Sonnet 73
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
By the pricking of my jackknife...
A sad tale's best for winter. I have one
Of sprites and goblins.
–Mamillius, The Winters Take II.1
Halloween has passed, (or Samhain), but between now and New Years seems to feel the most haunted; there are a lot of holidays revolving around the undead and spirits walking about… I mean on Christmas eve, people used to leave food out for their departed relatives. Actually, it’s not until after Halloween that the spirit world holidays really get going.
So it set me to thinking… and remembering. I’ve known people who’ve had encounters with the other world, and some are pretty damn impressive. I wouldn’t rate my own as anything too extra ordinary- only in that it happened to me, so I can vouch for it personally. So here’s my contribution to this time of eerie holidays, here at the waning of the year:
It was during a college production of The Threepenny Opera, that the two incidents occurred- but probably not related. I was playing Mac the Knife, and was young and full of energy and brave knowledge. I loved Theatre and theatre lore, and never failed to miss an opportunity to shock, or entertain. Now, while not completely comfortable with my singing abilities, I was full sure of my status as a “seasoned” performer, who was not afraid to test some old superstitions; even dare them, as it were. So during a pre-show warm up, I shocked a few of my fellow cast-mates by uttering the un-utterable: “Macbeth” I said, out loud and on stage. They gasped. I proceeded to educated them as to the history of why it was really considered bad luck, and that it actually wasn’t the most bloody play Shakespeare wrote, and blah, blah blah… proving to them that nothing would come of this by concluding: “Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, and Macbeth.” So there. Nothing happened. At that point.
During the show that night, two things happened: The yellow gloves (Mac is usually famous for wearing white gloves, but our translation had them as yellow) I wore disappeared. Not a huge issue, but in such an impeccably run dressing room as we had, it was strange- nothing important had just disappeared prior, and to this date, I have never lost a costume piece before; they are as much a part of me as my limbs. It would be easier to loose my head than a costume piece- but, the gloves were gone and a spare pair had to be found.
Later, near the end of the show, when I was chained up in prison, one of the manacles just dropped off my wrist. They had been made to open quickly, but not by themselves. After all the tests, all the rehearsals, the few shows before, never had they just dropped off.
Nothing too bad. No one got hurt, no one died. Each of these things could easily have been explained…
The second incident, was very brief. I was waiting in the wings, watching one of the scenes before I was to enter, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl who played Polly Peachum come stand next to me. This surprised me, because she usually entered from the other side, and appeared to be wearing her white wedding dress from an earlier scene (the white dress was what caught my attention in the dark backstage). I turned to ask her why she was in the wrong costume… and of coarse; there was no one there. I was alone.
A year later, I am walking to my car, after some show, or rehearsal. The parking lot was pretty much empty, and myself and a couple cast-mates were the only group around. I had just entered the parking lot, when there on the ground, were the original pair of yellow gloves that had been lost a year ago. The couple people I was with had also been in the show and had known about eh gloves disappearing… we stood there for a bit, in silence. Then I picked up the gloves and have never said Macbeth on stage again. Not for fear of any curse, or magic… but out of respect for the one or two theatre spirits out there who do believe in the superstition.
Of sprites and goblins.
–Mamillius, The Winters Take II.1
Halloween has passed, (or Samhain), but between now and New Years seems to feel the most haunted; there are a lot of holidays revolving around the undead and spirits walking about… I mean on Christmas eve, people used to leave food out for their departed relatives. Actually, it’s not until after Halloween that the spirit world holidays really get going.
So it set me to thinking… and remembering. I’ve known people who’ve had encounters with the other world, and some are pretty damn impressive. I wouldn’t rate my own as anything too extra ordinary- only in that it happened to me, so I can vouch for it personally. So here’s my contribution to this time of eerie holidays, here at the waning of the year:
It was during a college production of The Threepenny Opera, that the two incidents occurred- but probably not related. I was playing Mac the Knife, and was young and full of energy and brave knowledge. I loved Theatre and theatre lore, and never failed to miss an opportunity to shock, or entertain. Now, while not completely comfortable with my singing abilities, I was full sure of my status as a “seasoned” performer, who was not afraid to test some old superstitions; even dare them, as it were. So during a pre-show warm up, I shocked a few of my fellow cast-mates by uttering the un-utterable: “Macbeth” I said, out loud and on stage. They gasped. I proceeded to educated them as to the history of why it was really considered bad luck, and that it actually wasn’t the most bloody play Shakespeare wrote, and blah, blah blah… proving to them that nothing would come of this by concluding: “Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, and Macbeth.” So there. Nothing happened. At that point.
During the show that night, two things happened: The yellow gloves (Mac is usually famous for wearing white gloves, but our translation had them as yellow) I wore disappeared. Not a huge issue, but in such an impeccably run dressing room as we had, it was strange- nothing important had just disappeared prior, and to this date, I have never lost a costume piece before; they are as much a part of me as my limbs. It would be easier to loose my head than a costume piece- but, the gloves were gone and a spare pair had to be found.
Later, near the end of the show, when I was chained up in prison, one of the manacles just dropped off my wrist. They had been made to open quickly, but not by themselves. After all the tests, all the rehearsals, the few shows before, never had they just dropped off.
Nothing too bad. No one got hurt, no one died. Each of these things could easily have been explained…
The second incident, was very brief. I was waiting in the wings, watching one of the scenes before I was to enter, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl who played Polly Peachum come stand next to me. This surprised me, because she usually entered from the other side, and appeared to be wearing her white wedding dress from an earlier scene (the white dress was what caught my attention in the dark backstage). I turned to ask her why she was in the wrong costume… and of coarse; there was no one there. I was alone.
A year later, I am walking to my car, after some show, or rehearsal. The parking lot was pretty much empty, and myself and a couple cast-mates were the only group around. I had just entered the parking lot, when there on the ground, were the original pair of yellow gloves that had been lost a year ago. The couple people I was with had also been in the show and had known about eh gloves disappearing… we stood there for a bit, in silence. Then I picked up the gloves and have never said Macbeth on stage again. Not for fear of any curse, or magic… but out of respect for the one or two theatre spirits out there who do believe in the superstition.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Come for the family fun... stay for the pie.
I attended a production of Titus Andronicus last night, to see a good friend take on the lead (Titus as a woman; I’m down with it). The weather was perfect for it- slight autumn chill, with a little rain in the air. The theatre was a nice little hole in the wall, exposed brick situation, were your right in the middle of the action. I love small theatres like this. So juicy. And the program peaked my interest even more, with the bold promise:
“…an ambitious program of shows, in which nearly all of the Bard’s great works will be ruthlessly mutilated, bent, battered, cut to ribbons and otherwise manhandled…” it went on to add: “…Shakespeare scholars will faint, literature hounds will blanch in horro as the indie theater impresario mercilessly bodyslams the venerated playwright’s finest and most beloved works with no regard whatsoever to the rules of etiquette, theater, or fair play!” And even dared to say: “…virtually guaranteed to p*** off (their self censorship) just about everybody!”
Wow. Okay. Bring it! Shakespeare’s been around some 400 years, he could use a challenge. I’m no stranger to avant-garde theatre- I’ve seen and done some pretty messed up things in Shakespeare and other classics (I’ve smoked a tampon in Lysistrata, witnessed an all female Richard III, twirled a hoola-hoop in A Winter’s Tale, and just missed a production of Hamlet, where the ‘to be, or not to be’ speech was delivered by spray painting it onto a plastic curtain). I eagerly awaited the assault.
Sadly, none of the director’s claims even came close to the promises made. What I actually saw was a fairly conventional production, with some loud music, and TV monitors, accompanying a poorly lit stage. Cut’s were made, and a few liberties taken with some of the lines… but nothing outrageous, or even clever.
I should have know- when your program boasts that this production is “virtually guaranteed to p*** off just about everybody!” How can I take you seriously when you censor the word piss off? I guess I should be pissed off by that alone… but I’m not; just a little disappointed and slightly annoyed.
I did find the director to be spot on about one thing thought: In his bio he said: “[the director] has been pumping out loud, excessive, almost entirely pointless theater in various NYC venues for over 10 years…”. I may be wrong, but I think this was meant to be self-effacing humor, and not sad fact. The directing in this production was pointless, full of muddy staging, chorus lines, and misguided production values.
However…
I am happy to say, the actors were a nice surprise. I will credit the director with being able to people his production with some damn talented folk. There were a few other ‘non-traditional’ casting choices- changing male characters into female- but it was never a distraction. Titus was a woman, and so was her brother (now a sister).
It was all well played, so we accepted what we saw before us. We watched their journey through this horrific story, and never minded what their sex was. Well done.
So while my expectations of a true avant-garde experience were terribly let down, I did enjoy a nice production of Titus, with some solid performances. At one point when Titus is confronted by Tamora, and her sons, disguised as Revenge, rape and murder, she says to them: “How like the Empress and her sons you are”. The line was so quietly, and coldly delivered that I swear and icicle had been dragged across my spine. I wanted to clime out of my skin!
Another highlight: The scene where Tamara’s sons are slaughtered, had Titus straddling the lap of a bound and naked Demetrius, slicing open his throat in a frightening euphoric ecstasy of revenge. If only they’d been allowed stage blood… then again, that might have been overkill- from what I saw, there was enough emotional blood pouring out of Titus’s looks to turn the stage into a sea of blood (think elevator scene in the Shining).
And later… when you could actually smell the meat pie that was brought on stage (made up of Tamara’s two sons)… some guy next to me looked like he was going to be sick.
Well done Kymberly, and company. Sorry about the director.
“…an ambitious program of shows, in which nearly all of the Bard’s great works will be ruthlessly mutilated, bent, battered, cut to ribbons and otherwise manhandled…” it went on to add: “…Shakespeare scholars will faint, literature hounds will blanch in horro as the indie theater impresario mercilessly bodyslams the venerated playwright’s finest and most beloved works with no regard whatsoever to the rules of etiquette, theater, or fair play!” And even dared to say: “…virtually guaranteed to p*** off (their self censorship) just about everybody!”
Wow. Okay. Bring it! Shakespeare’s been around some 400 years, he could use a challenge. I’m no stranger to avant-garde theatre- I’ve seen and done some pretty messed up things in Shakespeare and other classics (I’ve smoked a tampon in Lysistrata, witnessed an all female Richard III, twirled a hoola-hoop in A Winter’s Tale, and just missed a production of Hamlet, where the ‘to be, or not to be’ speech was delivered by spray painting it onto a plastic curtain). I eagerly awaited the assault.
Sadly, none of the director’s claims even came close to the promises made. What I actually saw was a fairly conventional production, with some loud music, and TV monitors, accompanying a poorly lit stage. Cut’s were made, and a few liberties taken with some of the lines… but nothing outrageous, or even clever.
I should have know- when your program boasts that this production is “virtually guaranteed to p*** off just about everybody!” How can I take you seriously when you censor the word piss off? I guess I should be pissed off by that alone… but I’m not; just a little disappointed and slightly annoyed.
I did find the director to be spot on about one thing thought: In his bio he said: “[the director] has been pumping out loud, excessive, almost entirely pointless theater in various NYC venues for over 10 years…”. I may be wrong, but I think this was meant to be self-effacing humor, and not sad fact. The directing in this production was pointless, full of muddy staging, chorus lines, and misguided production values.
However…
I am happy to say, the actors were a nice surprise. I will credit the director with being able to people his production with some damn talented folk. There were a few other ‘non-traditional’ casting choices- changing male characters into female- but it was never a distraction. Titus was a woman, and so was her brother (now a sister).
It was all well played, so we accepted what we saw before us. We watched their journey through this horrific story, and never minded what their sex was. Well done.
So while my expectations of a true avant-garde experience were terribly let down, I did enjoy a nice production of Titus, with some solid performances. At one point when Titus is confronted by Tamora, and her sons, disguised as Revenge, rape and murder, she says to them: “How like the Empress and her sons you are”. The line was so quietly, and coldly delivered that I swear and icicle had been dragged across my spine. I wanted to clime out of my skin!
Another highlight: The scene where Tamara’s sons are slaughtered, had Titus straddling the lap of a bound and naked Demetrius, slicing open his throat in a frightening euphoric ecstasy of revenge. If only they’d been allowed stage blood… then again, that might have been overkill- from what I saw, there was enough emotional blood pouring out of Titus’s looks to turn the stage into a sea of blood (think elevator scene in the Shining).
And later… when you could actually smell the meat pie that was brought on stage (made up of Tamara’s two sons)… some guy next to me looked like he was going to be sick.
Well done Kymberly, and company. Sorry about the director.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Oh for a muse of zeroes and ones...
Finally, In Your Ear Shakespeare has a blog! I really wanted to design and maintain my own news and info page on the “In Your Ear” site. I had such vision and ambition. With grace and love I would tend it; make sure it was always updated and current... but, sadly, this did not worked out. Not all technology makes life easier. Some times all those small simple steps can be just enough to feed the fires of procrastination. Speaking of which, I am a huge procrastinator. I have no shame in admitting this. Some of histories greatest figures have been procrastinators. Leonardo Davinci for one (so I am told – I’ll look it up some day). Shakespeare, was not however; and neither was his Hamlet! But that is another story… I also like to interrupt myself.
Anyway…
I procrastinated getting hooked into the monstrous all-consuming beast that is social, networking, eventually giving in and starting up this here blog (actually, not completely true: I did have a blog before, with three whole entries, but that was then, and it only served to remind me I had three old blog entries- we move on, we grow, we aspire to more frequent blogging).
I’m glad I put it off. If for no other reason than it gave me time to focus exclusively on getting the podcast started, without having to try and revive a dead blog.
Now If I could just plug my brain into the computer and spew out all of the Shakespeare goodness that grows in there- that would be a perfect ending.
Anyway…
I procrastinated getting hooked into the monstrous all-consuming beast that is social, networking, eventually giving in and starting up this here blog (actually, not completely true: I did have a blog before, with three whole entries, but that was then, and it only served to remind me I had three old blog entries- we move on, we grow, we aspire to more frequent blogging).
I’m glad I put it off. If for no other reason than it gave me time to focus exclusively on getting the podcast started, without having to try and revive a dead blog.
Now If I could just plug my brain into the computer and spew out all of the Shakespeare goodness that grows in there- that would be a perfect ending.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
