Here’s a fun story that’s heavy on the geek: Ian McDiarmid is playing Timon of Athens.
Who?
Timon. Of Athens. It’s a Shakespeare play.
🙂
I kid. Ian McDiarmid is better known to Star Wars geeks the world over as Emperor Palpatine , aka Darth Sidious, aka Darth Vader’s boss.
My kids, the youngest being just 4yrs old, are only now beginning to appreciate the Star Wars universe as it was meant to be told – starting with episode 4, going through episode 6, and then just stopping. No animated Clone Wars series, no JarJar. A world where Darth Vader is the scariest mother walking the face of this or any other planet. My son informed me that Darth Vader was the biggest bad guy in the universe. “Oh no,” I told him, “Darth Vader has a boss. The Emperor.” They were very impressed by this. They have no idea who the Emperor is, because they won’t see him until the third movie.

So this weekend, my wife surprised me with an early birthday present : tickets to go see HAIR, one of my favorite shows of all time. I’ve often told people “It’s a tossup between HAIR and Hamlet,” and let them work out exactly what sort of similarities they share that they could both be at the top of my list :).
For those unfamiliar with the “60’s tribal love rock musical” you may not realize that it’s loaded with Shakespeare references. I thought I’d had them all:

• An entire song called “What a piece of work is man”, from Hamlet.
• The big finale song finds the tribe singing “Eyes, look your last….arms, take your last embrace….” which are Romeo’s last words to Juliet.
• This crescendoes into “the rest is silence! the rest is silence! the rest is silence!” which is, of course, from Hamlet.

Well last night I spotted two more. Maybe I’ve just missed them in the past, or forgotten them. Or maybe they’ve been cut in other productions, who knows. But:

• Claude (our tragic hero) breaks into “O that this too, too sullied flesh would melt….” when it seems the world is getting him down. Hamlet again.
• After the “What a Piece of Work is Man” song, Berger, who plays something of a Mercutio in this story, just goes ahead and refers to Claude as Shakespeare directly.

That combination – a play whose second half is one long bad acid trip, intermingled with liberal Shakespeare references – continues to show the infinite variety in what Shakespeare had to say. If you come to the show with the wrong attitude, you’re going to be in for an uncomfortable night. Berger takes his pants off and begins climbing over audience members within the first five minutes. Most scenes involve liberal demonstrations of simulated sex, in every conceivable combination. The entire cast famously gets naked at the end of the first act.
You could, as some people do, get offended by all that nonsense and walk out at intermission. I’ve seen it happen.
Or you could pay attention to the story of Claude, caught between the responsibilities of his reality, and his desire to be with his tribe of dreamers. The hippies get their draft cards. What to do? Berger burns his. Will Claude? What will happen if he doesn’t?
I’ve known for a long time that the creators of HAIR – Gerome Ragni and James Rado – were accomplished actors, with a Shakespeare background. You have to be, you don’t just toss in entire songs lifted directly from the text without some foundation in the subject.
What I learned this weekend, though, is that Ragni was actually on stage during Richard Burton’s Hamlet! I immediately went hunting through the credits ( I have the film at home) to see if I could spot him. Unfortunately, according to his bio he is listed only as “attendant (uncredited). So I don’t get to see him on video. Or, I may have, and just can’t recognize him.
It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I don’t particularly love much of the second act, that whole “bad trip” sequence I think goes on too long and is too difficult to follow this far removed from the days when everybody in the audience could relate to what Claude was experiencing. But I adore the story, I adore the music, I adore how they weave Shakespeare and Hamlet throughout. Note that above I’ve linked the movie version, which is different in a number of ways from the play. Better, in some ways, if you ask me.

So this weekend I received an email from Hank Rogerson who, with his partner Jilann Spitzmiller, created the documentary Shakespeare Behind Bars. I’m always at a bit of a loss for words when people who do this sort of thing for a living (and, might I add, win awards for it) reach out to me. It reminds me just how far our little corner of the Shakespeare universe has grown, and just who out there is listening. It’s pretty humbling, I have to say.
So, with that out of the way, let’s get on to the good stuff, shall we? Rogerson and Spitzmiller have a new Shakespeare documentary in the works, and if it’s anything like their first effort, we can expect great things.
Still Dreaming takes place at the Lillian Booth Actors Home just outside New York City, and follows a group of lifelong entertainers (all well into their 80’s, they tell us) as they work on a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“Four lovers? Among 80 year olds?” the short clip begins, as one of the self-described 80yr olds questions the premise.
“I think it’d be terrific!” retorts one woman, with a hint of indignation, “You never give up!”
What I think is amazing about the potential for this story is that they’re not just walking into their local nursing home and sticking a script in front of a bunch of people who’ve never acted a day in their long lives (although that would be a story in itself, albeit a different one). These are people who have been entertainers for decades, and who aren’t letting age get in the way of their ability to continue being entertainers.
“What is it like to lead a creative life, even at the end of your life?” Spitzmiller asks in voiceover. It works on a whole bunch of levels. We talk an awful lot about the universality of Shakespeare, and I think we’re about to witness another demonstration of it.
I’m fascinated by the idea. I admit — I don’t ever plan to be “behind bars”, nor have I ever really had anything to do with that aspect of our society (no family or friends in that situation, etc etc ….) So I could only get so close to that project. However I have relatives right now approaching their 80s, some in assisted living homes, and heck I plan to be 80 some day as well. I can only hope that there’s somebody there to hand me a script.
Right now, Still Dreaming is gathering funding (hence the push for publicity, I’m quite sure. I’m not kidding myself ;)). Visit the site for your chance to contribute, and check out the perks they’re offering. Guarantee yourself a copy of the DVD when it’s done. For a little more, get a copy of Shakespeare Behind Bars as well. For a little more than that, get your name in the credits! And it just keeps going. Get tickets to the premiere! Meet the cast! I love this “perk” model of funding independent projects.
Go check out their video, and click around the site. Jilann in particular seems quite active in the comments. They are very enthusiastic about making this happen. Even if you’ve not seen Shakespeare Behind Bars you’ve almost certainly heard of it. This is not a gamble, and these are not amateurs. We know what they’re capable of. Become a part of it.

This series from Big Think has potential:

On each day of Shakespeare’s birth month, Big Think will examine a different way that studying Shakespeare enriches the various disciplines—from neuroscience to business to psychology and beyond. Experts contributing to this series include James Shapiro, Professor of English at Columbia University and author of 1599: A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare; Ben Brantley, chief theater critics of The New York Times; Robert Pinsky, U.S. Poet Laureate from 1997 to 2000; Jane Smiley, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of A Thousand Acres; and Carol Gilligan, psychologist and author of In A Different Voice.

I’m a bit curious to see how it goes, because quite honestly this introduction is …. well, boring. I’m not really fond of using expressions like “interdisciplinary examination” and “social cohesion” in my own discussions of Shakespeare, so I can only hope that once they actually start talking about our favorite subject, they’re a bit more approachable when they do it.

So, apparently I’m an actor now.

I think I’ve mentioned in the past, but David, the HR guy at my new office is an actor himself, and one of the senior people at a local group. In the time I’ve been here I know that they’ve done stuff like One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Fool’s Gold and Annie. He’s admitted that he’s got no Shakespeare in him, never done it. Never had the opportunity.

Until now, it seems. He tells me a couple weeks ago that one of their donors said he’d drop a huge chunk of cash on them, if they’d do some Shakespeare. Specifically, on Shakespeare’s birthday. Even more specifically, King Frickin’ Lear. Why someone would want to pay good money to require a bunch of actors who admittedly know nothing about Shakespeare to tackle Mt. Everest I have no idea, but fools and their money, you know how the expression goes.

“You’re screwed,” I told David.

“Want to help? he asked.

“Ummm….ahhhh…..errrrrrr……” I said. I’m great when I’m behind the keyboard and I’ve got Google and my other friends at my side. But am I really foolish enough to try this stuff for real? Other than some play-writing in college – where my job was entirely to sit behind the word processor and turn in a script – I’ve got no real connection to the theatre at all. I’ve said that many times.

“Absolutely!” I told him. Apparently I was just that foolish. He knows full well that I’m not an actor. He just wants me to sit with him and the director during a few rehearsals and such, and ask some questions. I at this point have no idea what those questions will be, but I’m assuming it’ll be a lot of “explain what’s happening right now so the actors know what they’re doing” sort of stuff.

So I get introduced to everyone, and sit in on a rehearsal. They weren’t terrible. They were all (well, most of them) giving it their best shot. Nobody had anything memorized at this point but I could tell that they were at least trying to find the verse while still trying to act it and not just fall into the rhythm of students reciting it for their homework. A couple of times an actor pauses to ask exactly what’s going on with his character at a particular point, and they all turn to me for the “translation”. That’s fun, I enjoy that. Every now and then Derek, the director, leans over to me and says things like, “Goneril should be nastier here, don’t you think?” and I give my two cents.

Poor Fool had a tough time of it. He’s trying to be too funny, even though he completely doesn’t get most of the lines (he lets us know that the whole “seven stars because they are not eight” joke is completely stupid). Here my own weakness at this stuff begins to show, and I do a pretty terrible job of trying to get him through it. Fool’s got some fairly deep stuff to say, and I don’t know how to make it sound convincing.

The real problem turned out to be Edmund, this guy named Ken. Dude is just lost. He’s saying the words but you can tell it’s not really connecting in the brain. “He’s not getting this, is he?” Derek whispers to me.

“Not really, no,” I whisper back.

He then cuts the scene short and tells Ken to listen to me while I show him how to do it. This is the whole “stand up for bastards” speech so I start in on Edmund’s motivation and such, but then director is all “Nonono, we’ve been over that…show him how to connect what you’re saying to what Edmund is saying.”

So I give it my best shot. After all this is just reciting a speech, I can do that. I start in with the “Thou, nature, art my goddess…” and the actors up on stage start yelling “We can’t hear you!” and my friend Dave starts nudging me to go up on the stage. I’m not sure how many times in my life I’ll have to decide between reciting Shakespeare and throwing up on my shoes, but this time I went with the Shakespeare. I went up on stage and started in again. “Now we can’t hear you!” Dave shouts from their seats in the audience. Once more I launch into it, projecting as best I can. I have been on stage before, to give technical presentations. So I do know at least a little something about how to project my voice. But all at once like this, with a script? Never!

I actually get through it and wrap it up on the best “Now, gods, stand up for bastards!” line I can muster. There’s an exclamation point there in my copy, I honestly have no idea if that’s always there or what, but I figure it’s a sign to end with a bang, not a whimper.

They actually applauded! I can only assume that it was out of encouragement and not talent, I’m not fooling anybody. I turned seventeen shades of red and sit back down.

I don’t really remember all the details for the rest of the night, because I spent it all going over that scene in my brain again and again, tearing it apart by each syllable, pondering how I might have done it differently. Now that it’s over, I want to do it again!

That was a few weeks ago. I go to more rehearsals, and much of it is the same. I get more confident that people are actually paying attention to my opinion, and I’m less reluctant to launch into a soliloquy every now and then, although the opportunities become few and far between as the actors are picking it up very, very fast.

I get into work this morning and Dave finds me almost immediately, asks me to come to his office. “So,” he says, “You want to be an actor.”

“Not really,” I say, “No.”

“Yes,” he says, “You do. We all can tell.”

I do little but blush and shrug. I guess I kinda do?

“Here’s the thing,” he says, “I’ve been talking with Derek and he’s not happy with Ken at all. We love Ken, he’s done great for us with other shows, but he’s just not picking up the Shakespeare thing like everybody else is. And he even told us when we asked him, he doesn’t want to do it.”

“You’re not gonna say what I think you’re gonna say, are you?” I ask, turning beet red to ghost white I’m quite sure.

“Want to play Edmund?”

Speechless.

Seriously. I’ve heard the term, I’ve used the term, but I think this might well be the time my mouth would not move to form words. Weird feeling.

“Let me rephrase that,” he says, “I know you *want* to. But will you?”

I swallow a few times and finally manage to get my voice back. “Can I play Fool?” I ask.

I don’t think he was expecting that. “Why would you want to play Fool?”

“Because it’s April Fool’s Day, of course.”