This summer when we got “Will” on the TNT basic cable network for 10 episodes, I said:

We watch a man’s intestines pulled out.  Another has what I believe was some sort of hot poker shoved down his throat.  Great, we get it, we live in a world where to go against the crown is to risk torture.  But you could just as easily have said “you risk losing your head” and had the same effect. Unless you want an audience turned on instead of off by that sort of thing. If I wanted that I know what channel Game of Thrones is on.

So imagine my surprise to read about HBO’s new Game of Thrones topper called Gunpowder, which at first I thought would be a western but turns out to be about, oh look!  Elizabethan England.  Specifically the Gunpowder Plot.

At first it looks as thought the young priest will be merely hung, but after he is hung, he is brought down, still breathing, and drawn and quartered. It’s…a lot.

The entire linked article is about how audiences are getting sick at this one and asks whether it’s too much.  Are they serious?  From that description, I already saw it earlier this summer.  What else you got?

Oh, and in case you were wondering about the sex to go with your violence? After all, Game of Thrones isn’t just about people getting their faces ripped off by dogs, it’s about people getting naked.  HBO’s still got your back with other people’s fronts:

So then we see what happens to the elegant older woman and the sweet young priest — and it truly is revolting. The woman is publicly stripped down for all to see, then slowly crushed to death between weights and a small, sharp rock.

But then again, so did Will:

But as I told one friend, “I didn’t realize that people were allowed to get that naked for that long.”  Seriously, it made me wonder whether they were going in and digitally erasing bits, because there’s literally nothing for them to strategically hide anything behind.

I guess the only difference between Gunpowder and Will then is … Will?  I checked the cast on IMDB, and none of our merry band of playwrights is mentioned.  My hope for humanity crumbles by the minute, though I’m not surprised.  Recipe for a successful show is more nudity, more gore, and less literature and historical accuracy.  Sigh.

I suppose having Jon Snow never hurts a show’s chances, though.

Kit Marlowe got a great death regardless of which story you believe – stabbed in the eye during a bar fight?  Faked his own death because he was a spy for the crown? Both awesome.

Shakespeare, on the other hand, likely got a really bad cold.  Maybe it was after a night of heavy drinking when his friends carried him home, maybe not.

So, here’s the game – write Shakespeare a better death. You get to change any details you want, including where he is (or isn’t) buried, and when.  What kind of dramatic end should we give him?  Did he have issues with his daughter’s husband, who had him killed? Did he sell his soul? Did the witches finally come for him?

The more creative (while still remaining about as feasible as any random Oxford theory you’ve heard), the better!

 

Hello everybody!

I’ve heard from many regular contributors that ever since I switched to WordPress, commenting has been giving them trouble.  As in, it doesn’t work.

I am happy to report that with the help of Erin Nelsen Parekh, they seem to be working again!

In case her name looks familiar, Erin is the author of Behowl The Moon, a Shakespeare baby board book on Kickstarter last year.  In fact, some of the swag I got from backing that project is now part of the ever growing Shakespeare shrine on my desk!

Thanks Erin!  Sorry for the inconvenience, everybody.  Now let’s get those discussions heated again!

 

I wrote to someone the other day that they could pick a play, pick a character, and then see five productions of that play and learn something new about the character every time.

So today I’m thinking, are there characters for whom that isn’t true?  In other words, where did Shakespeare make it most perfectly clear how he wanted the character, leaving the least room for interpretation?  So that if you saw a production five times you’d come away thinking that they (the character, not the play) are all generally the same?

It would be easy to go for the most minor characters with the fewest lines, but that’s no fun.  I also might disagree with it.  Consider Francisco, the guard we meet during the opening scene of Hamlet and never hear from again.  What’s his story?  Having the fewest lines to work with isn’t necessarily the same thing as having the least room for interpretation.  I like to ask people whether they think Francisco saw the ghost. Wouldn’t it make sense? The ghost is walking the walls until someone gets the point and goes to get his son.  So maybe other guards saw it as well. But Marcellus and Bernardo have each other to back up the story and say, “Did you see that?”  “Yup, I saw that.”  Poor Francisco has nobody to believe him. No wonder he’s jumpy.

I suppose the Porter from Macbeth is a good example.  He’s got lots of lines to work with, but is there really that much room for interpretation?  Either he’s a jolly drunk or a grumpy one.

Can you even have a “major” character and have this discussion? Is it simply true that the more detail we’re given for a character, the more room it opens for interpretation, rather than less?