Just
having finished commenting on our e-mail exchange, I got another e-mail because
Claudia read my last posts:
Hello
Barbara!
I
enjoyed reading the posts based on our e-mails (more than usual)!!! I find it
totally fascinating how the, from my perspective, entirely “normal” e-mails
gained so much meaning (and rightly so!). To the single issues that I found
interesting:
First of
all: Yesss, Doctor Who at the Globe!!!
“The NEWNESS of an interpretation as such, for
me, is NO criterion of its quality.”
The
newness of an interpretation as such for me as well is no criterion of the
quality of a production. A good production has to provide me with a new
perspective on the play or a certain aspect of the play. To be enthusiastic
about it, it has to be clear to me (or, as for you, has to be “my”
interpretation of the play/or aspect in question), but even if it doesn’t work
(on me) I usually find it interesting.
(I think this is basically what I meant by
“newness”. So there must still be something important I disagree with … But,
first of all, I am very pleased with these clear statements – based on experience!
– because they induce me to think seriously about what my own point of view is.
I think I still disagree because I usually don’t like productions that reduce a
“classic” to one aspect, but when I find this aspect interesting or like it I
am more lenient or appreciative, of course. To reduce “The Merchant of Venice”
to the Holocaust theme – which isn’t even in the play! – would be my example
here for worst case, even at the time, when it was still new. In my opinion, it
has always been barking up the wrong tree. “Hamlet” and the surveillance
society, or, especially, “Macbeth” and the business world, (or Caesar shown as
some kind of Donald Trump!) actually ARE highlighting central aspects of the
plays, but these features of a production are not what makes it interesting or
compelling for me. They can be a big help, though, for “us” to READ the play. (To
be specified …)
That I am only interested in my own
interpretation of a play might be a misunderstanding which comes out of my
method of “waiting” to see what the text will “do” with me before having an
opinion about it. The moment I understand what the text is doing is the moment
I understand it. Therefore it seldom happens that I find something interesting
that doesn’t work on me – though it MIGHT happen when I can extrapolate how it
might work on others. Of course, in some cases, I already have an opinion what
the play is about BEFORE I see it, but I am always open to what happens on the
stage, and having my opinion changed or deepened IF what I see works.)
“So, if there was one correct interpretation
everybody agrees on, that would become really boring.”
I think
THIS is the exciting thing about Shakespeare (or any other „classic“, and the
reason they became part of the canon) that there is no correct interpretation
because there are so many layers of meaning, and because the people watching
(or READING) them are so different and complex.
(I realize, to my amazement, that I disagree
with the inherent conclusion that the notion of a “correct” interpretation is
pointless BECAUSE there are so many layers, but disagreeing with THAT will in
fact mean to “open a barrel” – as we would say in German. It has to be put off,
maybe indefinitely … I very much agree with the notion that a “classic” is a
classic because it (still) appeals to so many, and totally different people, but
the other, no less important, aspect of a “classic” is, in my opinion, that
“we” still know – and care! - what it is about.)
By “correct”
I don’t understand that it has to resemble the first production at
Shakespeare’s time. Each time will always find its own interpretation, and, if
we just go back to Olivier, we become aware that “correct” in the sense of
“universally valid” cannot exist. At the time, they were considered as
“correct”, but nobody would see it like this today.
(Ouch!!! It was ME who introduced the concept
of a “correct” interpretation into the exchange, so all of this is MY FAULT. I
just realized that I don’t even know who opened Pandora’s box but that I have a
notion of how much they must have enjoyed it … I just LOVE this kind of stuff,
and it is such a pity that I cannot comment on this … but, of course, I will. There
are already two concepts of “correct” in this small paragraph that I am aware
of. We accidentally agreed recently that we are both atheists, so, to begin
with, there IS no universal truth anyway, anywhere – because: who should
determine it? Nonetheless, there is a genuine need for values that people agree
upon and find important. (The inability to cope with this COMPLEXITY – and with
the contradiction that “we” have officially abolished God even though,
statistically, there are a lot more Christians and Muslims still than atheists
– is the reason for politicians still trying to “assassinate” this opinion by
forcing crucifixes on us!) But, even though nobody can ever begin to agree on
these philosophical concepts, we always have an “everyday version” of them that
works. I find it in “By “correct” I don’t understand …” which implies a notion
of “correct”. And it made me think about my own notion of “correct”. Obviously
it has nothing to do with universal truth, or historical truth in the first
place. I think, basically, it is just a “tool” inherent in the conviction that “we”
are always LOOKING FOR TRUTH of some kind when we are reading classics. THIS is
what makes them different from other texts: that people STILL take them
seriously, and try and agree upon them, and find the truth they contain … Deep
breath!)
This is
probably the reason why I found “Hamlet” with Benedict Cumberbatch so boring –
because it was no more than the “common denominator”. A colleague who didn’t
know “Hamlet” so well liked it because they showed the play without “gimmicks”.
(Even though I kind of enjoyed “Hamlet” without
gimmicks, and enjoyed Benedict Cumberbatch playing him (and enjoyed it
enormously to see Ciaran Hinds in the theatre playing Claudius as exactly, and
forcefully!, as he always does) we probably agree that this must have been the
most overrated production in the history of the National Theatre - probably
even for the same reason.)
This is
as well why I find the Globe so interesting: they are trying, by imitating the
exterior aspects of Shakespeare’s time, to give us starting-points for new
interpretations of the plays or relevant aspects. To evoke the mindframe of the
period, which - as a “historian” – I find interesting because it brings aspects
to my attention which I didn’t understand or would have discarded as
unimportant.
(I think I totally agree with this, especially
about the crucial aspect that NOTHING I discard because I don’t understand it
is probably unimportant for my potentially “correct” interpretation of the
play. (Looking back on the meaning of flowers in “Hamlet” … I didn’t crack this
one!)
My main reason for loving the Globe, though, is
that - by using the historical setting of the theatre and the possibilities
contained therein, and the knowledge about period performances - they (re)discover
aspects of the theatre that got forgotten or suppressed. And it amazes me how
“contemporary” the more recent productions – like “Titus Andronicus” and “The
Merchant of Venice” - have turned out because of THIS - not because of trying
to suggest a new interpretation, as directors usually do. To be specified …)
So, this
is enough for now. Enjoy your holidays!
Cheers
Claudia
Of
course this would be more than enough for one post, again, but I am getting the
impression that a big part of reading “Shylock” is still before me … (sigh!) One
of the reasons why the e-mail exchange was so thrilling and productive for me
is that it compelled me to think twice (or more often) about some aspects of reading
“The Merchant of Venice” - and of my reading Shakespeare – which I was already
taking for granted but am only BEGINNING to understand. I was kind of groaning
at first when I realized that I basically left out the Jew - in my blog, not in
my reading! There is very little explained about Shylock which put a wrong
focus on my reading and on our exchange in general. Nonetheless, Shylock has
always been at the centre of my reading “The Merchant of Venice”, but this went
almost without saying – literally! I mentioned it, though, implicitly, when I
wrote that I was always doing “equations” on behalf of Shylock’s guilt and
behaviour – always wishing that the result might be different than I knew it
would be. It is not the result that counts, though, it is the way there, and
THAT was how I began to REALLY read “The Merchant of Venice” (and might be the beginning
of an explanation why Shakespeare turns out as such an “advocate” for humane
values nonetheless, and why reading (the right things) actually might make us
more “human” …) The rest of the play I began to appreciate only when I noticed
what I was doing and, having gained some experience with Shakespeare, cautioned
myself about it. (It was like when I began to “read” the “Hobbit” films and was
thrilled that they REALLY are about the dwarves. And then, when they cruelly
disabused me of this notion in “The Desolation of Smaug”, I was pissed off at
first but, in the long run, came round and acknowledged - and read! - the other
stories as well. And this became necessary not just to really understand my
favourite films but to understand my favourite story better!)
So I
groaned, but I came round and am beginning to like the task of writing about
Shylock because it presents me with the opportunity of writing about another
aspect of reading Shakespeare – and of reading “classics” in general - which I
noticed right at the beginning of our exchange, when Claudia stressed that she
hadn’t READ the play. An idea struck me that in fact there are different
“levels” of reading fictional texts. Probably more than I think, but I noticed
three, the first of which – and, astonishingly, not the least important - is in
fact NOT READING. The second I called JUST READING, the third REALLY READING.
“Just reading”, as such, is impossible. It indicates the part of reading that I
do just to know what is the content of the play, without making any judgements
or having any feelings about what is going on. (Like when I had to read one of
our “classics” in class and didn’t have the slightest interest in it but had to
know the content.) And “really reading” is what I am trying to do and document
in my blog.
First of
all, I have to stress here something I didn’t really know, or concede, until
now – though, when I am thinking about it, I have a lot of experience of this
kind myself: NOT READING, as I introduced it here, absurd as this may sound, is
an important part or form of reading, even, I think, the most common and
important when it comes to classics. “Everybody” knows this, and I noticed it
often in this blog, though it mostly became explicit in a disparaging way, as
having to get rid of received ideas and stereotypes about the plays. I am
aware, though, of how crucial these ideas are when I am reading. Rereading my
first “Merchant of Venice” post, I realized this another time. I would go as
far as to state that there is no reading a complex text WITHOUT SOME KIND OF
NOT READING IT before. (To avoid confusion: To watch a complete play performed
on the stage is certainly not a form of not reading but can – and should! - be
the most complete form of really reading if the circumstances are right. Until
I read it completely, though, and saw a stage production, I wasn’t really
reading. The film, for reasons I unfolded in my second “Merchant of Venice”
post, basically counts as not reading. It just served as some kind of unusually
vivid introduction to the play.) The final proof, though, was our e-mail
exchange where we had a substantial conversation on what “The Merchant of
Venice” is about from our respective points of view of not reading and really
reading.
To take
the most notorious prejudice about “The Merchant of Venice” as an example: the
opinion that Shylock is about the Holocaust may in fact be as ludicrous as it
sounds, nonetheless it is not, strictly speaking, wrong! I am convinced that it
IS wrong - in the narrow sense of my “correct” interpretation - but it is part
of what “happened” to this play when people “used” it, and therefore will be
part of reading it until there is no “living” recollection of the Holocaust anymore.
And I know this sounds bad, and I would never write it on Facebook, but I
believe that there will be a time – a long time after I am dead! – where people
won’t remember the Holocaust anymore but will still read Shakespeare … (And,
for the people who don’t read my blog but would stop reading when they are
reading this: an explanation why “The Merchant of Venice” definitely is not -
and can and should never be, in my opinion - about the Holocaust will follow
eventually.) In this context it is just important that “we” cannot get rid of
this notion, and never will - during our lifetime – because it has inscribed
itself permanently into the play BY NOT READING IT. So, in the context of “The
Merchant of Venice”, this is the most striking example of how influential not
reading can be that I could come up with: that we CANNOT avoid speaking of the
Holocaust when we are speaking of Shylock. Writing about it, this was quite
easy – as there is nothing in the play about the Holocaust anyway! - but as
soon as there is a second person involved in the discussion: No way! It might
be different in other countries where this tradition of not being allowed NOT
to mention the Holocaust is less ubiquitous. In Germany it will “always” be so
that, if someone knows but one thing about “The Merchant of Venice”, it is that
it is about the Holocaust, and, consequently, at least for German theatres,
there are still but two options about producing this play: either to imply the
Holocaust in some way or to avoid producing it altogether.
There is
so much about really reading in this blog anyway that I shouldn’t have to
elaborate. (It would certainly be a more fitting title for my blog than
“Reading Shakespeare” – but “Reading Shakespeare” is definitely sexier.) There
is another opportunity, though, of writing something about my other favourite
subject: actors – and, recently, the question why I love certain actors and
value them so much more than others of whom I may have seen more relevant
acting. Apart from noticing that I have always liked actors who can roar -
probably because this is something I’d like to do myself and cannot – of course
I am fond of actors who are passionate about reading. And I find it interesting
that all three actors who have unlimited credit with me have given me definite
proof of being great readers. It is probably least obvious in the case of Ralph
Fiennes, but I am convinced that there was a lot of really reading involved in
the way he played Richard III – so “completely” and differently. It is often so
for me that I love these plays and these characters so much because I find
their story interesting and kind of get involved in their predicaments, but the
character behind them remains vague and opaque until a great reader-actor like
Ralph Fiennes comes along and gives me everything I ever wanted, and more. My
first contact with Simon Russell Beale was similar – when I saw him as Falstaff
in “The Hollow Crown”. I always knew that Falstaff is this interesting and
singular character, but I never knew why until Simon Russell Beale played him
totally differently and, though they savaged the text until there was barely
anything left, he achieved to transfer the depth of his reading to the
character, making him extra-special and more “true” than any Falstaff I have
seen on the stage. But it was the intimacy of these moments in “Lear” and in “The
Tempest”, where he found the innermost point of the predicament of his
character, and this surprising and intimate way of SHARING this moment of “deep
reading”, that awoke this kind of tenderness I have for him as an actor. It is
a singular feeling that only he has ever achieved to kindle in me, and it
pleases and amuses me every time I see him again in the cinema, and I always
feel it again. Kind of as if we shared a metaphorical kiss.
About
Richard Armitage it was most obvious because I have a lot of interviews and
commentaries by him on DVD, and, at least about his most significant
characters, there is always this step implied where he fell in love with the
text – as every passionate reader does, but probably a lot stronger as it
turned into an act of creation. He said this about “North and South” and about
“The Hobbit” where he remembered the book as his first great reading experience
at the age of seven. (I also remember what I read at the age of seven, and how
I felt about it – and how desperately I wanted to write at that age!) Of him I
have most proof of being an enthusiast of the written word as he even read
former versions of “The Hobbit” to find out how his character evolved in
Tolkien’s mind. And he read Shakespeare for input on his character! - Concerning
“The Crucible” he appeared to be physically affected by the strength of these
sentences, kind of wrestling with them – and this is something I am well
acquainted with, “as a writer”, but I know that I could never experience it
like this, kind of “physically” conquering new territory. (More jealousy than
tenderness in this relationship, obviously – but, in this case, I don’t mind!) And
about “Hannibal” I had the impression that he didn’t appreciate the series as
much as I did - too much blood and bullshit? - but loved the novel for the
“visceral” quality of the language. He even wrote an extensive diary on his
character, so detailed and kind of literary that Bryan Fuller made use of it for
writing the character. I was totally thrilled about this, of course, because it
is almost exactly what I am doing myself, kind of trying to “extend” my reading
by writing. Making it even more personal in this way. Of course there must be
many people who are doing something like this – though nobody in his right mind
would probably do it outside of a professional context. It might be ridiculous,
like my “relationships” with these actors which I try to describe faithfully.
As I gathered more “samples” recently I have found proof of what I already suspected
them to be about. Actors can do something invaluable for me because they can
read these texts – even become a part of them – in a way I never could. As I
wrote: It makes me jealous, but I don’t mind because they don’t take away something
that I might have had but ADD something invaluable to MY experience. (And I
have a feeling that having this kind of relationship with actors is not at all
uncommon, only people often come to think that it is about the person. This is
understandable because, unlike with most other artists, we always find a more
or less substantial part of the person in the character they are playing –
which is also an attractive feature of reading, of course. I try to avoid this mix-up,
though, by not “looking them up”, not following them on twitter or anywhere
else, even though I might miss something important, in order not to damage the “fictional”
relationship.)
Apart
from that: Really reading is worth it, just because it feels so good. Since I
am practicing it regularly I am always disappointed about the REAL orgasms
being so short. Joke, but no joke …
Seriously,
I recommend really reading not least because it opens – and enlarges - this
space of freedom Schiller wrote about in his stuck-up classic terminology,
where we can practice the most ridiculous great things – like exchanging metaphorical
kisses (and worse) - without anybody checking on us, or being allowed to judge
or inhibit us. The older I get the more I experience the importance of this,
the luxuries it contains … pity, but it is high time to come to my point about
Shylock. There were two interesting things I noticed about the three actors I
saw playing Shylock in complete productions of the play (the old BBC
production, the RSC’s, and the Globe’s). They were kind of circumspect about
this character, very cautious not to do anything wrong. And they made him all
three almost exactly the same person. Most of all, I think, they meticulously avoided
to make it PERSONAL. Not so Al Pacino. He did exactly the opposite, and this is
certainly why his Shylock had such an impact on me at the time. I believe that
he is a great reader in his own way - the kind of reader I like to be myself
sometimes! – very single-minded and passionate, but very meticulous as well.
Compared with the others he took a risk and, basically, got it wrong because,
in the end, the film turned out to be entirely about Shylock, but it certainly became
the kind of interesting production about a SINGLE ASPECT of the play that
works, giving us a vivid impression of the situation and predicament of the
Jews at the time which – unlike the Holocaust! – definitely IS a substantial part
of the text Shakespeare has written. Being a very intelligent actor on top of
that, Al Pacino avoided that the story became flat and naïve – at least where
his character is concerned. And, most important, the intensity of his reading
induced ME to READ Shylock, and I can only say that it was worth it. In my
experience Shylock really is one of these characters in Shakespeare that
deserve being read closely – even more because of what happens to them than
because they are such an interesting or compelling person in the first place. I
just liked it immensely to read him and to try to make him “add up”, as we do
with real people – and he never did! I am just waiting to see somebody having
the courage to play Shylock on the stage like Ralph Fiennes played Richard III
- and get it right. (I probably missed David Suchet doing it more than thirty
years ago, I know! In “Playing Shakespeare” there are just scraps …)
What was
interesting, though: In the end, it didn’t even matter that much that Shylock,
as a character, turned out unsatisfactory, or wrong. In the end, all four
productions “worked” because what happens is just such a scandal, and everybody
with a human heart in his body gets affected by it – probably differently at
the time than we are now, but nonetheless. It is this kind of heartbreaking
story that always works, and, one way or the other, Shylock is at the centre of
everything that happens. Every relationship is affected by him. Every person is
kind of “tested” by him as a human being and the innermost structure of their
relationships is laid bare because - infallibly and independent of the
historical context - how people and societies are dealing with strangers has
always been a test and a revelation of what they are made of. THIS, in my
opinion, is what makes “The Merchant of Venice” such a great play and creates
this genuine suspense that infallibly erupts in the court scene as the highest
– or lowest! – point of the Shylock/Antonio storyline. (And this reading
experience is probably at the bottom of being dead set against changing
anything about a character like Shylock. There is the interesting question
about a “Shakespeare Retold”, though, that I brought up myself …) To be
continued …
