We’ve all heard the stories and theories about Shakespeare’s sexuality. Was he in love with a man? Was it the Fair Youth of the sonnets? If so, who was it? Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare’s patron? The only thing we know for sure is that we’ll never know for sure.
That doesn’t mean we can’t hang on each new development in the story like the most recently installment of our favorite reality tv drama, though!
This article from ArtNet brings up a fascinating locket. What’s in the locket? Why, a portrait of H.W. himself. Why’s that special? He was Earl of Southampton, there’s plenty of portraits of him.
Not like this.
When the 2.25 inch treasure was discovered by art historians Elizabeth Goldring and Emma Rutherford, both were struck by the sitter’s unusually androgynous appearance, including his long golden curls, floral patterned jacket, and inviting blue eyes.
It’s difficult to look at a picture like this in 2025 and try to ponder what it meant 400 years ago. So, he’s wearing what he wants. So, he’s wearing his hair the length and style he wants. These days? No big deal. Back then? We don’t entirely know. Obviously, he sat for the portrait, so it wasn’t a completely hidden side of the man. He wasn’t afraid to be seen like this. Art historian Elizabeth Goldring suggests that the locket containing such an image, “must have been for a very, very close friend or lover.”
Wait, it gets better! Such a portrait apparently would have been painted on the back of a playing card. This one in particular used hearts. Awwww!
No no, not that! *This* portrait? If you take it out of its locket and look at the back, somebody has scribbled over the heart and turned it into a black spade! I know, right??
Shakespeare or no Shakespeare, that tells one great story. Do we know if it was a gift, or to whom? No. But we can clearly see that a heart was scratched out. Who would do that, and why? The “scorned lover” theory certainly seems valid. And who is the most well-known potential lover of Henry W.? Exactly.
The much-anticipated movie adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet hits theatres this Thanksgiving, and the trailer dropped this week. Let’s watch!
Ok, thoughts?
I never actually read the book. It came out in 2016 as part of the Hogarth Shakespeare series by Random House, a project to create modern novelizations of many Shakespeare classics by well-known authors. I did read Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood and Macbeth by Jo Nesbø, but something about Hamnet just didn’t work for me. I don’t think it really fit the pattern of the others, first of all. Are you retelling Hamlet, or are you imagining a life where Shakespeare’s son didn’t die? I wasn’t into a story about the latter. When tragedy happens in real life, I don’t find it a useful exercise to imagine how life might have been different. I don’t find it hopeful, I find it depressing.
But, that’s just me. Maybe I’ll try it again, before the movie? I definitely want to see the movie. I saw All Is True, and I lovedAll Is True – except the bits about Hamnet. I’m nothing if not consistent.
Ok! Let’s talk about the trailer. Somebody who’s read the book, fill me in, because right off … who is Agnes, and is she a witch? When we’re not blaring the soundtrack and the cinematographer is not taking inspiration from Millais’ Ophelia, the first bit of dialogue I got was, “If you touch people, you can see their future.” So, then, this is neither a reimagining of Shakespeare’s life if Hamnet had lived, nor a retelling of Hamlet? It’s a fantasy?
Is he wearing a cardigan?
Really, that’s about all their is to say about the trailer. We see repeated shots of Paul Mescal as Shakespeare and Jessie Buckley as Agnes, and we hear a whole lot of soundtrack. We have no idea what the plot is, we get no meaningful dialogue or meet any supporting cast. It’s almost like the trailer’s made just for people who read the book, which isn’t how these things usually go. Usually the movie goes out of its way to appeal to the audience that hasn’t read the book.
So, people who’ve read the book, what do you think?
Three ivory cubes leapt across the scarred table, struck a puddle of spilled ale, and settled – four, four, one. A groan rippled through the ring of onlookers. Kit let his own sigh arrive half a heartbeat late, polished and theatrical. The man opposite, too drunk to notice, was already fumbling for the coins he no longer possessed.
Kit’s gaze slid past the table, past the guttering tallow, and snagged on a newcomer framed in the doorway.
William Shakespeare, still mud-spattered from the road, stood as though he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in someone else’s dream. He was clutching the strap of a canvas satchel that bulged with the manuscript of Richard III, the pages curled from sweat and river fog. The satchel was heavy enough to ransom a duke, yet worth nothing until it met a stage.
A slow smile curved Kit’s lips. Here was coin he could borrow without ever reaching for his purse.
He leaned back, letting the dice rest, and studied the Stratford man the way a falcon studies a lark. Shakespeare’s eyes flicked from the bear pit to the dice table, from the knife tucked into Frizer’s belt to the silver hoop glinting in Kit’s ear. Curiosity warred with caution; Kit filed the expression away like a line he might one day gift to a character.
Ingram Frizer’s voice cut through the haze. “Three pounds by Pentecost, Kit. Or the Privy Council hears where you supped last Tuesday.”
Kit answered without looking at him. “Pentecost is still four weeks distant.” He scooped the dice, rolled again. Five, five, six. A cheer; coins scraped toward him like filings to a magnet. Luck, however, was a flirt who never stayed for breakfast. Two throws later, the pile had thinned to a single groat and the echo of his pulse.
Frizer’s hand landed on Kit’s shoulder – heavy, proprietary. “Outside. Air clears debts.”
Kit rose, but not before crooking a finger at Shakespeare. “Walk with me, countryman. I have a proposition that might keep both our purses and our necks intact.”
Will hesitated, then followed. Moonlight silvered the puddles; a distant church bell tolled one. Frizer produced a knife small enough to be polite, large enough to be final. The blade caught the moon and shattered it into shards of light.
“Papers or blood,” Frizer said softly.
Kit felt the Stratford man’s breath hitch beside him. He pitched his voice low, for Will alone. “My new play needs a second hand. Your history has soldiers who speak like men, not marionettes. Help me finish it before Pentecost and we split the profits – enough to buy this dog’s silence and your next pair of boots.”
Before Will could answer, a second figure detached from the shadows: Robert Poley, courier, sometime intelligencer, perennial messenger of bad news. He carried no blade; the parchment in his hand looked sharper than steel.
“Gentlemen,” Poley said, as though they were all about to sit down to supper, “the theatres close tomorrow. Plague orders from the Council. Master Marlowe, you are advised to make yourself scarce.”
Frizer’s eyes glittered. “Scarce men still pay debts.”
Poley smiled with half his mouth. “Scarce men also vanish.” He turned to Kit, then flicked a glance at Will. “Deptford. Tuesday. Eleanor Bull’s house. Bring coin, verse, and – if you wish – your new collaborator.”
The bell tolled twice. Somewhere a bear roared; somewhere else a poet swallowed his own heartbeat. Kit pocketed the knife – not Frizer’s, his own – and stepped back into the torchlight, Will half a pace behind him.
Behind them the dice clattered on, indifferent and bright, counting the hours until Pentecost … and the hours until two poets would decide whether to save each other or sell each other out.
—–
Next Time: A bear-baiting crowd roars. A rehearsal stalls. And Will hears the first whisper that the playhouses are about to close forever. Chapter 4: “The Curtain Falls Silent.”
If you had three shillings and a knife at your throat, would you stake it on poetry, loyalty, or the next roll of the dice? Tell us which – and tag a friend who’d make the same bet.
Ok, I had to get all those stories out of the way, sorry about that. For me, those were the highlight of the night.
How was the play? It was good. Fine. I’m not a big fan of this one because there’s not really a lot to work with. The plot is thin, the characters for the most part are so shallow a casual audience-member will easily lose track of which one is which. And the ending is just nuts.
It dawned on me this year that AYLI is basically a teen sitcom storyline. It’s all “OMG he likes me what do I do what do I say?!!” with lots of giddy screaming and running around. It’s definitely funny at parts, a real crowd pleaser when it’s being over the top obvious and not lost in the wordplay. But there’s nothing to sink your teeth into and discuss.
Or is there?
I don’t know if I just never noticed it, or this production really played up the angle, but it seemed this year that Ganymede leaned really heavily on the “How can you not see that I’m Rosalind?” moments. He says, talk to me like you’d talk to Rosalind Just go ahead and call me Rosalind. There’s even an awkward scene with a kiss. Orlando’s confused about a lot of feelings, to put it mildly.
Which got me thinking, Maybe this is obvious to the younger crowd maybe I’m just an old man trying to understand. But …let’s start the play in the forest. Orlando meets a new friend, Ganymede. Ganymede certainly looks and talks and presents himself like a fellow boy. But Ganymede’s also obviously much more comfortable talking about girl things. He wants to tell Orlando what girls want. He wants Orlando to talk to him like a girl. And then, just like that, one day Ganymede is gone and Rosalind is in their place.
We the audience know that it’s Rosalind disguised as Ganymede. But, and I’m sure I’m going to get my terminology wrong here, what if Ganymede was in fact a character that on the outside was presenting themselves to the world like a male, but inside, identified as female? Until one day they are?
Orlando, for his part, doesn’t seem to have a problem with his attraction for this character, either. I don’t think Orlando cares who Ganymede identifies as. Is that what they mean by “pan”?
I don’t really know where I’m going with this. Like I said, I’m just an old dad trying to understand a lot of new things. Tell me that AYLI isn’t just about “gender bending” and “cross dressing,” tell me it’s about gender identity, and suddenly I’m paying attention. Then it’s something more than just a farce to laugh at. Then it’s got a point to make the audience think about.
How about I get off my soapbox now and share some pictures?
Rosalind and CeliaTouchstoneJaquesGanymede and OrlandoOrlando as WolverineDon’t get on Duke Frederick’s bad sideThe Wedding
Here we go again! As I’ve gotten older I’ve started telling myself, “It’s ok if I miss Shakespeare on Boston Common this year.” The kids have gotten older, schedules are busy. And, perhaps most importantly, they’re doing As You Like It – which they did back in 2008, which I saw, and reviewed.
But then I tell myself, “This is my night. This over all other days is my chance to bask in my Shakespeare world and go surround myself with all things Shakespeare.”
A little taste of Arden Forst while I get the interesting stories out of the way.
So I did what I also do every year. I dressed up in merch – this time donning my “Shakespeare Makes Life Better” long-sleeve – and filled up my little goodies sack with an assortment of stickers, magnets, and 3D Shakespeares, and we were off. We had a special guest this year, as my daughter’s got a new friend who is both obsessed with Shakespeare and has never been to a free Shakespeare in the park show. So she’s all in.
We stop for gas before heading into Boston, pulling in behind a big (big) pickup truck. That happens to have its backup lights on. So as I get out, not wanting him to roll into me accidentally or something, I say, “Hey did you know that your…” and then they go off. “Never mind, I say.” The driver of the big (big) pickup is a big fellow in his own right. He’s not giving “biker,” but he’s definitely the size and shape of somebody who you wouldn’t want to mess with at the bar.
So he’s pumping his gas, I’m pumping mine, and I can see out of the corner of my eye that he hasn’t stopped looking at me. Have I offended him in some way by mentioning his lights? Does he think I’m stupid because I didn’t know they’d go off? I avoid his gaze for as long as I can.
“Are you an English teacher?” he asks.
I get it immediately. “No,” I say, “Just a fan.” He looks confused. “I assume you’re referring to my shirt?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says.
“We’re big Shakespeare fans. We’re actually going in to Boston tonight to see Shakespeare in the Park.”
“Oh,” he says. “What play?”
“As You Like It,” I tell him.
“That’s a good one!” he says, looking … wistful? I wonder what he was thinking.
So, that’s one Shakespeare encounter I did not expect. You never know who you’re going to connect with around Shakespeare.
We get to the park, and the normal routine begins, which basically amounts to keeping busy for almost 2 hours waiting for the show to begin. I take the easy way out of my mission, handing my bag of Shakespeare goodies to the kids and saying, “Your mission is to find people to give stuff to.” And off they go. Once they’re gone I of course think, “I should have kept some for myself, I hope they don’t give everything away.” But they don’t, they’re back soon enough to let me know that they gave out some stickers.
The night progresses, the crowd grows There are volunteers walking around who have programs to give out, as well as stickers of their own. The longer I wait, a plan forms in my head. I’ll give something to a volunteer. I’ll tell them, “How often does somebody give you something?” I have two 3d printed Shakespeares left. One is bigger than the other. I will wait until one of the volunteers comes by alone because it would be rude to give two different sizes. Yes, I think about these things. Maybe it comes from having kids and having “everybody gets the same” drilled into my brain. Or maybe I’m just thinking of excuses to chicken out like I do every year.
The darker it gets, the less they wander, and I’m missing my opportunity. Finally a young man walks by who we’ve already seen before. He’s given a program and stickers to the young couple next to us. He’d asked me if I needed a program, too, but we already had a couple. I try to get his attention, but he walks past, and I think that’s it, it’s dark, show’s starting, my chance is past.
Until he’s standing next to me. “Did you need something?” he asks.
I brandish a tiny Shakespeare. “For you,” I say.
He’s speechless. “Wait, really?” he says. “Seriously?”
“You’re out here giving everybody free stuff, how often does anybody give you anything?” I ask.
“Never!” he says, “Nobody’s ever given me anything!”
“Well exactly!” I tell him. “Now you can go show off to the other volunteers that you got something.”
And he does, I watch as he goes over to the two nearest volunteers to excitedly show them his prize, gesturing back at me (probably, “Look what the guy in the Shakespeare Makes Life Better shirt just gave me!”) One of them looks over to me, I make eye contact and smile. Had she come over, I would have given her the other Shakespeare. I don’t know what I would have done if both of them had.
It gets better.
I’m enjoying this. I made somebody happy with Shakespeare. Many people have commented on my shirt. It’s a good night, I don’t want it to end (even though the show hasn’t even begun!) The young woman next to us has been friendly and polite, having first asked if she could sit there (not a courtesy that is always shown), and asking me questions about how the show is organized. So I fish one of my magnets out of the bag and reach it over to her. “Would you like a magnet?” I ask. She definitely would. There’s a funny age gap at work here – as somebody of Dad age, I think that giving out stuff like stickers is childish and, no, nobody wants a sticker. But I have yet to meet a 20-something, all my kids now included, who doesn’t say, “Hell yeah I want a sticker.” Or in this case, a magnet.
“You’re bringing so much joy,” she says.
She has no idea how much that meant to me. I’ve tried to build up the courage for years to be the guy who exudes Shakespeare wherever he goes. “Shakespeare makes life better” isn’t just a tagline for a website. I deeply and truly believe it and want to put actions to words. Tonight, finally, I got to do that. I got to bring joy to people, through Shakespeare, and even have it acknowledged. I don’t remember when I’ve been happier.
This is a long post, and I never even talked about the play. I guess that’ll have to be part two!
