WWII movies in her head and spouting every cliché ever, Mitterand actually having lived during WWII, and Gorbachev sceptical about the larger implication re: NATO; it was very much Bush the Elder's personal support there which made the difference), which is why the obituaries in our papers all were titled with a variation of "friend of Germany" and why Merkel attended the funeral instead of sending someone else to represent the country). But my ire about the Dubya years is certainly undiminished. As for for W. himself, I stand by my theory that he's George III as characterised by Byron in Vision of Judgment -
Whose History was ever stained as his will be
With national and individual woes?
I grant his household abstinence; I grant
His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want

I know he was a constant consort; own
He was a decent sire, and middling lord.
All this is much, and most upon a throne;
As temperance, if at Apicius' board,
Is more than at an anchorite's supper shown.
I grant him all the kindest can accord;
And this was well for him, but not for those
Millions who found him what Oppression chose.



Anyway, if W. as a person certainly is preferable to Individual 1, his years in office certainly did a great deal of the damage that led to this point. That certainly seems to be the opinion of Adam McKay, who just collected a whole bunch of nominations for Vice, which appears to be a Cheney-centric pitch black satire:



Alright then. 2019 is off to an interesting start, movie-wise.
selenak: (M)
Now this sounds like a truly intriguing Shakespeare bio pic: Judi Dench and Kenneth Branagh as Anne and Will Shakespeare, set after his return to Stratford, script by Ben Elton. There's just one bit in the article which made me go huh, and it's not that Kenneth Branagh is 26 years younger than Judi Dench; Peter O'Toole was 23 years younger than Katherine Hepburn when he played Henry to her Eleanor in The Lion in Winter (and in both cases, Shakespeares and Plantaganenets, the female half of the couple actually was older (though to a far lesser extent than the actors). Not to mention that it's still refreshing if instead of pairing up a famous male actor with an actress decades younger as his love interest, the reverse happens , for a qualified meaning of "love interest" since we're talking estranged husband and wife in this case. BTW, I'm thrilled that the article talks about "their grief at the death of their only son, Hamnet", their, because in most fictional takes on Shakespeare, minus Oxfordian heresies, this is treated as his grief only.

Anyway, Judi Dench and Kenneth Branagh in what sounds like an Albee-esque take on the Shakespeares: yes, please.

...and of course I'm always delighted to see Ian McKellen, but here's where I went "huh?", because: Ian McKellen co-stars as the Earl of Southampton, to whom Shakespeare dedicated his two narrative poems, and who has frequently been identified as the “Fair Youth” of his sonnets.


Okay. As opposed to the Anne-Will/Dench-Branagh age gap, this is actually a problem, because in 1613, when this story supposedly takes place, , Southhampton was 40 years old. Sexy Sir Ian undoubtedly still is, but 40 he's not, and Mr. W.H. being younger than Shakespeare is kind of an issue in the sonnets. Maybe the Guardian got the part Ian McKellen is playing wrong, thought I, searched for another source, but no, BBC America also names him as Southampton. Okay then, say I. Maybe all that high living plus the stint in the Tower due to the Essex Rebellion aged up Southhampton really fast.

(The other issue is a personal one, as in I never liked Henry Wriothesley all that much - like his chum Essex, he comes across as a none too bright entitled ass relying on his looks and charm to get away with stuff and always am glad if in Shakespeare bio pics one of the alternate candidates is picked for Mr. W.H. of sonnet fame, but that's neither here nor there.)

The BBC America artile also says Shakespeare needs to “mend the broken relationships with his wife and daughters,” while confronting “his own failings as husband and father" which means the movie won't go into the Anthony Burgess "Anne undoubtedly became a Puritan in her old age and never understood him anyway" direction. (Good.) "Daughters" hopefully means we'll get both Susanna and Judith; previous fictionalisations I'm familiar with picked one or the other to focus on, but not both.

Crazy conspiracy theory: maybe McKellen plays a Christopher Marlowe who faked his early death and is looking up Shakespeare in Stratford, and the Southhampton talk is just a cunning mislead on the part of Ben "Blackadder" Elton, the scriptwriter?

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