The Oresteia by Aeschylus: Agamemnon

1/ First, some context: the Oresteia was first performed in 458 BC. Agamemnon is about the murder of Agamemnon by his wife Clytemnestra, or Klytaimestra in my copy (Michael Ewans uses Greek transliterations rather than Latinised or Anglicised versions). The Libation Bearers is about the murder of Klytaimestra by her son Orestes. Eumenides is about the trial of Orestes.

The killing of Klytaimestra is the subject of two other plays: we don’t know when Sophocles wrote Electra (or Elektra), scholars date it around 420–414 BC; Euripides’s Electra was written in the mid-410s BC. 

The fascinating thing about reading ancient Greek drama, which I don’t get from Elizabethan and Jacobean drama, is that I can watch these great playwrights play with the same myths, and respond to each other. 

2/ Of about 300 known tragedies, only 32 complete plays survive from ancient Greece. I wonder how many of the plays back then were about the Trojan war or the murder of Klytaimestra, or it just so happened that quite a few plays that survived were about these subjects. 

“ELDERS […] and all through Greece a woman waits at home

with patient sorrow in her heart 

for each of those who went to Troy. 

Many things touch their feelings: 

each one knows the person she sent out; 

instead of him

a pot of ashes comes back home. 

The god of War’s a money-changer, dealing in bodies; 

he lifts his scales in the combat of spears

and from the funeral fires of Ilion 

he sends the relatives 

the heavy dust for which they’ll weep

cramming the urns with ashes 

easy stowed 

in place of men. 

Then they lament: this one 

they praise – he was well skilled in fighting; 

this one died nobly, as the battle raged

–but all for someone else’s wife…” 

Euripides’s The Women of Troy is also about the destruction of war, and it focuses on women. 

3/ It’s fascinating to read Aeschylus after Sophocles and Euripides, and see how different he is: he uses the chorus a lot more. In performance it’s probably different, I know much of the chorus is sung; read, Agamemnon often feels more like a poem than a play. 

It’s very quotable though. Lots of good passages. 

“ELDERS […] Among the worst of men 

an ancient Violence always breeds 

a new, young Violence at some time

or other, when the day comes round

appointed for its birth; 

the goddess who cannot be fought, 

unholy daring of black Ruin on the halls, 

the very image of its parents.” 

 Or: 

“ELDERS Tell me, why does this 

persistent fear

hover in front of my prophetic heart? 

My song is full of prophecies, 

unbidden and unpaid, 

and my heart doesn’t have the daring and the trust 

to spit away their meaning like

a dream of doubtful outcome. 

Ruin passed its prime when mooring-ropes 

were cast back on the sand, and our fleet sailed 

for Ilion.” 

This is the moment after Agamemnon has been killed: 

“ELDERS […] Oh, my king, my king, 

how shall I weep for you? 

What can my loving heart tell you? 

You lie here in this woven spider’s web 

breathing your life away murdered outrageously, 

trapped like a slave, 

tamed to a treacherous death, 

struck by her double-sided sword.” 

The cycle of violence is the central theme of the play, but Aeschylus picks Kassandra as the voice of terror and suffering—Paris steals Menalaos’s wife Helen; Menalaos and his brother Agamemnon then attack Troy; feeling pity for Troy, Artemis makes Agamemnon sacrifice his daughter Iphigeneia; Klytaimestra kills Agamemnon to avenge the killing of her daughter; she herself will pay for that murder with her own death—it is a cycle of violence, but what does Kassandra, like many others in the Trojan war, have to do with any of this? 

4/ I’ve noted some of the bird imagery. Kassandra, a slave from Troy, wishes her fate to be like a nightingale’s (“a feathered shape and a sweet life free from pain”); Klytaimestra compares Kassandra in her last moments to a swan, singing “her funeral lament”; an Elder (in the chorus) compares Klytaimestra to “a hostile crow”, who “glories in her tuneless, bitter song.” 

5/ Here’s something else interesting: in this play, Artemis demands Agamemnon to sacrifice Iphigeneia “in pity for the wretched”, as Agamemnon leads the ships attacking Troy. 

Sophocles changes that detail in Electra: 

“ELECTRA […] My father once, they tell me, hunting in

A forest that was sacred to the goddess,

Started an antlered stag. He aimed, and shot it,

Then made a foolish boast, of such a kind

As angered Artemis. Therefore she held up

The fleet, to make my father sacrifice

His daughter to her in requital for

The stag he’d killed…” 

(translated by H. D. F. Kitto) 

This changes matters: Artemis appears frivolous and petty, and the killing of Agamemnon becomes in a way more justifiable. 

6/ Whilst reading these plays, I’ve also been reading A Guide to Greek Theatre and Drama by Kenneth McLeish, which is probably not of much use to those of you familiar with ancient Greek drama but which is extremely helpful to me. 

This is interesting: 

“[Aeschylus’s] drama is not one of consecutive narrative (of the kind which predominates in Sophocles’ and Euripides’ surviving plays, where action is continuous) but of a systematic alteration of focus, pulling away from intimacy to reveal the wider perspective, and then closing back on another specific instance and another confrontation. In pre-Aeschylean drama, the hero’s main action might have been the subject of an entire play; in Aeschylus it is shown to be part of a much larger ‘action,’ of wider significance than the fate of a single individual.” 

This is true. The plays of Sophocles and Euripides that I’ve read (except for The Women of Troy) are about the main characters; Agamemnon is different, even Kassandra is part of the bigger picture. 

Electra (or Elektra) by Sophocles

1/ Nobody told me about the parallels between Electra and Hamlet. 

“ELECTRA […] There is my mother: she,

My mother! has become my bitterest enemy.

And then, I have to share my house with those

Who murdered my own father; I am ruled

By them, and what I get, what I must do

Without, depends on them. What happy days,

Think you, mine are, when I must see Aegisthus

Sitting upon my father’s throne, wearing

My father’s robes, and pouring his libations

Beside the hearth-stone where they murdered him?

And I must look upon the crowning outrage,

The murderer lying in my father’s bed

With my abandoned mother—if I must

Call her a mother who dares sleep with him!

She is so brazen that she lives with that

Defiler; vengeance from the gods is not

A thought that frightens her! As if exulting

In what she did she noted carefully

The day on which she treacherously killed

My father…” 

(translated by H. D. F. Kitto) 

I guess it’s my own ignorance—I knew about the myth of Oedipus but not the myth of Electra—but I can now see parallels between two of the greatest revenge plays. Like Hamlet, Electra focuses all her hatred on her mother, even though in Sophocles’s play, Aegisthus also took part in the killing. 

One of the important differences however is that the play of Electra is long after the murder. 

“ELECTRA […] I’ll not enjoy dishonourable ease,

Forget my grief, or cease to pay

Tribute of mourning to my father.

For if the dead shall lie there, nothing but dust and ashes,

And they who killed him do not suffer death in return,

Then, for all mankind,

Fear of the gods, respect for men, have vanished.” 

A few times in the play, Electra is compared to the nightingale, “bird of grief, always lamenting.” 

“CHORUS Electra, child of a most pitiless mother,

Why are you so wasting your life in unceasing

Grief and despair? Agamemnon

Died long ago….” 

Because of the time past, this speech is very different from the speeches of Claudius and Gertrude chiding Hamlet for grieving his father. Electra is consumed—and deformed—by hate. 

2/ As I have earlier noticed, the plays of the 16th century and later are (generally) about people doing things; the ancient Greek plays are about people talking, listening, and reacting to things. 

In this play, Sophocles focuses on Electra’s state of mind—he also shows the contrasting points of view of Electra and her sister Chrysothemis: 

“CHRYSOTHEMIS […] If I could find

The power, they soon would learn how much I hate them.

But we are helpless; we should ride the storm

With shortened sail, not show our enmity

When we are impotent to do them harm.

Will you not do the same? The right may lie

On your side, not on mine, but since they rule,

I must submit, or lose all liberty.” 

This is similar to the contrast between Antigone and her sister Ismene. There is some similarity in the doggedness and inflexibility of Antigone and Electra, but of course Antigone is a softer, more lovable character. There’s something perverse in Electra’s grief: 

“ELECTRA […] if I give up my grief, what should

I gain?” 

The more interesting part however is when Sophocles shows us the perspective of Clytemnestra, the mother. 

“CLYTEMNESTRA […] This father of yours, whom you are always mourning,

Had killed your sister, sacrificing her

To Artemis, the only Greek who could endure

To do it—though his part, when he begot her,

Was so much less than mine, who bore the child.

So tell me why, in deference to whom,

He sacrificed her? For the Greeks, you say?

What right had they to kill a child of mine?”

Menelaus and Helen have two sons, why not sacrifice them? 

“CLYTEMNESTRA […] Or had the god of death some strange desire

To feast on mine, and not on Helen’s children?

Or did this most unnatural father love

His brother’s children, not the one I bore him?

Was not this father monstrous, criminal?” 

There was surprise because of my ignorance—perhaps the effect would have been reduced if one had known the myth—but it is a magnificent moment to switch to Clytemnestra’s perspective after the consuming hate of Electra. It complicates things. It raises questions about Electra’s devotion to the father and indifference to the dead sister. 

3/ Like Hamlet, and unlike the revenge plays of the Elizabethan and Jacobean eras, Electra is not really about the revenge. Shakespeare’s play has Hamlet meditating on the meaning of existence and the point of revenge. Sophocles’s play is about an obsessive hate that deforms a person.  

I like this passage from Kenneth McLeish’s A Guide to Greek Theatre and Drama: 

“When we see Orestes follow Aigisthos into the palace to kill him and Elektra standing alone, watching them leave, we know that the ending is no ending, that the rest of the story must mean pain and suffering of which neither she nor Oreste have so much as dreamed. Although Elektra doesn’t realise it, she ends the play as alone, bereft and desolate as ever.” 

This is a magnificent play. 

4/ Another comment: I first read Electra in the translation of Robert Bagg. 

“ELEKTRA That’s what they plan to do to me? 

CHRYSÒTHEMIS Yes. When Aegisthus gets back.

ELEKTRA That’s it? Then I hope he comes soon.

CHRYSÒTHEMIS You’re crazy! What a sick wish!

ELEKTRA Let him come, if that’s what he intends.

CHRYSÒTHEMIS So you can suffer? How insane is that?

ELEKTRA It will put plenty of distance

between me and the likes of you.”

Imagine being used to the poetry of Shakespeare and having recently enjoyed Richard Wilbur’s rhyme verse translation of Molière and then reading that translation. 

This is the same passage in H. D. F. Kitto’s translation (the version I read): 

“ELECTRA Will they do that to me?

CHRYSOTHEMIS They will; it is

Decreed, the moment that Aegisthus has returned.

ELECTRA Then let him come at once, for all I care!

CHRYSOTHEMIS How can you say it? Are you mad?

ELECTRA At least,

I shall be out of sight of all of you.”

Sounds much better.  

One of the headaches of reading ancient Greek plays is finding a good translation. 

The Women of Troy and Helen by Euripides

Welcome to another episode of Shakespeare fan talking nonsense about ancient Greek drama. 

1/ The Women of Troy is rather static and I personally don’t find it a very satisfying play—the dramaturgy is so unlike what I’m used to—but it does show Euripides’s tremendous sympathy for the suffering of Trojan women. 

“HECABE: […] My heart would burst, 

My sick head beats and burns, 

Till passion pleads to ease its pain 

In restless rocking, like a boat 

That sways and turns, 

Keeping sad time to my funereal song. 

For those whom Fate has cursed 

Music itself sings but one note – 

Unending miseries, torment and wrong!” 

(translated by Philip Vellacott)

The play is filled with images of horror—the Greeks kill Trojan men and enslave the women. 

“CHORUS I: […] As we sat there indoors, 

Thinking of slavery with bitter tears, 

Your cry of agony came to us, and we all 

Shuddered with nameless fears.” 

The entire play is about the women reacting to what has happened to Troy and what’s going to happen to them. 

“HECABE: […] The father of them all, Priam, 

Is gone. No message taught me to weep seemly tears; 

Myself, with these same eyes, I saw him hacked to death

At his own altar; and his city laid in dust. 

My virgin daughters, whom I cherished as choice gifts 

For husbands worthy of them, were torn from my arms, 

Given to our enemies. There is no hope that they

Ever again will see their mother, nor I them.

Now comes the last, the crowning agony; that I 

In my own age shall go to Hellas as a slave.” 

Apart from the Chorus, Hecabe is the main voice for the anguish and suffering of the Trojan women; we also hear the voices of Cassandra (Hecabe’s daughter) and Andromache (Hecabe’s daughter-in-law).

The interesting part is that Hecabe has no compassion, no mercy for Helen—she is filled with hate.  

“HECABE [also kneeling]: Think of your fellow-soldiers whom this woman killed. 

I beg you not to fail them, and their children, now.

[…] 

HECABE: Menelaus, let her not sail on the same ship with you!”

She seems to concentrate in Helen all her hatred for the Greeks. 

2/ Helen is quite a strange play to read after The Women of Troy.

After The Women of Troy (first performed in 415 BC), a play about the suffering and destruction of Troy because of Helen, Euripides gave the audience Helen (412 BC), the premise of which is that Helen never went to Troy with Paris—the gods took her away, wrapped in a cloud, and placed her in Egypt and gave Paris a phantom lookalike, “an airy delusion”. 

“MESSENGER: What? All our sweat and blood – spent for a ghost?” 

(translated by Philip Vellacott)

Held in Egypt, she doesn’t know what has happened to her husband Menelaus. 

“HELEN: What bitter fate has my husband found 

Does he live to see the sun 

Charioting the sky, 

And the journeys of stars and moon? 

Or has his soul begun 

Its endless, lifeless exile under ground?” 

The most interesting moment in the play is probably the reunion of Helen and Menelaus. 

“MENELAUS: Who are you? Whose face am I looking at? 

HELEN: But who are you? We are both in the same perplexity.”

Reminds me of the sense of wonder in the reunion scene in Twelfth Night, but of course this is stranger. 

“HELEN: And I, accursed, unhappy, not untrue, 

Exiled perforce, guiltless of broken vows, 

Was robbed of city, home, my husband, and my peace!”

All this pain, all this destruction, for what? For the whims of the gods. 

To quote King Lear: 

“As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods 

They kill us for their sport.” 

The rest of the play is about Helen and Menelaus planning their escape, tricking the King of Egypt (who wants to marry Helen), and getting away. Even though Dioscori, now a god, appears to stop King Theoclymenus from pursuing Helen, and the play ends with the Chorus saying “The gods reveal themselves in many forms/ Bring many matters to surprising ends”, I can’t help thinking that Euripides doesn’t seem to particularly like the gods. 

It is a strange play, fascinating. It is especially fascinating as Euripides creates a very different image of Helen: pure, faithful, and intelligent. 

Ion by Euripides

1/ Many years before the play begins, Creusa, daughter of King Erechtheus, was raped by the god Apollo. She abandoned the child, not knowing that he would be raised at Apollo’s temple. 

“CREUSA: […] Oh! the wrongs of women! the wickedness of gods! When our oppressor is all-powerful, where shall we fly for justice?” 

(translated by Philip Vellacott) 

Now, after many years of marriage, they still have no child, so they go to the temple of Apollo to ask the oracle. Apollo deceitfully tells Xuthus that Ion is his son, who’s actually the child of Apollo and Creusa. Creusa doesn’t know that, however—all she knows is that Xuthus, not a native Athenian like her, now has a son whereas she herself has no children—Ion is a threat she must eliminate.     

“CREUSA […] Now by the starry throne of Zeus, 

By the Guardian of the Rock of Athens, 

By the holy shore of the Tritonian Lake, 

I will ease the lead from my heart, 

Hold my secret no longer. 

With tears falling from my eyes, my soul tormented 

By the scheming cruelty of man and god alike, 

Who demand love and give treachery in return – 

I will expose them! 

Listen, Apollo, you who can wake to song

The seven strings of your lifeless lyre 

Till they cheat immoral music to lonely shepherds – 

Here in the white light of heaven I denounce you!...” 

As I’m ignorant about ancient Greek culture, I have no idea how shocking or blasphemous that speech was to Euripides’s audience, but I like that. You can see her anger, her anguish, her sense of injustice. 

Creusa then decides to poison Ion at the sacrificial ceremony—the entire scene is not depicted, but reported, so we have this interesting image: 

“MESSENGER: […] The bird sipped; at once its whole body shook; it was convulsed; then it uttered an extraordinary scream of agony. The whole company in amazement watched the bird writhing; it struggled; then lay dead; its purple claws dropped.” 

Surviving the murder attempt, Ion has to kill the “evil stepmother”, only to discover that Creusa’s actually his mother and Apollo’s his father. Here I must be honest: I was enjoying the play up till this point, but the reunion scene was not satisfying. Some reviewers have remarked on the deus ex machina (the Priestess appearing with the cradle), but I don’t think that’s the only reason. 

“CREUSA: Now I will make my confession! Before, I blamed Apollo: now I bless him because, though for so long he did nothing, now he gives my son back to me. Before, I hated this holy temple: now its porch smiles upon me, I caress this dear doorway, and touch every stone with delight. 

ATHENE: You have changed your curses into blessings: you do well. The ways of gods are slow; but in the end their power is shown.” 

Apollo does save the child and intervene so that they can be reunited. But at the same time, he gets away with raping Creusa and making her suffer for years—and his intervention also forces Creusa and Ion to deceive Xuthus, to live the rest of their lives with a lie. 

2/ I’ve got the impression that, unlike the plays of the 16th and 17th centuries, the ancient Greek plays are not really about actions and events, but about the characters’ reactions to them. 

Ibsen, at least in the plays I have read, seems closer to the ancient Greek dramatists than to Shakespeare. 

Sophocles’s Theban plays: King Oedipus, Oedipus at Colonus, Antigone

1/ My first ancient Greek play is Oedipus Rex or Oedipus Tyrannus or King Oedipus, in E. F. Watling’s translation. Compared to the plays I’m used to, there’s hardly any action as such—the entire play is one scene about the search for, and discovery of, the truth—and yet, there’s great suspense, tension, conflict, and tragedy. 

New to ancient Greek drama, I don’t have a lot to say, so I’m just going to note this: 

“JOCASTA (white with terror): What does it matter

What man he means? It makes no difference now… 

Forget what he has told you… It makes no difference. 

OEDIPUS: Nonsense: I must pursue this trail to the end, 

Till I have unravelled the mystery of my birth.

JOCASTA: No! In God’s name—if you want to live, this quest

Must not go on. Have I not suffered enough?

OEDIPUS: There is nothing to fear. Though I be proved slave-born 

To the third generation, your honour is not impugned. 

JOCASTA: Yet do not do it. I implore you, do not do it. 

OEDIPUS: I must. I cannot leave the truth unknown.

[…] JOCASTA: Doomed man! O never live to learn the truth!” 

This passage makes me think about Ibsen’s exploration of the concept of truth: Ghosts for example is a play about the danger of living for years with a lie, The Wild Duck is about the danger of pursuing absolute truth. 

Another thing I’d note is the layers and layers of irony. Laius and his wife Jocasta hear the oracle that their son would kill his father and marry his mother. In sending away the baby, they make the oracle become true, the same way Oedipus makes it become true by avoiding it and running away from his (foster) parents. Oedipus, now King of Thebes, is determined to find the murderer of the previous king (Laius) and ready to impose the heaviest punishments, only to find himself the guilty man and discover more painful truths.

Magnificent play. The depiction of Oedipus’s mind and behaviour, as he slowly discovers the truth and realises what he has done, is wonderful. 

2/ I had a harder time with Oedipus at Colonus and have little to say, being so unfamiliar with ancient Greek culture and drama. 

I like this passage though: 

“OEDIPUS: Time, Time, my friend, 

Makes havoc everywhere; he is invincible. 

Only the gods have ageless and deathless life; 

All else must perish. The sap of earth dries up, 

Flesh dies, and while faith withers falsehood blooms. 

The spirit is not constant from friend to friend, 

From city to city; it changes, soon or late; 

Joy turns into sorrow, and turns again to joy…” 

This is also good: 

“CREON: […] I may be old, but anger does not cool 

Except with death—that ends all bitterness.” 

The play is full of anger—at least Oedipus is—it makes me think of King Lear and Timon of Athens. 

“OEDIPUS: They see us both, and judge, 

Knowing that I, who am so ill-used in act, 

Have no defence but cursing.” 

Oedipus here is very different from Oedipus in the previous play—much time has passed, the self-disgust has evaporated, he is now full of resentment—but can we blame him? Like Lear, he’s abandoned by his own children. Worse, he’s condemned by society for things he’s unwittingly done. I can’t help thinking though that Oedipus seems rather… entitled and patronising in the way he speaks to Theseus, the king of Athens, wanting this, demanding that. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.  

This is the translation by E. F. Watling. At some point I’m going to look at other translations. 

3/ In terms of the story, King Oedipus is the beginning, followed by Oedipus at Colonus, then followed by Antigone, which is about Oedipus’s children.  

In terms of the order of writing, however, Antigone was the first play (ca 442–440 BC), followed by King Oedipus (ca 429–427 BC), and Oedipus at Colonus (ca 407 BC) was written shortly before Sophocles’s death ca 406 BC. 

The story is this: Oedipus’s sons Eteocles and Polynices fight each other for the throne; Polynices goes to Argos and comes back in invasion of his own land; after their deaths, Creon (Jocasta’s brother, Oedipus’s brother-in-law and uncle) is restored to the throne and rules that Eteocles, the defender of Thebes, would be buried with honour whereas Polynices would be left unburied, to be eaten by birds and dogs; Creon also rules that anyone who disrespects him and buries Polynices would be condemned to death. 

“ISMENE: […] Now we two left; and what will be the end of us, 

If we transgress the law and defy our king? 

O think, Antigone; we are women; it is not for us 

To fight against men; our rules are stronger than we, 

And we must obey in this, or in worse than this. 

May the dead forgive me, I can do no other 

But as I am commanded; to do more is madness.” 

Antigone is unafraid—she wants to do her duty for her brother, despite what he did. 

“CREON: And yet you dared to contravene it? 

ANTIGONE: Yes. 

That order did not come from God. Justice, 

That dwells with the gods below, knows no such law. 

I did not think your edicts strong enough

To overrule the unwritten unalterable laws

Of God and heaven, you being only a man. 

They are not of yesterday or to-day, but everlasting, 

Though where they came from, none of us can tell. 

Guilty of their transgression before God

I cannot be, for any man on earth. 

I knew that I should have to die, of course, 

With or without your order. If it be soon, 

So much the better. Living in daily torment 

As I do, who would not be glad to die?...” 

Such a strong, dignified response—in those last lines, Antigone especially reminds me of Hermione at her trial in The Winter’s Tale. 

Antigone has many great speeches. 

“HAEMON: […] Therefore I say, 

Let not your first thought be your only thought.

Think if there cannot be some other way. 

Surely, to think your own the only wisdom, 

And yours the only word, the only will, 

Betrays a shallow spirit, an empty heart. 

It is no weakness for the wisest man 

To learn when he is wrong, know when to yield. 

So, on the margin of a flooded river

Trees bending to the torrent live unbroken, 

While those that strain against it are snapped off. 

A sailor has to tack and slacken sheets

Before the gale, or find himself capsized…” 

This is translated by E. F. Watling—I think I’d want a more poetic translation—but this is still a great speech. 

I also like this: 

“MESSENGER: […] What is the life of man? A thing not fixed 

For good or evil, fashioned for praise or blame. 

Chance raises a man to the heights, chance casts him down, 

And none can foretell what will be from what is. 

Creon was once an enviable man; 

[…] Now all is lost; for life without life’s joys 

Is living death, and such a life is his. 

Riches and rank and show of majesty 

And state, where no joy is, are empty, vain 

And unsubstantial shadows, of no weight 

To be compared with happiness of heart.” 

This is another great play, a great depiction of tyranny. Apart from some Greek mythology I read as a kid, this is perhaps the first time I’ve read Western literature from before Christianity. I struggled with Oedipus at Colonus but loved King Oedipus and Antigone—human beings haven’t changed much after all.  

Brief comments on the 2005 Pride and Prejudice

 

As fans were celebrating the 20th anniversary of the film, I thought why not revisit it? So I did. And I didn’t like it, though visually it is beautiful. 

Let me explain why. 

First of all, at two hours, the film feels a bit rushed. This is a common complaint, I know—certain things get cut, certain characters are underdeveloped, the film cannot have the complexity of the novel—but I can’t help noticing that the 2005 Pride and Prejudice emphasises the attraction and romance and neglects the prejudice, and the development of the relationship between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy. Some of it is because the Mr Wickham plot is barely there—there is not much space between the introduction of Mr Wickham and the reveal of his character (Elizabeth doesn’t have much time to like Mr Wickham for the revelation to be a blow either). The film also reduces the ridiculousness of Mrs Bennet, and the wit and irresponsibility of Mr Bennet.

Another problem is that Matthew Macfadyen is not very good as Mr Darcy. Keira Knightley is good as Elizabeth Bennet (much better than her own performance as Anna Karenina) and I can see why her Lizzie is so beloved, but Matthew Macfadyen is more or less inexpressive for the entire film. Colin Firth is so popular as Mr Darcy not because he’s hot (though that helps), but because he conveys so well the pride, the awkwardness, the struggle between his own passion and his distaste for Elizabeth’s embarrassing family, and above all, because he depicts the change, the development of Mr Darcy. As a character, Mr Darcy unfolds rather than changes, but he does adjust his manners—because of Elizabeth’s “lectures”, he learns to open up, and learns to speak to strangers with more warmth and friendliness. I saw that in Colin Firth’s performance; I didn’t really see it in Matthew Macfadyen’s. 

There are other irritations. Certain lines seem wrong (Mr Darcy says “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love… I love… I love you”—really?). Certain actions seem out of character. Would Elizabeth join with others in eavesdropping on her parents, or on her sister? And then burst in on them? Would she remain in Pemberley, knowing that Georgina is there, then watch her behind the door only to suddenly find Mr Darcy and run away like a rude intruder? Would Elizabeth snatch a letter from her father’s hand? 

I would also add, though some of you may find it petty, that after the clearly-spoken BBC adaptations I recently saw, I couldn’t help noticing that a few times in the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, the dialogue was almost drowned out by music, or other noises (such as the sound of rain). 

The main strengths of the film are the cinematography, Keira Knightley’s performance (I did like her witty, amused look), and the bond of the sisters, especially between Elizabeth and Jane. 

But as a whole, the 1995 series handles much better the characters and their relationships.

Now did you know that there’re currently two Pride and Prejudice series in the works? One is a six-part series, made by Netflix, with Emma Corrin and Jack Lowden in the main roles. The other is a ten-part adaptation of The Other Bennet Sister, a spin-off focusing on Mary Bennet (the Bennet sister nobody likes). Not hard to tell that both would be travesties.

Note: This blog post was originally published on 16/6 but emails were not delivered. I'm republishing it on 20/6 (with content unchanged) to test the new mailing system.

Brief thoughts on the 1983 Mansfield Park

The chief strength of this series is the script—this is an adaptation made by people who understand the novel and take it seriously and get the tone right—I think anyone who, like me, loves Mansfield Park would think that it’s in many ways a better effort than some recent adaptations. I have often complained that Mansfield Park fares less well on the screen than other Jane Austen novels because people often want Fanny Price to be something other than she is, and modern filmmakers, clearly thinking they’re “improving” on the book, change her, modernise her, make her more “fun”. I have never understood it. Do we not have enough girlbosses? The 1999 film is a travesty and the 2007 film I don’t even bother to watch—just look at the casting of Billie Piper in the role. Here in the 1983 series, there’s no modernisation, no condescension. Fanny Price is quiet, unimposing, unassertive, but perceptive, self-reliant, firm, and she has a different kind of strength. 

There is also a strong cast, especially Bernard Hepton as Sir Thomas, Anna Massey as Mrs Norris, and Jonathan Stephens as Mr Rushworth. 

Unfortunately, I cannot praise it the way I have praised the 1972 War and Peace or the 1977 Anna Karenina, also done by the BBC. The production values are lower, some of the blocking and staging feel a bit awkward. I’m not sure how I feel about Sylvestra Le Touzel as Fanny—for the large part, she’s all right, but I don’t particularly like the way she sometimes moves her hands. I don’t really like Nicholas Farrell as Edmund either, who I think looks rather too old for the role, and the switch from Mary to Fanny at the end feels rather sudden. 

But the most unconvincing are Robert Burbage and Jackie Smith-Wood as the Crawfords—I don’t think there’s anything wrong with their acting as such, but the Crawfords are the most attractive and charming of Jane Austen’s villains—so charming that some readers even fall for them, prefer Mary Crawford to Fanny Price, and think that Fanny should have accepted Henry—the actors aren’t quite right for the roles.  

I also think that, spanning 6 episodes, the series has time to develop the characters and their relationships but handles the first half much better than the second half. The first half is very good, from the depiction of Fanny’s place at Mansfield Park, to the ha-ha sequence, to the play-acting sequence. I especially like the way the series depicts Henry Crawford flirting simultaneously with Maria Bertram (Samantha Bond) and Julia Bertram (Liz Crowther), sporting with their feelings—what a rake—which doesn’t escape Fanny’s eyes. The acting is good. Like the novel, the series makes me feel sorry for the vain Julia and the ridiculous Mr Rushworth. 

It is in the second half that the series does less well—I mean the way Henry starts with wanting to break Fanny’s heart but falls in love with her, and the way he, despite his feelings for Fanny, can’t resist the fun and flirtatious Maria. Perhaps part of it is because the actor isn’t convincing in the role, I don’t know.

In short, this is a more faithful, more serious adaptation of Mansfield Park than later versions, which I appreciate. But there are flaws. 

Thanks to Brian Green for telling me about this adaptation. 

On Anna Karenina (1977), the 7th and best adaptation I’ve seen of Tolstoy’s novel

My collage of all the 7 Annas I have seen (in chronological order). 

One common problem with adaptations of Anna Karenina is that, because of length, they have to cut many things and thus cannot convey the complexity of the characters and their relationships. The Greta Garbo film (1935) is 1 hour 35 minutes, the Vivien Leigh film (1948) is 2 hours 19 minutes, the Tatiana Samoilova film (1967) is 2 hours 25 minutes, the Sophie Marceau film (1997) is 1 hour 48 minutes, the Keira Knightley film (2012) is 2 hours 9 minutes, the Vittoria Puccini film (2013) is 3 hours 15 minutes—the novel is over 900 pages!—the 1977 series is 10 episodes, totalling 8 hours 20 minutes. 

Something I have noticed is that adapters often have trouble with Karenin. The earlier films, 1935 and 1948 films especially, tend to present Karenin as some sort of monster (presumably to make Anna more sympathetic) whereas some later ones, particularly 2012 and 2013, very much soften Karenin, making him more sympathetic, and present Anna as irrational and selfish and Vronsky as some callous playboy. They more or less pick one side over the other, and simplify the story.   

But if you watch the 1977 series, you can see the different facets of the characters, you can see their complexity, you can see their contradictions. Tolstoy may have begun Anna Karenina intending to condemn adultery, condemn the fallen woman, but gradually had compassion for them all, and do we not, reading his novel? We have compassion for Anna, who marries without love and has the misfortune of falling in love with someone else, unable to get a divorce. We can see why Anna hates Karenin, but can feel his pain and humiliation. We understand Vronsky’s shame and see the pain he causes Karenin, but he does love Anna, unlike the callous lovers of Emma Bovary. All these characters are complex, and you can all see that in the performances of Nicola Pagett, Eric Porter, and Stuart Wilson. 

In Stuart Wilson’s performance as Vronsky, I see a man who initially lives for fun and pleasure and who is ennobled by love—he changes—Stuart Wilson is especially good in the scenes of Vronsky suffering, such as the sense of immense shame and humiliation after Anna’s childbirth, and the scene in which he confides in Dolly about their impossible situation—he conveys better than other actors Vronsky’s depth of feeling and his struggle as Anna becomes increasingly difficult. Eric Porter’s Karenin is also the best Karenin I have seen—I can see why Anna doesn’t love him and Seryozha is afraid of him, which I don’t see when the 2012 and 2013 versions soften the character—at the same time, the earlier actors tend to play Karenin as a cold man, without feelings, Eric Porter’s Karenin is a man who speaks of duty, honour, and later Christianity, because he rejects his own feelings. Most importantly, Nicola Pagett is better than all the Annas I have seen, partly thanks to the length of the production and partly thanks to her own performance—she has the charm and passion of Anna, she conveys the shame, the struggle, the self-doubt, the insecurities, the anguish, the paranoia, the contradictions in the character. 

The 1977 series reminds me of the qualities for which Anna Karenina is so dear to my heart. 

This adaptation of Anna Karenina still prioritises the Anna strand—Kitty’s time in Germany for example is cut, Levin’s “revelation” is also cut—but because of length, it can include more of the Levin strand than most other versions. I do very much like Robert Swann as Levin and Caroline Langrishe as Kitty—it’s great casting—she has the innocence and purity of Kitty that contrasts with the more mature and darker sexual charm of Anna. Those of you who prefer the Levin strand to the Anna strand may prefer that the 2013 version puts more emphasis on Levin and Kitty, but that version has the modern disease of quick cuts, constant camera movements, and quiet and badly written dialogue—the 1977 series has great dialogue, spoken clearly, and allows the camera to linger, allows the drama to unfold. 

In short, this is a great adaptation, pitch-perfect. This is something it has in common with the 1972 War and Peace (with Anthony Hopkins as Pierre), also by the BBC: those who are used to spectacular visuals and place the image above all else may complain that these adaptations are “stagey” and lacking in camerawork, but to me, it’s much more important that something is well-written, well-developed, well-acted—I would always choose great performances with basic cinematography, over spectacular cinematography with mediocre performances and hollow representations of characters, especially if it’s an adaptation of a novel—in both cases, the screenwriters (Donald Wilson for Anna Karenina and Jack Pulman for War and Peace) understand and respect the novel, and in both cases, there’s a strong cast. I often say that the 1972 War and Peace handles Tolstoy’s characters much better than Bondarchuk’s film series and its only flaw is Natasha—but there is no weak point in the 1977 Anna Karenina. 

It is my favourite Tolstoy adaptation. 

It took me years to search for the series. It’s now uploaded on Youtube, in good quality. What are you waiting for? 

PS: 11/6 is my birthday. 

Tartuffe and The Misanthrope— Molière in Richard Wilbur’s verse translations

After the horrors of the Jacobean plays, here is warmth and light! 

1/ The eponymous character of Tartuffe, the impostor or hypocrite, doesn’t appear till Act 3.

Everything takes place in the Orgon household, as Orgon is under Tartuffe’s spell and has taken him into the house. Apart from Orgon, the only person who loves Tartuffe is Orgon’s mother, Pernelle. Everyone else hates him: Elmire, Orgon’s wife; Damis and Mariane, Orgon’s son and daughter and Elmire’s stepson and stepdaughter; Cleante, Elmire’s brother; Valere, Mariane’s lover; Dorine, Mariane’s maid. 

The play was first performed in 1664 and, according to Wikipedia, Molière played Orgon. 

Orgon is so taken with Tartuffe for some reason that he wants to break his promise and marry his daughter Mariane to him, against her wish but also—as it surprisingly turns out—not according to Tartuffe’s desire. 

Some of the best lines in the play belong to Dorine, the maid: 

“DORINE Tell him one cannot love at a father’s whim; 

That you shall marry for yourself, not him; 

That since it’s you who are to be the bride, 

It’s you, not he, who must be satisfied; 

And that if his Tartuffe is so sublime, 

He’s free to marry him at any time.” 

(Act 2 scene 3) 

Later: 

“TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) For mercy’s sake 

Please take this handkerchief, before you speak. 

DORINE What? 

TARTUFFE Cover that bosom, girl. The flesh is weak, 

And unclean thoughts are difficult to control. 

Such sights as that can undermine the soul. 

DORINE Your soul, it seems, has very poor defences, 

And flesh makes quite an impact on your senses. 

It’s strange that you’re so easily excited; 

My own desires are not so soon ignited, 

And if I saw you naked as a beast, 

Not all your hide would tempt me in the least.” 

(Act 3 scene 2)  

Ha! 

The whole play is very, very funny. Tartuffe is a very good depiction of a religious hypocrite but Orgon is a more interesting case study and, despite the name of the play, is the central character. I note that we see Tartuffe’s pretence of piety in Acts 3 and 4 but have only one scene of his manipulation, when Damis angrily tells Orgon about Tartuffe’s (one-sided) flirtation with his wife and Tartuffe has to save himself—in all the other scenes, we see Tartuffe with people who have seen through him and hate him. Now look at Orgon—how is a man so utterly under another man’s spell that he’s willing to turn against his whole family and hand over to him his entire estate? It’s a great depiction of religious mania. 

2/ There is a figure that gets satirised in both plays:

In Tartuffe: 

“DORINE Oh, yes, she’s strict, devout, and has no taint 

Of worldliness; in short, she seems a saint. 

But it was time which taught her that disguise;

She’s thus because she can’t be otherwise. 

So long as her attractions could enthrall, 

She flounced and flirted and enjoyed it all, 

But now that they’re no longer what they were

She quits a world which fast is quitting her, 

And wears a veil of virtue to conceal

Her bankrupt beauty and her lost appeal. 

That’s what becomes of old coquettes today:

Distressed when all their lovers fall away, 

They see no recourse but to play the prude, 

And so confer a style on solitude. 

Thereafter, they’re severe with everyone,

Condemning all our actions, pardoning none, 

And claiming to be pure, austere, and zealous

When, if the truth were known, they’re merely jealous, 

And cannot bear to see another know

The pleasures time has forced them to forgo.” 

(Act 1 scene 2) 

In The Misanthrope, such a figure appears as Arsinoé: 

“CELIMENE It’s all an act. 

At heart she’s worldly, and her poor success 

In ensnaring men explains her prudishness. 

It breaks her heart to see the beaux and gallants

Engrossed by other women’s charms and talents,

And so she’s always in a jealous rage

Against the faulty standards of the age, 

She lets the world believe that she’s a prude

To justify her loveless solitude, 

And strives to put a brand of moral shame

On all the graces that she cannot claim…” 

(Act 3 scene 3) 

We all know that type, don’t we? 

On a side note, I don’t like the way scenes are divided in these plays—it’s marked as a new scene whenever a character leaves or enters, which doesn’t make sense—I prefer the way it’s done in Shakespeare’s plays. 

3/ This is the titular character of The Misanthrope: 

“ALCESTE […] we all desire 

To be told that we’ve the true poetic fire. 

But once, to one whose name I shall not mention, 

I said, regarding some verse of his invention, 

That gentleman should rigorously control 

That itch to write which often afflicts the soul; 

That one should curb the heavy inclination 

To publicize one’s little avocation; 

And that in showing off one’s works of art 

One often plays a very clownish part.” 

(Act 1 scene 2) 

Hahahaha I must say that to certain “poets” on the hellsite previously known as Twitter. 

Compared to the main characters of The Miser, The Self-Made Gentleman, and Tartuffe, Alceste is more ambiguous: his misanthropy is extreme, but at the same time Molière exposes the insincerity and hypocrisy and treachery around him—his fervour for honesty, his yearning for honour and justice, and his irrational love for Célimène make him in some way a quixotic figure. 

“ALCESTE No, no, this formula you’d have me follow, 

However fashionable, is false and hollow, 

[…] 

Should you rejoice that someone fondles you, 

Offers his love and services, swears to be true, 

And fills your ears with praises of your name, 

When to the first damned flop he’ll say the same? 

No, no: no self-respecting heart would dream 

Of prizing so promiscuous an esteem; 

However high the prise, there’s nothing worse 

Than sharing honours with the universe. 

Esteem is founded on comparison: 

To honour all men is to honour none…” 

(Act 1 scene 1) 

One can’t help liking him. 

“PHILINTE Come, let’s forget the follies of the times 

And pardon mankind for its petty crimes: 

Let’s have an end of rantings and of railings, 

And show some leniency towards human failings. 

This world requires a pliant rectitude; 

Too stern a virtue makes one stiff and rude; 

Good sense views all extremes with detestation, 

And bids us to be noble in moderation…” 

(ibid.) 

Molière gives Alceste’s friend some great lines—I would guess that these lines reflect Molière’s own attitude towards humanity—but he also depicts Philinte as an insincere man—it is one thing to avoid being brutally honest and hurting someone’s feelings, it is quite a different thing to give high praise to something we know to be bad, as Philinte does with Oronte’s poem. 

The play is, up to a point, more ambiguous. Another difference between The Misanthrope and some other Molière comedies I have read is that it doesn’t have a happy ending—in fact, the ending is troubling—as my friend Himadri puts it, Alceste is on the path towards becoming Gulliver. 

Both are great plays, and I enjoyed Wilbur’s translation. 

The Changeling, a great play by Thomas Middleton and William Rowley

1/ The play premiered in 1622. I was quite surprised to come across a reference to A Midsummer Night’s Dream: 

“FRANCISCUS Hail, bright Titania! 

Why stand’st thou idle on these flow’ry banks? 

Oberon is dancing with his Dryades; 

I’ll gather daisies, primrose, violets, 

And bind them in a verse of poesy.” 

(Act 3 scene 3) 

Didn’t expect that. 

2/ There are two (not quite parallel) plots that later converge. 

The main plot starts with a forced marriage, like Women Beware Women: Beatrice-Joanna is in love with Alsemero but forced by her father Vermandero to marry Alonzo de Piracquo.  

In the subplot, Alibius, a jealous doctor, imprisons his beautiful wife Isabella in the house for fear of losing her, as Leantio does with Bianca in Women Beware Women. He tells his servant Lollio to keep watch on Isabella. 

“LOLLIO I’ll do my best, sir, yet surely I cannot see who you should have cause to be jealous of.

ALIBIUS Thy reason for that, Lollio? ’Tis a comfortable question. 

LOLLIO We have but two sorts of people in the house, and both under the whip, that’s fools and madmen; the one has not wit enough to be knaves, and the other not knavery enough to be fools.” 

(Act 1 scene 2) 

It is a madhouse—fools and madmen are those we now call the mentally disabled and the mentally ill. There are however two counterfeits—Franciscus and Antonio pretend to be a madman and a fool in order to enter the house, as they’re in love with Isabella. Lollio is also horny for her. 

“ISABELLA […] would a woman stray, 

She need not gad abroad to seek her sin, 

It would be brought home one way or other; 

The needle’s point will to the fixed north, 

Such drawing arctics women’s beauties are.” 

(Act 3 scene 3) 

3/ In the main plot, De Flores, an ugly servant, is obsessed with Beatrice-Joanna (“Dog-face” she calls him). When he sees her with Alsemero despite her engagement to Alonzo, he thinks: 

“DE FLORES I have watch’d this meeting and do wonder much 

What shall become of tother; I’m sure both 

Cannot be serv’d unless she transgress, happily 

Then I’ll put in for one; for if a woman 

Fly from one point, from him she makes a husband, 

She spreads and mounts then like arithmetic, 

One, ten, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, 

Proves in time sutler to an army royal…” 

(Act 2 scene 2) 

What a disgusting man.

Beatrice-Joanna is in a pickle—she loves a man but her father forces her to marry another—not knowing how to get out of the marriage, she decides to hire De Flores to kill Alonzo, and once “Dog-face” gets the money and runs away, she will be rid of “two inveterate loathings” at once—I mean, what is she even thinking? 

The scene of De Flores speaking to Beatrice-Joanna after the deed is done is a fantastic scene: 

“DE FLORES Do you place me in the rank of verminous fellows, 

To destroy things for wages? Offer gold? 

The life blood of man! Is anything 

Valued too precious for my recompense?” 

(Act 3 scene 4) 

No, not money—he wants her virginity. 

“BEATRICE Why, ’tis impossible thou canst be so wicked, 

Or shelter such a cunning cruelty, 

To make his death the murderer of my honour! 

Thy language is so bold and vicious, 

I cannot see which way I can forgive it 

With any modesty. 

DE FLORES Push, you forget yourself! 

A woman dipp’d in blood, and talk of modesty? 

[…] 

DE FLORES Look but into your conscience, read me there,

’Tis a true book, you’ll find me there your equal…” 

(ibid.) 

An excellent scene—it must be one of the greatest scenes in 17th century English drama—and I think The Changeling is one of the greatest plays I’ve read, because of the twisted relationship between Beatrice-Joanna and De Flores. It disgusts, but it also fascinates. Other plays from the same period also paint violence, also depict depravity, also portray evil, but the relationship between these two characters is more bizarre and perplexing—Beatrice-Joanna goes from loathing De Flores to being under his power, to being sexually drawn to him, to, in a way, even loving him—it is therefore more fascinating. Beatrice-Joanna especially is a great character, a complex character. She is wicked, but at the same time her attraction, or attachment, to De Flores, despite his ugliness and despite her feelings for Alsemero, makes her appear helpless as it’s something beyond her control.   

And the bed trick? It’s even more twisted than the ones in Measure for Measure and All’s Well that Ends Well. 

4/ I also like that the main plot is a tragedy and the subplot is a comedy—it is audacious—and it works very well. 

A masterpiece.