The day
before I began to write this I met with Claudia – two months after „Macbeth“ in
Stratford – and we talked about Shakespeare for hours. This time JUST
Shakespeare! It has almost become some kind of routine now – READING
SHAKESPEARE – but I still cannot believe that it turned out like this for me.
Every time something like reading “Macbeth” happens it comes as this infinitely
pleasant surprise …
Though I
am eager now to come to “To be or not to be …” and “Nothing”, which got
suspended indefinitely because of the unexpected “happening” of “Macbeth”,
there is still something left. Claudia wrote me an e-mail before we departed
for Stratford, and I kept it because I knew there was something important in it.
Now I had time to figure out what it was, and our discussion helped a great
deal to finally make up my mind about it. Not really where “Macbeth” is
concerned, but about an issue that bothers and intrigues me almost every time I
am dealing with “Shakespeare”. This is what she wrote:
“Yesterday
I thought a lot about how one of the crucial subjects of the play – the
overthrow of order, and chaos – might be represented in a contemporary way (on
the stage). The only option I could think of was the murder of a democratic
leader who is replaced by a tyrant. What speaks against it is the appointment
of a successor by Duncan. This would already mean breaking a taboo and indicate
the beginning of the end – and this would be “Julius Caesar”. I think it is
important as well to draw a line between “Macbeth” and “Richard II” – which is
about the overthrow of a legitimate king – but in this case the focus is on
Richard II being an inadequate leader, which cannot be said for Duncan (…) It is
even crucial to show that Duncan is a good leader (…) The text is very explicit
in this respect and doesn’t allow a different interpretation. And the frame of
mind at the time didn’t allow for anything else than to think of a king as God-given.
It is just not how WE think (…)”
As
usual, there are a number of interesting issues which I would like to address,
as, for example, why I judge the political interpretation – about good
leadership and tyranny – NOT to be relevant in this case … But the most
intriguing question – which I always come to ask myself at some point reading
Shakespeare – is if it is necessary, or useful, to make this contemporary
“translation” on the stage, this kind of statement on the historical and
political situation addressed in the play.
We
talked about this as well when we met and - I think! - agreed that this kind of
statement is often useful and a big help to better understand what issues the
play is dealing with, and probably quite as frequently turns out
unsatisfactory, or wrong. In my experience it can be very enjoyable and
instructive, as in the National Theatre’s “Julius Caesar”, or more or less
beside the point, as in the National Theatre’s “Macbeth”. We especially agreed
that we both hate the kind of naïve “update” we usually find on the German
stage – where the historical frame of mind gets skipped completely in favour of
what a contemporary audience would understand. Something I usually experience
as an insult to my intellectual capacities and “educational status” as part of
a contemporary audience – and, of course, as boring.
It isn’t
self-evident, though, that the historical situation the text is supposed to
refer to, and the frame of mind of the period in which it was written, is the
sole basis for a correct – or relevant? - interpretation. I wouldn’t have
thought so, but, observing my own reading, I came to the conclusion that I
basically agree with deconstructivism in this respect that everything we can
use for reading automatically becomes some kind of text – otherwise we couldn’t
use it – and that, basically, all these texts have the same status. Accordingly,
even the kind of text that comes into my reading “by accident” contains the
potential of inducing a meaningful text production process. As – quite often
where I am concerned - other fictional text that has nothing to do with the
play in the first place because it didn’t exist at the time or there is no
indication that Shakespeare might have known it, or even random “events” like
having an orgasm in a sex scene which undoubtedly adds emphasis and meaning to
this scene. I believe that everything that we don’t forget got already turned
into a text – like the part of a dream I don’t forget because I am able to TELL
it when I wake up – and may reappear eventually in a different context and
create meaning. This is just how these things really work, and I am grateful to
deconstructivists for having included this suppressed reality. Of course - as
philosophers are supposed to! - they have turned this rather evident part of
our reading experience into an “absolutist” theory which will never work in a
“real life” context. And, though I realize myself that this is a naïve point of
view, my subject here is not reading theory but “real-life reading”.
We also
had a significant discussion about theatre which made me aware of how much of
an anarchist I am in this respect, meaning how much I cherish this
“irresponsible” part of my reading. I think this is because it means to become
conscious of the part I myself – and who I am – provide when I am reading. I
said that I even prefer to see theatre in the cinema or on DVD in a certain
respect because there is less random content – like somebody not knowing their
text, or a beautiful actor turning up right beside me, or - still my all-time
favourite! - this actor in a German production of “Blackbird” actually looking
AT US as if he wanted to find out if we might be judging HIM! – to sidetrack me
and make me miss relevant things that happen on the stage. On the other hand, I
just love it when things like this happen – probably with the exception of
somebody not knowing their text. I even love it when the fourth wall is
breached in the cinema by a speck of mud or drop of water ending up on the
camera lens. Things that are not supposed to happen … I think it makes me
suddenly aware that reading is part of life – as being infinitely complex and
potentially uncontrollable. In my experience, if “we” are still alive by the
age of fifty it is because we somehow have preserved this child in us that
basically is an anarchist. And reading cannot be overrated in this respect
because everything we are ALLOWED to do “as an anarchist” can happen there.
My
ambivalent reaction, however, is an indication of something which is also a
part of real-life reading. That we LEARN to choose and prefer certain texts as
reference for reading period fiction. And this - if we have learned to do the
right thing - means that we come to prefer what is MOST EFFICIENT and
successful. This is where I draw the line on deconstructivism. As I already
wrote somewhere, I am basically a naturalist which, in this case, means that
one of the very few things I believe in is that “things” like a text vortex
exist – probably not in the sense a stone or a tree exists, but in some
different – less tangible but no less important! – mode of existence. As proof
of its existence I have the experience that an INDIVIDUAL text has an effect on
me, and can change ME. Maybe I am as close now as I will ever come to answering
the question about a “correct” interpretation. As the text vortex, in my
opinion, IS NOT A RANDOM THING but depends on the existence of an individual
text, certain kinds of text will be more likely to interact with it.
Pity that
I haven’t yet got to “To be or not to be” because it would have been such a
textbook example for the point I wanted to make about this. It is that in my
experience, first and foremost, highly individual personal content from my own
life is extremely likely to react with the text vortex of a Shakespeare play
(or anything in “Shakespeare”, like sonnets!). But this is practically what my
blog is about when I am dealing with “Shakespeare”. It applies to “Macbeth” –
where I used highly individual personal content of Christopher Eccleston to
fill in for my lack of experience! – and it applied to my first conscious
reading experience of this kind which created this blog. This was “The Taming
of the Shrew” – where I also used the unexpectedly empathic approach of
Petrucchio by John Cleese as a “booster”, but where Katherine is concerned:
that was my own!
Technically
speaking, what is so special for me about “Shakespeare” is that, if I am unable
to activate this personal part of the text vortex – be it directly through my
own experience, or content brought in by others, usually actors - I KNOW that I
haven’t understood the play and missed the opportunity of reading it. Mostly
when I am reading fiction and nothing happens I have the impression that I
understand but that it is the kind of text I am bored with. Even if I suspect
that I am wrong about this, that I am just unable or unwilling to read it
properly, I cannot find the MOTIVATION to dwell on it and make something
happen. In “Shakespeare” I already know from experience that, when I have the time
and patience to dwell on it, something unexpectedly meaningful will happen. My
guess is that the reason for this is the unique COMBINATION of aesthetical and
human content which keeps me fascinated with what is going on, so that I WANT
to dwell on these issues, however disagreeable, and play with them. (I think we
talked about this as well, briefly - amazing! We talked about everything … And
it is telling that “Hannibal” (the series) got mentioned – about which we
fundamentally disagree! - because it became my stellar example for aesthetical
playing. Usually we are playing with objects we like – not with what we
dislike! – and don’t become aware of the ACT of playing because we dwell on the
beautiful “playthings”. In this case I experienced my anarchist streak so
strongly as I did never before, being so delighted with the FREEDOM of playing
just for the sake of playing.)
Because
of this singularly successful constellation in “Shakespeare” even very painful
and disagreeable experiences may turn out BEAUTIFUL. It is even, in my experience,
one of the greatest difficulties about performing Shakespeare to somehow “transcend”
beauty towards the “real thing” – which often is particularly disagreeable. And
I am never so excited as when THIS happens. I remember the “Not mad!” moment from
Simon Russell Beale’s Lear as shocking and beautiful at the same time - and
this was probably my top one single theatre moment. So, obviously, for me this
kind of personal stuff is the most relevant kind of reference text for reading
Shakespeare. And this is certainly not a marginal feature of the text vortex
but precisely calculated as to what might be most efficient on the stage, and
for what kind of text-induced excitement people would have been – and ARE to
the present day! – likely to come to the theatres and leave their money there
instead of the dog fighting places or the football stadium.
But
there are other texts as well that are highly likely to react with the text
vortex of these plays, especially everything we (think to) know as historical
facts about the period, and what we consider to be the frame of mind it refers
to. We had a discussion about the status of this historical knowledge, and, I
think, judged it differently. My point of view being more “deconstructivist” -
than I myself thought! - I consider written history to be “just” text as well -
not some kind of “ready-made” truth - because I am not big on believing, and I
am not competent anyway to judge about the truth value of historical statements.
To dwell on this distinction might mostly be splitting hairs, though, because when
I am reading I am making assumptions about the reality the text refers to
anyway. Nonetheless it appears important to me that historical text doesn’t
automatically take precedence, and the assumptions “we” make about the frame of
mind of a period in my experience usually are faulty or incomplete. I think we
even agreed on this because we both find it interesting that this “knowledge”
is dependent on the period where it is established, and is constantly changing.
Like any other kind of reference text, written history is to take with more
than a grain of salt. Nonetheless I consider it as extremely important for
reading period text like “Shakespeare”, even - as I just realized - less for
its questionable “truth value” than in relation to what I see as a general feature
of the text vortex of these plays.
I
already wrote in one of my last posts that I find the existence of different
time levels in Shakespeare’s plays increasingly fascinating but didn’t
elaborate. My most notorious example of this current “vortex feature” is not
from Shakespeare, though. It is “The Crucible”, and I am, of course, delighted
to have reason to insert a quote by Richard Armitage about the play being “ultimately
timeless”:
“It has
lines that feel relevant in 1692, relevant in the Fifties, relevant today and
relevant tomorrow, in 10 years, in 20 years, while we’re still destroying each
other …”
The last
bit hit home - I mean RIGHT NOW - being at my mother’s and uncomfortably close
to one of these relationship battlefields, where guilt gets explored for
maximum damage and blackmail. Still feels so much more scary and depressing
when it is happening for real … The point I wanted to make, though, is about
the text structure Richard Armitage described. In this case it is a conscious and
ingenious choice: to tell this story from the 17th century as being
about something that happened when it was written – in the Fifties. And an
outcome of equally clever choices to produce and play it in a way that would still
feel relevant to an audience of the 21st century. Choices which, I
think, include this AWARENESS of time levels and the excitement of playing with
them. Maybe THIS is even why it is called “timelessness”: playing with different
time levels as a method of “cancelling out” time, or at least that crushing
effect it has on our lives – which they used in the RSC’s “Macbeth”. But this
is speculation. Fact is that this structure of the vortex, which is so
consciously exploited in “The Crucible”, is an inherent feature of any period
fiction and, consequently, can always be “activated” in “Shakespeare”. And to
activate it we need this awareness of a DIFFERENT frame of mind of the period –
or periods – addressed in the play as a reference text. In “Macbeth” there are
three time-levels involved: The frame of mind of the period the story comes
from – pre-Christian Scotland, the frame of mind of the Elizabethan period when
the play was written, and the contemporary frame of mind when it is performed
on a 21st century stage. So far this isn’t an exciting observation. It
is part of what “everybody” is aware of. But, in my opinion, “timelessness” is
not just “there”, it is what WE are adding to the play, getting excited by the
existence of different time levels and trying out what we can DO with them. I
liked “ultimately” because it contains the awareness of this ACTIVITY. And the
NUMBER of time levels – and reference texts – certainly contributes to the
excitement of playing, making the play ever “more timeless” and aesthetically
relevant. “In 10 years, in 20 years …” – an ongoing, potentially infinite
process. I think THIS is what I like about it!
And it
just struck me that this partly explains my ongoing fascination with one of my favourite
features of “Macbeth”: the “Weird Sisters”. As I have written, for me, they
originate from the dawn of time – the Three Fates spinning the thread of our
lives at the foot of Yggdrasil. Shakespeare called them the “Weird Sisters”,
not the “witches” - as which they must have been referenced in Elizabethan
times. And there are, of course, frequent references in the play to the
contemporary “knowledge” about witches and witchcraft. It appears to be common
knowledge that he “wrote them in” to please James I who himself compiled a book
about witchcraft, and would have referenced them better than Shakespeare
himself could. At least I have a feeling that he was not entirely comfortable
with this addition to his basically naturalistic cosmos of political affairs
and heavy “human stuff”. I think that he did his best to leave them
conveniently vague – which, on a contemporary stage, is likely to be greeted as
an invitation to get rid of them. I understand that. Nonetheless they are a
feature I would like to play with, and one of the reasons for this is their
timelessness – their dating so far back that this feels like an immeasurable
treasure of time and meaning that could be attached to them. Until now I
haven’t seen it – no production I have seen so far took up this challenge. But
anticipating this infinite potential of playing is beautiful as well. And, of
course, in 10 years, or 20 years somebody will want to find a new reason to
play with them, a new contemporary context to reference them on the stage, and
I might still be around to see it …
