Montag, 21. September 2015

Interlude: "Othello" (RSC 2015)


Even though my „September blog“ is already complete, I decided to put this in first. It is kind of a scanty review about the new production of “Othello” by the RSC which I have just seen in the cinema (on Sept. 14th). The reason is that, apart from its having been totally exciting, I saw something I have always “dreamed” of being able to see in a Shakespeare play, and which I thought would be the summit of what I consider my “Shakespeare experience”. And now I actually SAW it! And it might be a good “prologue” to what otherwise would have been my September blog, although that will not even be about Shakespeare.

How to begin … Of course I’ll leave the greatest for last, but the first totally exciting thing – which should in fact be a matter of course but is still very rarely seen in a Shakespeare play – was that all the actors were acting ALL THE TIME they were on stage. Like film actors acting all the time they are on camera – but of course they are only on camera when they are supposed to be seen. We would be very much taken aback if we saw a film actor just “pause” with acting as they do on the stage all the time. But in a Shakespeare play you have to define every movement, every action and reaction, when two actors are talking for five minutes and maybe six actors are on the stage. And what they are doing has to make sense as well. This must be incredibly difficult and, at the same time, you cannot afford to distract the attention from what is just going on when, for example, Iago is acting one of his long monologues, and the other actors remain on the stage. It is a daring thing to do but worked really well. I was satisfied to see this because I had always thought it ought to be like this but didn’t know if it was possible. And you can even see how important it is to explore the dynamic qualities of these plays even more than it is usually done. How important the “action” – in the most literal sense – is in this play. Because it is a violent maelstrom that Iago is creating all by himself. And you have not only to see but to feel it – in a literal sense. Be drawn into the movement. I think this has even been one of the main attractions of this play for me, which I hadn’t been able to understand completely until I saw this. A stellar achievement by all the actors, and the director, in the first place!

“Othello” has never been one of my favourite plays by Shakespeare – even though one of my favourite “parts” of all the plays is in it: the “action” between Iago and Othello – which I always thought to be one of the most subtle and intricate things Shakespeare has written. (I MEAN “thought” – because, until I had seen this, I didn’t “know”!) And because they really understood this and made it the centre of the play – that is: not just Iago plotting successfully to destroy Othello, which was the part I have always understood, and enjoyed, but the COMPLETE relationship! – I was “in the right play” from the beginning. - It hadn’t been one of my least favourite plays either – even though one of the scenes I dislike most in all the plays is in there: the scene where Othello kills Desdemona. But, as they managed to make complete sense of ALL the relationships in this play, even this scene came off as something not entirely pathetic. In fact, it is rather a good scene if you can make sense of everything that is in it.

And they really made sense of almost everything that is in this play! This probably doesn’t sound like the biggest praise of all times, but it (almost) is. Because in any production of any Shakespeare play there are these (usually) rather long moments, or even scenes, where you can see that they are just going through with them, or are covering up with some scheme or other that they don’t know what this moment is about. And it would be a miracle if this wasn’t so because there is so much that Shakespeare has written “into” these plays that never all the issues can be addressed, and that it would be too much to deal with if somebody did. But in this case these moments were minimal, and this is in fact one of the highest general praises about a production I can think of!

And the reason for this is the third thing I had always wanted to see but never saw quite in the same way, at least not in any Shakespeare play: that (almost) ALL the characters, their relationships and their personal issues were treated as equally important. And that means that every scene and every moment is “full of life”, and that the dynamic structure of the play develops quite naturally “from within” the characters. The first mesmerizing thing for me was the way Brian Protheroe is playing Brabantio – a character that is hardly ever seen as important. Which, of course, is a fatal misunderstanding! At least he was the first actor being able to convince me that within this play called “Othello” there is another play called “Brabantio” which is a tragedy consisting of three short scenes. This might be something I have never before seen in quite the same way, and which convinces me that I haven’t yet seen ten percent of what might be possible to do with these plays if there were more actors who think it worthwhile to do significant work like this on such a “small” part! (If I had money I think I’d create a special prize for something like this!)

There are two really “tricky” parts in this play, I think: Othello and Desdemona. Meaning that it is really, really difficult to get them right. Whereas there is one part that always comes out kind of “right” when played by a competent actor – which is Iago. What really surprised me was that Desdemona isn’t difficult at all – if you approach this character in the right way. Even though I disliked the way Joanna Vanderham is dealing with Shakespeare’s text I was more than delighted with the acting. There is a fatal handicap for women on stage which appears even more obviously in Shakespeare, probably because it is so important for these complex sentences to “come out” clear and distinct. But women’s voices only very rarely have the volume to “fill” a big stage. The only way to deal with this appears to be shouting every sentence at the top of your voice, which Joanna Vanderham does, even though she appears to have a strong and clear voice, and which makes every sentence come out exactly the same. This is usually how I become unpleasantly aware every time in a Shakespeare play how loud you have to say these sentences on a stage. And how this influences the acting. As it is really important that women don’t sound weak compared to men, which makes them automatically appear “smaller” and  less important, as an actress, you always have to manage this balancing act between being loud and clear enough and acting “naturally” and convincingly – much more than male actors have to. And the way Joanna Vanderham is dealing with this dilemma is quite an achievement. She knows EXACTLY what every single sentence means and where Desdemona stands at every single moment, to what she reacts and what her reaction must be. And she “translates” every sentence ENTIRELY into body and face “language”. I don’t know if this works as well if you are actually in the theatre, because you have to be quite close to the stage, and even then you don’t see the faces as well as we do in the cinema. But at least the cinema audience had the full outcome of this considerable effort. This is another one of my wishes granted – number four already, I think: this degree of precision as to what every single one of these sentences and moments means – emotionally, and as to what just happens in the play - which I found in almost all the characters, and which is why this production comes so close to my ideal about how Shakespeare should be acted in our time.

What Desdemona is especially important for is of course the issue – or issues – about men and women, which I found intriguing already reading the play, but which weren’t addressed in an interesting way in any of the very few productions I know. I won’t even start on this because there will scarcely be an end to it, but I was especially pleased that Desdemona “works” so much better when she is perceived as a strong woman who is full of life, and loves life, not as somebody who is obedient and subdued – which she SO OBVIOUSLY is not! – As she is the one who completely doesn’t get what is happening, her tragedy is kind of “short” and bitter. That she subordinates herself so completely to Othello, and appears to pity him instead of hating him for dealing with her like this, isn’t because of her desperately trying to be an obedient wife. It is because she fell in love “for life”, and knew Othello did as well. And then her husband is turning against her, and she has no idea why, or what to make of the change. Until the end, she has no idea at all!

Whereas Desdemona is rather simple and obvious, if you are able to “get behind” that curtain of prejudices which, as I realized, had kind of “removed” the play from me, Othello is REALLY difficult to approach. I found it interesting that Hugh Quarshie, as reported, wasn’t that keen on playing Othello in the first place. I am very glad that he did because this production might not have “happened” otherwise or, in any case, wouldn’t have been that good. Because this is the first Othello I saw that is exactly “right” for the part. And unlike Iago – for whom I have lately seen three actors as different as can be, and all of them very convincing in their own way - Bob Hoskins (in the old BBC version from the late seventies), Kenneth Branagh and Lucian Msamati – it is quite important in my opinion for Othello to meet certain requirements, even about appearance, to make the play work. And Hugh Quarshie is the first Othello I saw who meets all these “basic” requirements. He is definitely middle-aged - which would be the contemporary euphemism for “declined into the vale of years”, and which in my opinion is much more important for the tragedy to unfold than that he is black – but can still be perceived as attractive, not only physically, but generally as a “male” who commands the respect and obedience of others. And he is of course an extremely competent actor who can go through everything Othello is going through with “dignity”. At least you always think you want to see this: the remaining human dignity in a character that is completely “destroyed” during the process of the play. But this might exactly be the point where we go wrong, and why Othello is one of these characters that never really “work” …

Of course, as always when I start writing, I first discover what I have observed seeing the play, and about the character of Othello there is a lot I first discovered seeing this production, partly because it was the only thing I wasn’t quite satisfied with. So, as usual, this will become much longer than I thought it would. - The most obvious problem about playing Othello, which might have been an issue in this case as well, is that “Othello” is usually seen as a “racist” play. And of this structure of prejudices the character of Othello is the centre. I don’t think that I ever saw “Othello” as a racist play, but I was very aware of this structure of prejudices. I discovered this when I had a short moment of revulsion learning they had cast a black actor for Iago. Which didn’t have anything to do with racist prejudices on my part – I hope! – but with the fact that I dislike it when they change basic structures which I think are material to the play. And this was a great lesson this production taught me – maybe even the most interesting thing about Shakespeare I have learned seeing it: that what we consider to be the basic structure of the play might still be the structure of OUR OWN prejudices!

This was so interesting for me, of course, because it is one of the basic things about reading: that what we detect as structure, even on a basic level, in a text, is the structure of our own “texts” in the first place. And there is always a basic structure of prejudices involved – at least in any text we care for. But this doesn’t automatically imply that we are wrong! And this is one of the things I like best about the RSC productions: that they are usually so very careful about what Shakespeare “put into” his plays, that they have a real regard for this and are really trying not to “override” these structures with a structure of contemporary prejudices. Because of this I found it so interesting that they made a workshop first and tested how Iago being played by a black actor would change the “live” structure of the play. Obviously, a black actor worked great, which I will cover when I’ll come to Iago. But the really clever thing that was achieved, I think, was that it slightly dislodged the COMPLETE structure of prejudices which is “holding this play together”, and made it break free, in a sense, so that it became possible to play with other issues which are even more material for the story to work, and which are usually “blocked” or distorted by exactly this received structure of prejudices.

And the character of Othello in particular has been completely freed of these “fetters”, as I see it. At least I held it to be a “received” opinion that Othello, deep inside, suffers of low self-esteem, and that this is the reason why his strong relationship with Desdemona can be destroyed so easily by Iago. I realize now that I had always considered this to be bullshit – respectively: not founded anywhere in the play! – but that I had always reserved judgement about this because I had no better explanation. And I was very satisfied that this production finally “proved” that this IS in fact bullshit! And this entails that “Othello” isn’t, at it’s center, a “racist” play. It is in fact material for Othello’s fate that he is an outsider, not mainly because he is black, but much more because he is the leader of a mercenary army, very important and useful as long as his service is needed, but easily discarded when there is no need for it any more. It is not that these race issues aren’t addressed in the play, but they are not as central to any human issues in the play as this common prejudice suggests, which is obviously derived from racist social structures in the US we think we know so much about. In fact this was an interesting lesson about how contemporary prejudices become “embedded” in those plays, and can be “dislodged” if you really take EVERYTHING that is in the text seriously! (They took up the race issue in a much more interesting way in the scene where Michael Cassio is getting drunk. When I re-read “Othello” before seeing the play I wondered what might be “behind” this exchange between Cassio and Iago, and had no clue. And they delivered a very shrewed - and entertaining! - version of it, even though the adhering prejudices got a bit shifted about!)

So, this matter of discomfort about the character of Othello had been very successfully dealt with – with great benefit for the play, I think. But there are even two other reasons I became aware of that might make Othello one of the least attractive parts for an actor to play. The less important one is about what every actor deeply dislikes – no matter what he might say about it. Because if you are going to play Othello you know that this will be bone-breaking work – emotionally! – and in the end people might not even see it because everybody is looking at Iago! It is the most difficult thing to go to these extremes of raw, totally “un-subtle” emotions without overdoing it. And then, if you really do, the audience might still not like you, or might still be disgusted - and is probably still looking at Iago!

Somehow I think that every actor who ever played Othello is deeply conscious of this. But of course, as a professional, you will be able to overcome this discomfort and concentrate on the challenge ahead – which is huge! And of course, by this time, you will have convinced yourself that playing this part is something you want because it is still a prestigious part - and because it is impossible to do this kind of work if you don’t like it. But still there might be, unconsciously, some part of it you REALLY don’t like. - And I don’t want to make a “criticism” of what I am going to say. Hugh Quarshie was still the best Othello I have seen, and especially the part when the first suspicion of Desdemona’s unfaithfulness “dawns” on him, and is growing roots really deep inside him, is great. And I may be totally wrong of course, but I had the impression that, deep inside, he “is holding back”, or is taking the liberty to reserve his judgment about this character. And it isn’t important if I am right or wrong, because, anyway, this impression brought me to a much deeper level of understanding of what Othello’s tragedy really is about. This happened when I considered the ending of the play – the part where Othello takes his own life - which I had found disgusting every time I read it probably BECAUSE he is making this kind of eulogy for himself, in a desperate attempt to preserve his dignity. I know that this is rather unfair, and I don’t even know why I am feeling this way. But looking closely into this scene I discovered what it really is about – and what I have never seen being “acted”. (Might be because it is kind of impossible to act!) When Othello is preparing to take his own life he is telling this story about a Turk he has killed. And this was for him a moment he remembers that he had been totally disgusted by another human being and had relished killing him. I had taken this for some kind of ruse – to sidetrack the “audience” – or a prompter for himself, both of which it might be. But what he really is saying with these lines and his action is quite extreme and convinced me that “Othello” is one of these plays, like “Lear” or “Hamlet”, that, on their deepest level, are about NOTHING:
“I am NOTHING! You made me NOTHING! So, I’d better be dead.”
And this is exactly the place where very few people – and probably actors – would want to go. Because this would mean to really comprehend what somebody is feeling who is going to kill himself. And the interesting thing about it Shakespeare has written into this scene is that the attempt to preserve his “dignity” has failed. That he has stopped lying to himself then.

So, this would be a great place for leading over to my next blog – which will not be about Shakespeare but about Schiller and his concept of “serious playing” – but of course it is impossible to leave this without saying something about Iago. And, in fact, the best way to get rid of the “unpleasantness”, every time I have seen or read it, was to pretend that the play is not about Othello but about Iago – as it very well might be! In any case this production made me fully aware why Iago had always been one of my favourite Shakespearean characters – apart from his being extremely intelligent, somehow on a level “above” the others, and, at the same time, taken for granted and unappreciated, which appears to be a “structure” that always “does it” for me. Certainly not somebody I would want to be, but quite certainly a part I would very much want to play if I was a male actor. But the main reason for liking this character so much might even be found elsewhere. It might be that Shakespeare has written some of his most beautiful lines for this character. And this might as well mean something? - As much as I had enjoyed reading “Othello” aloud – almost exclusively because of Iago’s lines! – I would never have experienced how beautiful this text really is if I hadn’t listened to Lucian Msamati speaking it. As he had the opportunity to show as well, he is very musical, and the way he spoke these lines was like nothing I have ever heard. (I just had a “flashback” when I was at the gym and became completely relaxed, and suddenly remembered this sensation just for a split-second – which felt as if the sun had just risen inside me. Maybe the main reason I am already looking forward to the dvd …)

I had a fainter impression of this already seeing the film version with Kenneth Branagh as Iago, when I became aware of how “conscious” he was of the language, how much he relished these lines. But there was very little text left, as compared to the theatre version. And, compared to Lucian Msamati’s Iago, there was very little “acting” as well. It was still convincing, beautiful and satisfying, but, compared to what I saw in the RSC production, there was very little effort to make sense of who Iago is, why he is doing all this, and, especially, how what he is doing affects HIM. And that is what really overwhelmed me, in this case, and made me so very grateful, because I had always thought that this must be possible: not just to say these lines beautifully, but to “get” almost everything “out of them”, all that treasure that you constantly find reading them, displayed on the stage. And in this case I could see very clearly how this became possible. The first thing was that they made a great effort to think about how Iago came to be who he is at the beginning of the play, and that they made this shift – having a coloured actor play Iago – which gives him additional motivation and brings him closer to Othello – which was entirely a good idea. Because it highlights parallel structures in the two characters that became really significant as to what motivates Iagos actions. I cannot investigate this as much as I’d like because this would become much too long. Basically, Iago is motivated by jilted love for Othello – real jealousy! – which certainly is disputable, and which even now I don’t like that much. But it gives the actor an extensive and deep emotional background “from” which he can say these lines. And this is what I think is so difficult, but what I always thought must be possible: that you can make sense of everything that is in this text as to what it means – emotionally, if there is an emotional content, but even more as a “speech act”. As something that is just HAPPENING, and has an immediate effect – on others, but on yourself as well! And this is where Lucian Msamati is just incredible. As far as I can see, he has a really unusual “method” of dealing with this text, which makes it so beautiful, but, at the same time, so clear as to what is just happening with Iago the moment he says this. I compared it to singing, which is a weak comparison, but not entirely misplaced, because singing minimizes the distance between the act of expression and the feelings expressed. And this is what happens, not only on an emotional level, but especially on the level of “action”. Which was even more significant – as the thing I had always wanted to see so much and now finally saw: That it is possible to say these lines as if what they are about is just happening at this moment – and has an immediate effect on YOU. And this, I think, is what made THIS Iago so great and so really different: Even though he is the one who unleashes all this violence and atrocity he is not “on top of it”. He is a part of it, and, in the end, it is getting the better of him and he is hurt by it as well. Maybe HE is able to preserve his “dignity” – because he is past caring what people are thinking about him. He is laughing at the end, but it is an entirely joyless laughter. Maybe he has just come to understand the irony of having succeeded and having destroyed himself in the process?

As I just realized, this is a great way to close this “chapter” on Shakespeare – temporarily,  I hope. Because what I had witnessed made me able to explain why I think that Shakespeare is still the greatest playwright of all times. And why I am usually entertained by watching his plays, whereas I am constantly bored with contemporary plays. Because in them people are JUST talking. And “just talking” for me is the most boring thing in the world. In fact it is the only situation where I am bored “out of my mind” because in any other boring situation I can stay “inside my mind”, where I am never bored. I know that this is some personal defect in me, because this is what people do, and are obviously so fond of: just talking. This is probably why I am so deeply amused by my favourite quote from “House of Cards”. When Frank Underwood says that “… a great man said that everything in life is about sex. Except sex. Sex is about power.” Independently of how much “literal” truth there is in this outside the “Frank Underwood universe”, it is obviously a structure that greatly appeals to me. As I obviously feel that everything in life ought to be “about” something. Which is, as exemplified by the quote, patently absurd when it comes to real life. But still the things that are “about” something in real life are much more fun, and I still think that, at least “outside real life”, things ought to be “about” something. And this is what I am feeling about Shakespeare: that everything he wrote is “about” something, even if I cannot find out what it is. But sometimes other people can, for me, especially actors and directors of course. And this production has been the best proof I ever had that I am right – even about the “way” I thought this has to be done. But of course you need highly trained, incredibly imaginative and dedicated professionals to make it happen.

By the way, this time I loved the curtain calls! NOBODY was smiling - or just a little, probably from relief. There was such tension built up during the play that it cannot be dispelled like that within moments. And then, after the first complete “curtain”, it was Lucian Msamati who entered the stage first(!), then Hugh Quarshie, and Lucian Msamati gave him a bear hug – to which Hugh Quarshie didn’t react AT ALL! - It might of course have been something personal or momentary, but I don’t think so. I think the actors were still (unconsciously) acting parts of their characters here. And even though there is so much in this relationship, in the play it is never fully “disclosed”. But I remembered then that Othello, in this production, appears to have no personal relationship with Iago AT ALL! It is as if Iago, not as his ancient but as a human being, doesn’t exist for him. Whereas for Iago Othello is extremely important in an ominous way – that might be, or might have been, love? And Iago might even be “right” about feeling that he is a human being entitled to be appreciated, especially by someone he has been so useful to in the past? At least we have a really strong motivation here, on his part, to reduce Othello to what Iago already experienced himself to be: NOTHING.

Montag, 17. August 2015

Preliminaries to the "big question": about the “histories”, “House of Cards”, Redemption, and the “Kinder Surprise egg”



I didn’t stay long with the “Sonnets”. As intense as my occasional encounters with poems had been already in the past, I have never had enough patience for them. But as the unexpected success made me want to go on with Shakespeare I got the idea to start reading the plays and watching the film versions I could get on dvd, which I thought might be fun. And that was about the time I realized that it was a “Shakespeare year”. Which meant that there were a lot of recent productions of his plays by the RSC and the Globe Theatre actually “on” in the cinema. And that was, of course, just a treat for me! I had never before realized this as a possibility to “go to the theatre” without having to book a flight to London and stay in some shabby hotel because I cannot afford a nice one. Great! 18 Euros instead of several hundred to see the RSC or “The Crucible” – 20, if you want to see Benedict Cumberbatch, as, obviously, everybody else does as well … And I even think it was the Shakespeare year that brought this on big time because, before that, there was mostly opera. So I was really, really lucky! (This year there is much less Shakespeare of course, but still some.)

The first play I read was “Henry V” because I had the Kenneth Branagh film on dvd, and I remembered that it made a big impression on me when I saw it in the cinema. And there were two productions of the “histories” on schedule in the cinema: “Henry IV” and “Richard II” (with David Tennant), both by the RSC. This reminded me that I had always wanted to read the “histories” completely, which I did. And, reading them, I realized that I had already done it, a long time ago, but didn’t remember anything about my motives or my reading them at the time. Apart from being bored with “King John” and “Richard II”. Whereas now, after having seen different productions of the play, I consider “Richard II” to be one of the most intriguing plays Shakespeare has written. And I certainly wasn’t bored reading any of the “histories” in the first place! So, obviously, something had happened in the meantime, as I had made significant progress reading Shakespeare without actually reading any of it. And this was one of the strangest things that ever happened to me.

Some of it can be explained by the fact that I had now the productions and films on dvd to watch, which adds a whole new dimension to the reading. But I noticed the change already when I first read them, without having seen anything acted. And by the fact that I did something clever, which was to read the Wikipedia articles about the English kings at the same time. If you have some clue about who all these strange people might have been the reading gets much easier. And being able to compare the historical facts with Shakespeare’s version of them got really interesting as well. Mostly I was astonished how much his “stories” are based on historical facts and on who these people actually might have been. (Sometimes not at all, apparently, as in the case of “Richard III”. But this might very well be because of how this king was perceived and judged by Shakespeare’s contemporaries, not because he “wanted” him to be that “monster”. Of course, that nobody really knew how Henry VI died, and what happened to “the princes”, came in handy, I suppose.) And that they were much less about “good” and “evil” than about how politics really works and about the people and motives behind it. Same as, for example, in “House of Cards” – in my opinion the best tv series ever made, and the greatest “version” of “Richard III” for our own time! It is just that, in fact, a series might be a better format for this particular type of story because what appears crude and “forced” and partly ridiculous in “Richard III” is due to the necessity to “squeeze” such a complex historical process into one play. A general problem, concerning the “histories”, but if we are not too particular about timelines and “probability” they are basically a very “true” and life-like dramatic picture of a long period of English history.

Being able to make this kind of comparison all the time was a big part of the fun. But it still doesn’t explain how reading Shakespeare had suddenly become such a DIFFERENT experience from reading anything else. Because even from the beginning my relationship with his texts was equally intense as the relationship with a text I was WRITING. Which means it “belonged” to me, and I to it, much more than anything else I had read, or any other fictional world that wasn’t “my own”. And it meant that I had to BE there practically all the time. And I had no idea how to explain this, especially because it isn’t really a “nice place” to be! (And even though I distinctly prefer some of Shakespeare’s characters (like Richard III, Iago, or Queen Margaret) to others I really loathe (like Hamlet or Lear – and most of the characters in the comedies!) I cannot say that I like them, or love them, like I did, for example, Tolkien’s dwarves.) But I knew that something must have happened in the meantime that enabled me to have this experience with Shakespeare. And of course I knew what that must have been. As it was right after this year of writing it must have had something to do with a new and different “method” of “perceiving text” I had developed through writing. Although I couldn’t really explain what “happened”, exactly. But I remember exactly what the process of writing was like, and that the most important, time-consuming, and enjoyable part was in fact READING. Reading and reading and reading my chapters all over again, and of course rewriting them, clarifying, understanding, in the first place!, approving what was beautiful already and how other parts were still deficient, getting closer and closer to the TRUTH already contained in that story! And doing this has changed my relationship with any other text I have read since then! The thing itself is probably just some kind of “fan fiction” for anybody else but myself, and I know I wouldn’t read something like this if anybody else had written it. But what I must have learned doing this for the first time on such a big scale cannot be overestimated. It obviously enabled me to take text I was reading as “personally” as if it was some text I was writing. And this literally changed EVERYTHING.

But this is already jumping far ahead, as I didn’t realize any of this a year and a half ago. I didn’t know then that this would be about the “big question” – the question I had to answer to be able to “move on” after everything that had happened. But it was there already, in the bud, and the preliminary form it took was something like: Why is reading Shakespeare so special for me, and why the hell do I want to be in that world?

I was delighted about how I finally found out how to answer the second part of the question – which only partially answered the first one. Because reading Shakespeare is quite a complex process, and I suppose much of the immediate “fun” is about structure and beauty, which is at the bottom of most of our experiences with fictional “texts” of any kind (as written fiction, poems, plays, films, paintings, songs, or music). And this is never an isolated experience but depends on the content which makes us realize what the structure and beauty is about. If I am not interested in the content at all a work of art is lost on me – as in fact most of them are. So, partly reading Shakespeare is so special because his writing is so beautiful, firm and exact, always so much better than my own thoughts that I usually cannot “wander off” into my own world. I understood this from the beginning, but it took me a while to ask the second question: why I was interested in the “content”. And even what I thought this content to be. Which is of course different for any of the plays, and there are very few of them where I have already “been there”. I think only “King Lear”, “Richard II”, and “The Taming of the Shrew”. All of them plays I hadn’t liked before, and in all three cases either through something an actor had done or by the “turn” a certain production did take. In “The Taming of the Shrew” it was both – and “personal involvement” of course, something I have already dealt with in the first chapter of my blog. In the case of “Richard II” it was just Derek Jacobi explaining to me with every sentence he spoke what his character was about. Concerning “Lear” I had seen two productions that really touched the heart of the matter, one of them by the RSC with Simon Russell Beale. And there it was the moment he says: “No, not mad!” which was probably the greatest single “theatre moment” I can remember and which made me realize that this play is in fact partly about dementia and the loss of the self, which is probably the greatest fear of most people approaching old age. The second revelation of this kind was the production with Ian McKellen who was playing Lear completely differently from anything I had seen before, “humanizing” him in a way, and I think, basically, “got it right”. And the whole production is “different” in the same way, showing how much this play is about human and inhuman behaviour and about what it means to be a human being. Which question Shakespeare answers, as most questions, in an incomparably cynical way. Because so much in this play is actually about NOTHING – not only my absolute favourite quote from Shakespeare: “Nothing will come of nothing.” And nothing is what we all are, basically, if all the things that can be lost are taken away. And nothing is what we’ll all come to, in the end. And all these great efforts as well, to act like a human being and “turn the wheel”, will be for nothing! - So this production did not only explain to me why this was the only play by Shakespeare, apart from “Hamlet”, I had always hated – although I couldn’t even remember to have seen or read it! (I think, I saw the opera on tv a long time ago.) And this was great. But even greater that it explained to me something I had always found so annoying about tragedy, especially Shakespeare (“Lear”, “Hamlet”): that everybody has to die in the end. Because this is the basic truth about life every tragedy contains: EVERYBODY has to die in the end. I know this is not a very new or sophisticated discovery about Shakespeare, or tragedy – nor life, for that matter. But it is certainly not what most of the stories we are fed as entertainment nowadays tell us about life and death: that if you are brave and clever and good enough, or young and sexy of course, you will “get away”. So Shakespeare might not be a very good place for “escapism” after all?

But the way I found out, finally, I loved because it was through another “text”. A text that had nothing at all to do with Shakespeare. It was just such an interesting “interface” between texts where you see how reading actually “works”. It was when I went to the cinema to see “Calvary” with Brendan Gleeson. And usually, when I have seen a film for the first time, I don’t have any distinct ideas about it, nor any wish to “shove” it into some category and “put it away”, like I have often witnessed other people do, especially film critics. At least not when I had liked the film, which I had. It is a very beautiful film - and this time I had a distinct idea about it which took the form of a thought as soon as I left the cinema: “I cannot believe this! They actually made a film about the Redemption!” And it was even such a good film that I couldn’t “write it off” as a curiosity but HAD to think about it. The one curious thing was that, having “been raised” as a catholic, I had never really understood the concept of Redemption. This isn’t so curious as such, I think, because I have always entertained the suspicion that most catholics don’t understand it any better and probably don’t even know that it is the concept their religion is based on. Somehow, always having been strange enough to think about this kind of thing, I had got this, and I suppose I had “stored away” the question as one of the “big questions” that I would never be able to answer, and for which, maybe, there is no need for an answer. But maybe I had been wrong because somebody made such a “serious” thing as a really beautiful film “about” this question. Of course, being a film, and a really intelligent one, it doesn’t answer the question. It is just telling different stories about this ludicrous concept through different characters. And most of them are “hopeless cases”, with a wish – or some absurd hope - that somebody might “redeem” them. And the main protagonist, in the end, “goes” the way of redemption, obviously dying a completely pointless death. And as he knew what would happen to him he took this on intentionally! Nothing gets explained by this, but this is really to “rub it in”. Maybe I wasn’t right that this was a useless question … Well, maybe I was, because I still think it is a ludicrous concept – putting something right through the sacrifice of an innocent life - and there is no need at all to understand how it is supposed to “work”. And the only questions in need of an answer are those that have to be answered through “living”. So, in a way, there was a question “in there”, somewhere, in need of an answer. It just wasn’t the right one.

Well, the right question was obviously the one which the film answered, and this is why I still think it to be such a significant film, apart from the beautiful acting and photography - of course I have it on dvd now! The film states the question about the concept of Redemption as an absurd concept because everybody knows from the beginning what will happen, and you are constantly dealing with the question what purpose the sacrifice of an innocent life might serve, and the only possible answer is: I don’t know! But at the same time the film answers the question what purpose the concept of Redemption serves. Because how are all these miserable people supposed to live if there isn’t even this kind of absurd hope? But, to cut things short, somehow I had decided a long time ago that I would have to make do without this. I still don’t know if this is even possible because if things are basically okay you don’t know. And I understand why many people couldn’t live without knowing that there is an answer to this question, somewhere, even if they don’t understand it. Not even the people with the totally fucked up lives but those that think that they should be able to help these people – and probably know from experience that it isn’t possible. Maybe absurd philosophical concepts only serve one purpose which is to actually ASK a question that cannot be answered. Because if it cannot be answered the answer cannot be contradicted, and the process of questioning and answering has to stop there. And so the existence of this world the absurd concept is a pillar of will not be threatened. And I would rather do anything else than shake this pillar because, in the end, it isn’t “institutions” but people who have to deal with the millions of people that aren’t able to “redeem themselves” – and, more important: try to raise children to be the sort of people that can! So I certainly wouldn’t lift a finger to destroy the concept of Redemption if I could – and the reason for that is exactly what the film is “stating”! – So I know why I have to live in this world. And still I’d wish I wouldn’t have to live in a world that is so goddam STUPID! 

And it is not that I didn't know this yet, about myself. I just didn't make the connection. I had actually found out about it in 2013 - the year I was writing - through writing my own story and another "text" which helped me clarify this issue, which was obviously the issue at the centre of my story as well. It was a film by Sophie Fiennes, written by the Slowenian marxist philosopher Slavoj Zizek: "A pervert's guide to ideology", which is kind of an absurd philosophical treatise that uses film history to prove how much, in a seemingly materialistic age, religious and metaphysical concepts are at the basis of how we (want to) see the world. This is kind of a dry synopsis, but the film is actually fun and partly very sophisticated. I saw it at the Munich "Filmfest" in 2013 and couldn't get the dvd, but most of the stuff I knew anyway. At least I have always known what is "wrong" with "Titanic", and why I have actually never seen the film, (even though I consider Kate Winslett to be one of the greatest actresses of our time). And I certainly don't need any Marxist philosophy to understand this, but what was a real revelation to me was how he explained the "Kinder Surprise egg". I suppose everybody knows what that is - although it is actually a German invention, which I didn't know and which, I must say, totally makes sense. To invent the "model" of a metaphysical object which is visible - and can be eaten and make millions! I think this is really the high point "our" metaphysical philosophy has brought us to! Being able to merchandise the desire that an object should be "more than it is", even if what goes beyond the actual use (=craving vor sweets) is just crap. And we even know that it is going to be crap and buy it and open it nonetheless! Maybe life might hold something good in store which we haven't made or "earned" ourselves, just this once!!! - Well, I knew what a metaphysical object was, obviously, even when I was about fifteen. Because I still have this small round stone of the kind you can open up with a hammer and there will be some kind of crystal on the inside. And I still haven't opened it!

And I don't even mind if somebody makes millions by taking advantage of the emptiness and stupidity of people's lives. I just don't want them to sell ME any of  this. but it is not as easy as that because I love stories and I love films, more than that, I NEED them, but you very rarely get the "good bits" without this kind of "metaphysical" crap. (At least if you like "real" acting and stories where there is actually something "going on" - not just what you can see every day on the street, and what anybody who has been through it could "play" better than any actor!) So I had always been prepared to take the good with the bad - and maybe this is the main reason I came to write myself: to actually BE in a world where I wanted to be, making my own rules ... And it is certainly the reason why being in Shakespeare's world became so important to me. And why I like it so much, even though it is basically a dismal place. Where the people who are not able to redeem themselves are irredeemable, where nobody who has made one mistake ever gets a second chance. Where there aren't "good" people and "bad" people but JUST PEOPLE with personal issues, hopes and fears, predicaments, ambitions, fatal flaws ... and where nobody finds any pity - if he isn't able to find it "in himself"! It is a world without the faintest trace of hope - save the hope that, somehow, after a phase of utter chaos and misery, the right order of things might be reestablished for some time ... And still, BEING in this world is such a relief because, for once, I don't have to deal with the "metaphysical" crap but exclusively with interesting and relevant issues about life and people.




I think my best “proof” that this is in fact the main reason I had to stay with Shakespeare was when I found out who my current favourite character was. Because it surprised me, and I had to find out why. Unlike my choice of a favourite play, which is “Macbeth”, it is a very unlikely one. I even doubt very much that anybody else would choose this person as a favourite character. And I like it that it is a woman! It is Queen Margaret, the wife of Henry VI. The story of her adult life is told in the second part of “Henry VI”, and she has a memorable appearance in “Richard III” where she curses everybody present for what feels like half an hour. And this is probably the only scene she is usually remembered for. I was astonished why I liked this scene so much and why I was fascinated by the way she reacts to every blow fate is dealing out to her. And apart from the fact that she becomes Queen of England, even though she is just the heiress of the totally insignificant miniature state of Naples, without a dowry!, she gets nothing but blows. She is one of these characters with supreme qualities to fill her place, one of them being that she is completely ruthless, and she is getting nothing out of it but misery. And somehow she DOESN’T GET IT! After every single blow she gets on her feet again in practically no time at all and deals with it. She just doesn’t get it that her life is fucked up and will never be what she had dreamt it to be as a young girl coming to England, utterly alone and very brave. And even when she is an old woman and her life is done she doesn’t give in. Well, there is nothing she can do, so she curses everybody as long as there is any breath in her. She even recommends this to her equally unlucky successor as queen, Elizabeth, as a means to survive this kind of blows! - And I still don’t know why, but these characters are actually my favourites, and there are quite a few in Shakespeare’s plays that are like this, just not that extreme. They are the strange heroes of this world where there is no pity, no justice, no straight line between “good” and “evil”, and where everybody is fighting for his own issues and maybe for the few people which are bound to him by fate. And I even think many of these characters “got into” other fitting contexts, as for example good tv series (like “House of Cards”, or “The Spooks”) which basically “operate” with a similar kind of philosophy. As Shakespeare is still so influential in so many ways – not least by “teaching” actors a “better” kind of realistic acting, which is not like a “mirror” of life, showing things that life itself can show much better, but like a magnifying glass, showing what’s going on “behind” life by making everything as “big”, and as clear and “true” as it can get. So I think much of the “good influence” on people to produce significant “text” is still down to Shakespeare. Especially in the English-speaking world where this influence is much bigger than elsewhere, and where all these superior contemporary instances of “realistic” text come from. And I know now what “our” relationship has been throughout so many years I hadn’t read “him”: because “he” had still been there, as a reference, for which kinds of text I wanted to read and approved of. For what was actually good for me. So, in my estimation, Shakespeare cannot be overrated, in an age that is totally materialistic with a fig leave of metaphysical bullshit, as a means of actually getting at the TRUTH of human affairs. And this is what I obviously had been looking for all that time.

Freitag, 10. Juli 2015

Sonnets: the "substance" of beauty



Sonnets: the „substance“ of beauty


From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.


The first of the “Sonnets” and the first thing I read when I decided to read Shakespeare again after about twenty-five years. What led to it I remember distinctly, but without much explaining it probably doesn’t make any sense. Part of it is important though, so I’ll give the outlines here. The most important reason was certainly that I was desperate. I had just finished my strange “sabbatical” of writing for a whole year, one year of living in a completely different world – where, for once, I could be the person I always wanted to be. And then this was finished, the story was written. What would I do now? I think I was kidding myself, somehow, for some time, that I would just go back to my “old life”. Which I remembered, vaguely, even to have liked. But I didn’t remember why. At least, maybe, next week  or next month or so … Then came the day I realized I had been kidding myself and that I had to do something about it. I remember the date: it was January the 2nd 2014 when I got back to work – and to the internet – and, actually looking for something completely different, found this interview. Just once in a while “Google” knows better than myself what I am looking for … It was an interview with Richard Armitage on the occasion of the premiere of “The Desolation of Smaug”, by the way the best interview I have ever heard an actor give – and nothing at all to do with what I am writing about here. Apart from something that gave me quite a shock as it made me realize for the first time what had “happened” recently, in my own world. It was the answer he gave to the question what playing Thorin Oakenshield had meant to him:

I think it’s really made me reengage with what I want from my career. It’s not fame and fortune certainly. It’s the ability to investigate a character in this way, but at the same time it’s going to be really difficult to surpass this experience. I’ve got to maybe give up the idea of finding another character like this. But I had said that before. I played another character where I said, I’ll never find another character like that and then this one came along. It was John Thornton in “North and South,” which is something I did maybe eight years ago. But it was a book I loved and a great writer and a great director, just a small BBC four-part series but it had a real impact on me and again changed me as an actor. So I found this one eight years later. I hope it doesn’t take eight years. I know I will find it somehow. We’ll see.

For him it did happen, by the way, which is great! He got to play John Proctor in “The Crucible” not much later, which was something he felt had been in the making for 43 years: his whole lifetime. But at the moment he gave that interview nothing “pointed that way”, of course, and things didn’t look great, (which is in the interview as well.). And for me understanding this made me realize that what had happened in my own life wasn’t even something that might not happen again but something that would never happen again because this had been pure chance – if such a thing as this exists. In a way, it had just been the occurrence of too many unlikely “events”. But it made me realize something else as well. That I would never again “go off” this. Whatever it was, whatever it took. Never again. That is, I didn’t even know what it was for me, but I knew I had to take it seriously.

That it became reading Shakespeare, at least for now, had been pure chance again. But, in a way, it was on special recommendation. Although there must have been something “there” already that made me listen to it. And, as I said, I was desperate. I would have tried almost anything. In a way it was a big step to take, and I had too much respect, and probably some memories of failure, to take on any of the plays. But I remembered this lecture about the “Sonnets” I had liked and which had made me read some of them closely. And this experience I remembered as pleasant. Although I didn’t remember anything in particular, apart from the fact that 126 of them were “addressed” to a young man, the rest to a woman. Which, as it turned out, might in fact be all the information you need to read some of them “successfully”.

Anyway, the first thing I did was reading the first of the “Sonnets”. Which is not only the obvious thing to do but the “right” thing as well because it sets not only the theme but the exact “argument” of many of the sonnets that follow. I remembered this when I read it after twenty-five years, and I even remembered that it got more tedious reading “more of the same”. So I had covered a considerable part of the “Sonnets” already, reading the first one. To paraphrase it in plain words: There is this inconceivable abundance of  beauty in the world, “embodied” in one person, that adds so much to our own lives. But, as it is subjected to time, it will not last. And therefore this person should not stint with it and waste it by keeping it to himself but should make the most of it by producing an heir who might carry on his legacy. A very “sound” argument, very practical, considering that it is a “poem”, echoing the commercially-minded argument from the bible about not “sitting on” your “talents”, squandering them in that way, but spending them and making something productive of your life. But as, in this case, it is beauty not money we are dealing with I couldn’t help thinking that it makes kind of a silly argument …

Apart from the effect on me, I don’t remember much about my first reading. And, even though I used it as “therapy” already then, I think – just to fill the void with something meaningful, something “different” - I didn’t really believe in it. So the effect was totally unexpected and easy to state: It instantly made me feel better. This doesn’t sound like much, or very conclusive, and it lasted only as long as I was somehow occupied with the poem, but for me it is something that surprised me as maybe nothing else I have experienced reading Shakespeare, and still does. I still don’t understand it. How reading Shakespeare makes me feel better when NOTHING ELSE can!

And, writing about it now, I am making up an explanation for what happened then. I think it is important that I didn’t just read the poem but memorized it. Which took some time because I am rubbish at memorizing text. And, more important, it compelled me to understand EXACTLY what Shakespeare has written – not just the phrases I like and understand anyway but the whole content to the last word. Which means it was impossible not to notice when the poem contradicted the way I WANTED to understand it - which was practically all the time because I wasn’t interested in the “literal” and boring argument. Nonetheless the poem instantly “spoke” to me. And as the imagery is so powerful it sends all kinds of “flashes” in the “wrong” direction, in a way contradicting its own argument. Especially if I think of it as a gay context, and one where actual “fullfilment” is out of the question. As it was in my own case: There is the experience of all this beauty, and you own it, in a way, because you are the person that is able to understand it COMPLETELY. But, on the other hand, it is impossible to own it, to “hold” and use it the way you want, and likewise impossible to make it permanent. It will go away, is, in fact, slipping from your grasp already. And there is nothing you can do about it … And still you have to deal with it somehow.

Shakespeare came up with a “solution” that might not have been considered silly at the time but still, considering what is at stake, kind of inadequate? Because what is at stake is the essential thing, everything that’s “worth it”. Which is at the bottom of all the “Sonnets”, for all the “bloody-minded” argument and the way “living” beauty is constantly subjugated to the rules of “form”. Which, of course, already by itself creates a certain kind of beauty! And “BEAUTY” is the word for it. For what everybody craves. Beauty as a living thing … – Now, when I am thinking about it: I know exactly what “happened” when I read that poem!

And I had probably understood it twenty-five years ago but there was a difference. In a way, I had understood it “theoretically”, as everybody does, filling in for “beauty” whatever is at hand. If I recall how often I use this word, think of something as “beautiful” … But what had changed everything in the meantime is that I had actually looked on it. It was exactly the situation from my second favourite bit from the “Lord of the Rings” – which had been “my” context at the time. When Gimli, the dwarf (sorry for that!), says to his friend Legolas (the elf) after having met the “Lady of Lothlórien”:

“I have looked the last upon that which was fairest, (…) Henceforward I will call nothing fair, unless it be her gift.”

And that is the moment that makes all the difference: As long as it stays theoretical it is quite a beautiful thing, or a beautiful poem, or whatever … But as soon as this has happened, and you know that you have laid eyes on the absolute best, nothing is as it has been – and then you HAVE to do something about it.

And Legolas’ answer even contains some kind of solution:
“… the least reward that you shall have is that the memory of Lothlórien shall remain ever clear and unstained in your heart, and shall never fade nor grow stale.”

But it appears to be a solution that only works for elves. Because the “dwarvish” - and human! - memory is obviously different. At least I always felt with Gimli and understood his answer. (Even though I came to understand what Legolas meant when I heard Evangeline Lily as Tauriel say in “The Desolation of Smaug”: “it (=the starlight) is memory, precious and pure …”. I think I understood at that moment what elves are about for the first time.)

“I thank you for your words. True words doubtless; yet all such comfort is cold. Memory is not what the heart desires.”

There might be a “solution” of this kind if our memories, like those of the elves, were “more like to the waking world than to a dream”, as Gimli continues. Well, for elves there might not even be a difference, which, if you think it through, might not always be THAT great … And I have always held the belief that everything has to fade and die and make room for something new … only there should be exceptions? I don’t even believe in “tokens”, as Gimli does, even though I have quite a lot of them myself.

There is no “solution” for this kind of thing, it is impossible to “do” anything about it. Or so I thought. Until I came upon Sonnet 5:


Those hours that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
Will play the tyrants to the very same,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap check’d with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o’ersnow’d, and bareness every where.
Then, were not summer’s distillation left
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was;
But flowers distill’d though they with winter meet,
Lease but their show: their substance still lives sweet.

I just “browsed” the sonnets that followed, but in this case I was taken in by the great imagery again. “A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass”, and then, the ultimate moment of (beautiful) sadness: “Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was.” Because Gimli is right: there is no “living” memory of a living thing, there is no true remembrance of the “living” moment, of actually looking on it. It cannot be repeated. Of course I memorized the sonnet, and the same thing happened again that had happened with the first one, only much stronger. And this time I remember because it took me some time to “figure it out”. I understood the poem – it is not that difficult to understand, in a superficial way, quite like the first one. But I had the same feeling I had about the first one – as if there was something wrong with it. Not with the argument, in this case, but with the imagery. As if the logic of the metaphor was somehow faulty or insufficient. Or as if there was some necessary part missing …

And it took some time until I “nailed” it. It was that I had absolutely no idea what the “substance” of beauty was supposed to be. At first I had filled in something like the true beauty behind the outward “show”, the true content, the “real thing”. And this, I think, made the whole metaphor become heavy-handed and lame. Because there is “just beauty”. And this was the first thing I understood. There is just beauty, nothing more. Or, at least, the effect of beauty is the essential thing, independent of what it consists, what made it work in that way. And the “distillation” is not getting the “essential” thing out of beauty and shedding the superfluous. It is the transformation of THAT BEAUTY into something permanent. Something that somehow still contains this EXACT MOMENT of beauty. This special, unique living thing.

But what the hell is this supposed to be: the “substance” of beauty? Is it “just” a metaphor, or does it actually “point” at something “real”? I remember precisely that I thought about it, on and off of course, for a whole day. Then I slept on it, and, as it happens, waking up the next morning, I had the solution. Of course the “show” is gone, the living thing may have been killed by the frost, but there is something that can be made of THE EFFECT beauty had on “Shakespeare”, or on me, or anyone. And this is exactly why “living beauty” is in fact the most important thing – something I never wanted to admit because, until then, it would have been to admit deficiency. It is important that the “substance of beauty” could never exist without the “actual thing”! (And maybe stubbornly clinging to being a “realist” for a lifetime finally paid then!) But there is something that can be made of it, something permanent that will last, maybe not for ever but for a lifetime, or even as long as about 400 years! The “substance” of this actual instance of beauty that brought it about IS the poem. Or, more precisely: the “substance” of beauty is preserved in the poem because it produces exactly the same effect this actual instance of beauty had on the beholder.

So Shakespeare had not only “found” the solution by writing this poem – which has been found a million times in the same way, in other poems, songs, paintings and so on – he had even “understood” it and written it “into” the poem. Which enabled me to “distil” it from the poem and understand it. And which also has happened a million times already, I am certain, since it was written. But it doesn’t matter because there had been an actual problem, and the poem presents a “living” answer to it. Something that points to the future, not the past. Which can, somehow, happen again and again. And will always be experienced as something new, some kind of adventure, some kind of surprise.

As in the case of what I consider the most beautiful love poem I have ever read, Sonnet 33:

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask’d him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.