The „big question“: about the aesthetical education of mankind

Maybe what I perceived to be such a success – that I was finally able to read Shakespeare - had made me overconfident because I decided to try my reading on a philosophical text for a change: “Über die Ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen” (“About the aesthetical education of mankind”) by Friedrich Schiller. I had written a paper about it at uni, roughly twenty-five years ago, about which I remembered zilch. But a sentence from this text had popped up repeatedly when I was thinking about the “big question” – which might be put in many different ways, even, in my case, as simple as that: WHAT IS READING? And this sentence had haunted me already for some time.

The sentence – which to my astonishment I had remembered correctly from twenty-five years ago – was: “Der Mensch (…) ist nur da ganz Mensch, wo er spielt.” It doesn’t translate well, and I know I should write this part of my blog in German, but somehow I didn’t want to because everything that led to it “was” already in English. (By the way, in case anyone ever feels the inclination to comment on my blog: it doesn’t have to be in English!) And when I started to “translate” Schiller into English I found that there was even a big advantage. Because, at least philosophically, English is the language of practical good sense, and something you cannot really express in English might in fact be bollocks – or my own inability might be at fault, of course. In this case it is probably neither, just a rare instance of a sentence being simple and beautiful in German whereas it is clumsy and pedantic in English:

“A human being is only entirely human when he/she is playing.”

I’d never thought though that reading a philosophical treatise like this might be fun, and maybe it is not the right word for it. But it got much more exciting than I had expected. The first exciting thing that happened was totally unexpected and kind of disagreeable. Because the first impression I got reading the preliminary remarks became stronger and stronger and came to swallow up everything else until I came upon the expression “den gemeinen Charakter, den das Bedürfnis der Geschlechtsliebe aufdrückte, durch Sittlichkeit auslöscht und durch Schönheit veredelt” = “(to) delete(!) the common character which the natural sex drive gave to sexual love by “Sittlichkeit” (how the hell do you even translate this!) and to refine it by beauty”. (Horrible, though very “literal” translation!) And then I thought: No, I don’t really want to read this! And this was the moment I consciously realized how much fascism took root in idealist transcendental philosophy.

And I didn’t really want to think that because I knew there was a reason for me to read that text. And I even knew I was distorting it by letting one impression become predominant and taint all the rest. Then I stopped reading and started thinking about if I was right. I knew I was, but didn’t remember to have heard this opinion expressed before. But then I got ammunition from a totally unexpected quarter by accidentally listening to a radio feature about “Gulliver’s Travels”. Which brought to my attention that already Kant’s and Schiller’s “contemporaries” noticed this – even if they didn’t know about fascism yet. I had read “Gulliver’s Travels” in a children’s book version, and I even remembered I had disliked it, but they never got to the part about the fascist horses and the poor “yahoos”. Probably because it had ceased to be fun some time before that.

Of course I knew that Schiller himself would never have agreed with any kind of political fascism, on the contrary! Because his central political theme is freedom, and – which was the other distinct impression I got from that text already in the beginning - there is a strong dynamic quality, like an undercurrent, toward setting free the human being he is talking about from the moral and natural “necessities” which obstruct this freedom. And this is probably what made me read on. In the end I was even grateful that I had been able to pin down the “fascist” tendency of transcendental idealism in that way because it made me see with what I agreed and with what I disagreed in Schiller’s text so very clearly.

And this - knowing with what I agreed or disagreed - was the next thing I realized I had to deal with. And which makes a philosophical text much tougher reading than a fictional text. Even though I was surprised how “readable” I found it. Being a great writer, Schiller knows exactly how to “hit” the point, and it isn’t hard work to follow his argument most of the time. But, reading a philosophical text, you have to make up your mind about the “method” a writer used and actively use it yourself. And you have to make up your mind about if you agree or disagree with what he wrote, and why.

The good thing about method was that I had obviously read more of Kant than I remembered. In fact I didn’t remember anything, apart from the “categorical imperative” which I might have read about elsewhere. But the fact that I understood the method of thinking, the nature of Kantian concepts, and the basic preliminaries of transcendental philosophy so well told me that I must have read a great deal of original text. I think I probably read at least the “Kritik der reinen Vernunft” completely. Which doesn’t mean that I “agreed” with it, or that I really understood how it is supposed to “generate” truth. But I knew it didn’t matter if I “believed” in it, and that I had to suspend my doubts about method because this is transcendental philosophy, and if I didn’t agree with the way it works I wouldn’t get anything useful out of that text.

So there was just no use in picking a fight here. And the first nice experience I actually had reading Schiller’s treatise was that I discovered how “basic” its basic preliminaries are, and that I could put up with them as well. (Maybe these are the moments I had loved reading philosophy for because, understanding the basic preliminaries of a philosophical system, and what they are used for, I experienced this (very short) moment when I actually felt I understood “everything”. As this might be the closest I will ever get to the experience of wielding absolute power …) Because, to understand transcendental philosophy in the first place, all you need is to grasp the concept that a human being is a being that is able to think AND feel, to receive impressions AND to produce concepts. And that is in fact so basic that it appears ridiculous even to mention it. But it is not, as it is the reason that transcendental philosophy had to be “invented”, as neither simple metaphysics nor crude empirism would ever be able to deduce anything meaningful about human nature. And I realized that I totally agreed with this.

What I totally disagreed with – and here the revelation about the “fascist” nature of the system of transcendental philosophy became a big help – is the hierarchy of concepts within the system, its “absolutist” structure. Maybe for me to determine the validity and usefulness of a philosophical system means to dig up the part where the “metaphysical crap” is buried. Of course in Kant’s opinion there is none because he thought that he deduced everything from “necessary” concepts about the nature of perception. I cannot judge if this is even true, but I don’t believe that you can “honestly” deduce from basic preliminaries about perception which concepts are “nothwendig” (necessary) and more important, and which are “accidental”. Maybe you can, but I had a strong hunch that this is somehow the place where the “interface” with some kind of outdated metaphysical system has to be. At least it was here that my continual struggle with Schiller’s text took place. But as he uses the transcendental method mostly to “transcend” these opposites and somehow close the breach between them dynamically, creating a new state of affairs, I felt that I was winning most of the time. Even if sometimes it felt a bit like winning by unfair means. And just when he had convinced me once again of the beautiful face of human nature under “idealist” rule one of these sentences popped up that made me detect the ugly skull underneath. Perfectly hideous example:

“Darinn also besteht das eigentliche Kunstgeheimnis des Meisters, dass er den Stoff durch die Form vertilgt; und je imposanter, anmaßender, verführerischer der Stoff an sich selbst ist, (…) oder je mehr der Betrachter geneigt ist, sich selbst mit dem Stoff einzulassen, desto triumphirender ist die Kunst, welche jenen zurückzwingt und über diesen die Herrschaft behauptet.“

(„This is the secret of the true artist: that he eradicates matter through form, and the more imposing, presumptuous, tempting the matter is in itself (…) or the more the audience is tempted to get involved with it, the more triumphant becomes the kind of art that reigns them in and establishes its rule over the latter.”)

Ave Caesar, morituri te salutant!? Does he really think if the natural sex drive is finally “deleted” and the “material” fun of the artistic performance successfully “eradicted” any human being which is not yet transformed into a transcendental concept will get anything out of the action? I wonder … Maybe I haven’t really understood all the other stuff he wrote before that!? - This was the kind of “philosophical” struggle I had with Schiller because I found the hierarchy offensive. But there is so much in his text to contradict this “absolutist” notion that I got over it every time I read something like this.

So it was tough reading until I finally came to the really meaty part, which was of course the one about PLAYING. When he introduces his new concept of “Spieltrieb” (= the natural inclination or “drive” to play) which is supposed to “mediate” between the realm of “life” and the realm of “ideas”, finally transforming the individuals into the HUMAN BEINGS they should be. And the first example he comes up with to show how this “Spieltrieb” is supposed to work I loved that much that I forgave everything I had hated – or would still come to hate - about his text on the spot. Because this example is actually about love! - And this was when something happened to me for the second time within the last two years which had never happened before in this way. The other example is already “hidden” somewhere within this blog, but this time it was with somebody from over two hundred years ago!!! It was as if our two minds had just clashed. As if somebody thought in the same way, or had exactly the same experience, about something really important that I have had. Because he says that the two “failed” instances of love are when you are either drawn sexually toward somebody you have to despise, or that you are compelled by circumstance to hate somebody you hold in high esteem. And not because of the failed relationship with this other person in the first place, but because of the fact that it makes YOU a failure as a human being!

The instant I read this a lot of things happened which made my encounter with Schiller’s text become very dynamic, and, in my appreciation, finally successful. Whereas before that I had struggled with it on the barren heath of philosophy and political thinking utterly alone, suddenly another text was drawn in and changed the landscape completely. In fact there were two of them. One I had been writing myself “with my own life” over some time, but had somehow “extricated” only recently through another text: “The Crucible” by Arthur Miller which I certainly have mentioned already to have seen in the cinema. I cannot really use this experience to explain anything here because I still refuse to read it. So I cannot go back to the text to verify what my experience had been about, which is a real pity. Especially because, in this case, I had the unique experience of comparing my reading of a text from roughly twenty years ago, when I saw the film, with the recent one: when I saw the production from the Old Vic in the cinema. Which issues I had with this text already then, and how they – and I myself – were changed! - That I remembered that much about it is an indication that the film must already have made a big impression on me – which was still nothing compared to the recent experience. Because this was the only performance ever that made me feel like shit for three days after I had seen it – although I hadn’t even seen it in the theatre! - until I could finally sit down and write something about it. And this was of course BECAUSE it was so good! I don’t even have a totally convincing theory why this happened, but maybe I don’t want to. Some texts just appear to accumulate truth “with age”. And I think this is great!

The kind of truth I came upon was exactly the same I found in Schiller’s text in a totally different disguise. And this is the first thing about playing that I deduced – not directly from Schiller’s text but indirectly through this experience: that you can never look TRUTH directly in the eye because you couldn’t bear it. At least not any important truth ABOUT YOURSELF like this one. In this case it was that you have to take the only real opportunity for love life may offer you, even though it will almost certainly destroy you. Because, if you don’t, you will be a failure as a human being, even though you may have done “the right thing” in any other respect. At least this was the one thing I understood that had been so tough for me. And it is the only relevant issue in this context anyway because it is what “surfaced” when I read Schiller’s example. And, through the interference of this other text, it made me instantly understand the most important thing about playing the way Schiller understands it: that it is not just “nice” and makes you somehow “better” because it makes you feel better and “kills” time. It is really necessary because you may have a chance to get at YOUR OWN TRUTH without having your fingers burned every time you come too close. As you usually get your fingers burned just once.

And this is something Schiller wrote about as well. I know that I tried to “stay with” the text and did my best to read closely along the lines. But from this instant the two other texts came in all the time like scavengers, tearing parts from Schiller’s orderly treatise and feeding them to me. But this was what I wanted them to do, of course. There are always different methods for me, with different texts, to make the most of them. And this was obviously the one here. I tried nonetheless, not least to make the “method” work, to apply order, form, and structure to my reading, to “eradicate” the “matter” that had no business to be there, stay as close to the text as I could. And there is this important passage when he says that if you are playing with something dangerous and disagreeable it doesn’t hurt you “for real”, and if you are playing with something really desirable you don’t want it “for real”. And that this is the best way, or even the only way, you can have this experience. Which is obviously true …

Or is it? - I really don’t think that Schiller as a dramatic writer would have agreed completely with Schiller as a philosopher. At least I doubt it when I am thinking about his plays which I have always held in high esteem. Because they have real dramatic and tragic potential which might have tempted actors at the time to cross the line and actually get their fingers burned, to a certain degree. And I just cannot imagine that Schiller wouldn’t have liked to see this. Maybe I am wrong, but I’ll try to explain what I mean. Because it is always a very fine line, and it is never completely without risk to experiment with it. – And I didn’t “experiment” then, I really got my fingers burned, although I don’t want to admit it. I think there is a part I am prepared to admit and another which I don’t want to. I even realized just now that I don’t WANT them to release the production from the Old Vic on dvd – even though they filmed it really beautifully – because then I would have to buy it. And I cannot imagine watching it again. And there must be a reason for that. So, according to Schiller, I did something wrong?

Apparently he wanted everything neatly stowed in the realm of art where there is a straight hierarchy, and the rebellious “matter”, like “real” feelings, is conveniently “eradicated”. Yeah, just imagine what will be left of a play by Schiller if you take this literally! - Of course there cannot be “real” fear, or “real” discomfort, because you cannot play with it. But I don’t know. At least it might be that I am trying to do this intentionally … cross the line? That this might even be the whole point of playing? At least when you take playing as seriously as Schiller obviously wanted it to be. On the other hand, it has to be “safe”. When you “wake up” you have to be safe again. And of course the main difference compared to “real life” is that it is YOU who decides what you let the text “do” to you. Maybe if you are good you know how far you can go, maybe you know from experience. But then you’ll never experience something new. I am really fumbling here. Fumbling for the line … And I REALLY don’t know. I know that there is, somewhere in there, the most important thing, and why is it so important?

There are two examples for this kind of thing I remember from actors who have done something really extraordinary. One is from Cate Blanchet about playing the “heroine” in “Blue Jasmine”. She said that this took her far outside her “comfort zone”, but added immediately that somehow she always ends up there. Well, this may be why she became a great actress: because she can tell the difference when she is THERE, and then she knows that she has got it “right”? - The other one is from Richard Armitage about playing John Proctor, which, in my opinion, was still a big step from everything else he had done before. He said that he had wanted to play this character because he didn’t know if he could do it, and that, even at the stage of actual performance, there were still lines he found difficult to say. So, now you can take this seriously or not. I decided to take it seriously, probably because of the experience I had already had myself. And I imagine that these lines, every time he said them, somehow were the proof that he could do it, and that, every time, he knew that he had been able to cross the line. And that what he was doing was RELEVANT.

And the greatest thing about reading Schiller’s text finally became that I fully understood his concept of “serious” playing by making a point against him. Because I was reading this, obviously, thinking I understood already what he meant and was trying to “test” it. And then something different came to light and made me understand it somehow “deeper” and more clearly. And, which is another great point about philosophical texts when you get “deeper”: made me realize I STILL DON’T understand it! But I certainly understand better now what I am trying to do, and this was probably the whole point of it. By establishing where “the line” is, and why I am always trying to cross it. Why I never feel I have done something worthwhile without doing this.

In any case I have a definite criterion for exclusion now to judge, for example, why I like certain films so much more than others, and want to see them again, whereas I am often bored with films that critics think are great, and forget them the instant I have seen them. It isn’t just subjective, and it doesn’t have to do with “matter”, not in the first place. It doesn’t even have to do with how good or “innovative” the storytelling or the photography is – although the attempt at serious playing might be mainly in the filming as such. It has to do with this kind of experience I described. – The most common “error” of filmmakers – and of course film critics and Oscar juries! - is, in my opinion, that people think when they have made a film about a serious matter, or a “serious” book or whatever, they have already done something significant. Well, in a way they have because it will certainly sell, or get you a nomination. But the photography and the acting might be as great as it can be: I don’t even “see” it if I cannot see this kind of thing happen. The kind of thing which Schiller considers to be the act that turns “playing” into art, and which, in my opinion, is this: searching for the “line” and trying to cross it. Searching for the part of your story, character, or whatever, you don’t yet understand … Searching for this kind of experience.

And, the most important thing for me of course: It is something anybody can do. And, as I said, it is called READING. Because reading is, or can be, a form of “serious” playing. I am fully aware that this is a constant provocation because reading for most people is kind of an anaesthetic, some way of “shutting out the world”. And so I thought as well for a long time. Now I cannot even do this kind of reading anymore, maybe I haven’t been that good at it for a long time already, because, when this happens to me, I instantly “leave” the book and am wandering off into my own world. But, as I know now what can make the attempts at serious playing by other people – writers, actors, singers and so on - so significant for me, and makes me enjoy them so much, I feel even more of an obligation to be a great reader. (Even knowing that this makes a difference only for me, of course! It takes hundreds of thousands of great readers to buy the “right” books or dvds, or go to the theatre, to encourage artists to keep up the good work. But I am somehow confident that they must be “out there” somewhere … In a way, though I shall never “meet” them, I HAVE to believe this.) And this is, in the first place, what Schiller – like any “real” artist! – wanted people to be. But not only for him, to have an audience and somehow “sell” what he was doing. (Of course, today this has to be an important issue, but at the time you couldn’t even make a living from your art as such. At least not as a writer.) He wanted it because he thought he was doing something significant, and if other people would really understand it this would improve THEM. Not “just like that”, because they would have understood the moral implications or whatever of his plays, but because he would have enabled them to MAKE A MOVE within themselves toward something new.

And even though he doesn’t elaborate explicitly on the example about love anywhere else in his treatise, I don’t think that it was “just and example” for him. Especially when I am reading his closing remarks about “den geselligen Charakter” (the social character) of art, beauty, and “serious” playing: that they should create a domain where people that are separated by social barriers should be able to meet and exercise their human right to play. Where everybody should have the opportunity to improve themselves as a human being. – And if you are aiming high – which Schiller does, of course, and for what I probably liked him at the time: without love there is no human being. And one of the most interesting things Schiller wrote is that all the attempts of the kind he described are somehow “failed” attempts – in his book because it isn’t possible to reach the “ideal” when you are operating “in this earthly world”. Perfection can only be achieved in the world of concepts. But to aim high is still worth everything, and this is even the only thing you can try to do. So there is no “ideal” state of love anyway. But the attempt to love in the only way you can is worth it because it is the only thing that makes you REAL as a human being.

So, now I have probably written something I don’t understand yet. Pretty! Maybe it is crap, maybe it will be something I can “work” with. And it has to be the closing remark because this has already become far too long. Although I have only elaborated on very few of Schiller’s interesting issues. My first reading was much closer to the text, and I found a lot more interesting issues about playing, but somehow the two other texts “jammed” my immediate communication with Schiller most of the time. (Arthur Miller was a very strong presence!) But, as all writers should know: This is what people do with your text! They “write” their own version. And this is even what they SHOULD do because it is the only way to know if they really understand some of it. And to improve themselves.

The most important issue left over from Schiller’s text is that the question how the “Spieltrieb” is actually supposed to work – how EXACTLY it is supposed to make people “better” – remains unanswered. And this was one of the questions I was chiefly interested in. I don’t think that Schiller really answered this question because he thought he already answered it “technically”. But what makes sense within the system of transcendental philosophy doesn’t necessarily make sense to me – at least not without “tangible” proof. Maybe this is in fact the toughest question, and maybe there will be a sequel. I just have a feeling this would be a more fitting theme for the thesis I am never going to write.

There is something, though, I cannot leave out because, when I just went over my notes about “The Crucible”, I read this remark by Richard Armitage about playing John Proctor, and I couldn’t believe it:

“It had been one of these roles I had always coveted and known I would play eventually, and by playing it I would be changed as a person.”

Because this was exactly what I SAW when he entered the stage, even before he opened his mouth to say his first sentence. It is a pity I don’t remember when I first transformed this disconcerting impression into a thought, but I remember exactly how I “translated” it: There isn’t just a different actor, but a different person! (It might have been after I had read this, but I don’t think so.) In any case it kind of spares me the thesis and all my clumsy follow-up remarks about how I might not know about serious playing making you a “better” person, but that it certainly can make you a DIFFERENT person.

And I cannot leave this either without trying to translate Schiller’s closing remarks about his “Staat des schönen Scheins” (which I don’t know how to translate). His (un)political “utopia”, in any case, the place where serious playing for everybody would be possible. Because I loved them, and they amazed me, almost as much as the example which – inadvertently - became the centre of my reading:

“… where no mindless mimicking of strange customs but their own beautiful nature rules people’s behaviour, where people go through the most complicated affairs with daring simplicity and calm innocence, and neither find it necessary to hurt other people’s freedom to obtain their own, nor to cast their own dignity away to please others.”

(Synopsis: …where people can be themselves and live their own truth, and therefore have no need to appear clever, bully others, or do stupid things that are beneath them, to get other people’s approval.)

Well, that might be exactly the “place” where I (and probably Arthur Miller?) would have wanted to live!

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. 14^th). 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.

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.