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. 

Judi Dench on why she loves Shakespeare so much

From Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent: 

“Shakespeare is an international language, a beacon for humanity, and a bridge across cultures. His writing encompasses the minutiae of everyday life. When you come to do the plays you often recognise something that you’ve never been able to articulate. He’s able to express what it is to be human in the most concise way: ‘Nought’s had, all’s spent, / Where our desire is got without content.’ It’s all you need, it’s so spare – the gift of being able to convey so much with so little.

And his iambic pentameter – the rhythm of it is so to do with … now, you see, the hairs on my arm are standing on end. De-dum, de-dum, de-dum. It’s the rhythm of life, the beating of your heart. I know that sounds effete, but nevertheless it’s so primal.

There’s something for everybody in Shakespeare. Everything you have felt or are yet to feel is all in there in his plays: oppression, ambition, loneliness, remorse, everything. If you need to understand jealousy, read Othello or The Winter’s Tale; if you’re in love, listen to Romeo and Juliet.

When I was at my lowest during the pandemic I kept thinking of Richard II’s line: ‘I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me.’ Shakespeare has examined every single emotion. His writing has the capacity to make us feel less alone.”

If you like Judi Dench (who doesn’t?), this is a delightful book. I like that she doesn’t only talk about acting and tell behind-the-scenes stories, but also comments on the plays and the characters and you can see her love of Shakespeare shine through. See my Twitter thread here (or if you don’t have an account, read it here instead). 

Her performance shapes my interpretation of Lady Macbeth. 

Women Beware Women by Thomas Middleton

1/ The play begins with an elopement between the poor Leantio and the rich Bianca. The scene that follows has one of Shakespeare’s favourite themes: forced marriage. Fabritio wants his daughter Isabella to marry a rich fool, simply called the Ward in the play. He says to Guardiano, the Ward’s guardian that “she shall love him.” 

How absurd. Isabella’s aunt Livia has to speak up: 

“LIVIA I must offend you then, if truth will do’t, 

And take my niece’s part, and call’t injustice

To force her love to one she never saw. 

Maids should both see and like; all little enough; 

If they love truly after that, ’tis well. 

Counting the time, she takes one man till death, 

That’s a hard task, I tell you…” 

(Act 1 scene 2) 

These lines are more interesting: 

“LIVIA O soft there, brother! Though you be a Justice, 

Your warrant cannot be serv’d out of your liberty; 

You may compel out of the power of a father 

Things merely harsh to a maid’s flesh and blood; 

But when you come to love, there the soil alters; 

Y’are in another country, where your laws 

Are no more set by than the cacklings 

Of geese in Rome’s great Capitol.” 

(ibid.) 

Thomas Middleton immediately subverts your expectation however. You think it’s probably going to be similar to Shakespeare’s treatment of the forced marriage vs love marriage theme, you assume Livia to be a progressive woman who stands against tyrannical fathers, but no, the story goes in another direction—Hippolito, brother of Fabritio, has incestuous feelings for Isabella, and Livia helps bring them together!—how can Isabella know and why does she believe right away that Livia is telling the truth, that she’s the product of an affair and therefore not related by blood to them? 

Having done that, Livia manipulates Leantio’s mother and brings Bianca to the Duke. You think that Jane Austen’s Emma meddles in people’s lives and turns everything upside down just out of idleness? Just look at Livia—this woman needs a hobby. 

2/ Generally, I don’t think the poetry is anywhere near as good as in The Revenger’s Tragedy (long attributed to Cyril Tourneur, now sometimes attributed to Middleton but not definitively), but once in a while, there’s some interesting imagery: 

“GUARDIANO […] it’s a witty age, 

Never were finer snares for women’s honesties

Than are devis’d in these days; no spider’s webs

Made of a daintier thread than are now practis’d

To catch love’s flesh-fly by the silver wing…” 

(Act 2 scene 2) 

He brings Bianca to the Duke for his own advancement. Why does Livia? Probably just because she can. 

“LIVIA […] ’Tis but want of use; 

Her tender modesty is sea-sick a little, 

Being not accustom’d to the breaking billow

Of woman’s wavering faith, blown with temptations. 

’Tis but a qualm of honour, ’twill away; 

A little bitter for the time, but lasts not. 

Sin tastes at the first draught like wormwood water, 

But, drunk again, ’tis nectar ever after.” 

(ibid.) 

3/ I can’t help noticing that most of the non-Shakespearean plays I’ve read from 1580s-1630s present a much darker, more cynical view of humanity and make me feel disgusted with the characters. Only a couple of Shakespeare’s plays have a similar effect, such as The Merchant of Venice or Troilus and Cressida; the majority give one the impression that he loves people and loves humanity. The others—Thomas Kyd, Christopher Marlowe, John Webster, John Ford, Thomas Middleton—depict a rotten world in which human beings are bestial and repulsive. There’s not enough light, so to speak. The bad are monstrous and numerous, the good get destroyed. 

In Women Beware Women, Fabritio forces his own daughter Isabella to marry an idiot for money and advancement; her aunt Livia tells her a false tale and Isabella has an incestuous affair with her own uncle Hippolito but carries on with her marriage to the Ward; Livia again acts as a bawd, bringing Bianca to the Duke; Bianca, having “forsook friends, fortunes, and [her] country” in order to marry the poor Leantio, now cheats on him and changes her tune, insults the husband’s family for their poverty and brazenly becomes the Duke’s mistress; the Duke is a bastard who covets someone else’s wife, but Leantio isn’t a good man either, as he more or less imprisoned Bianca in the house because “The jewel is cas’d up from all mens’ eyes”; Leantio later also has an affair with Livia; and the play ends with a bloody party (perhaps inspired by The Spanish Tragedy). 

The final scene is spectacular. 

“HIPPOLITO […] Vengeance met Vengeance, 

Like a set match, as if the plague of sin 

Had been agreed to meet here altogether…” 

(Act 5 scene 2) 

Livia is a striking character, a psychopath, one of the most villainous women I have come across in fiction—the other characters in the play commit sin because of lust or greed—Livia does all these things just because she can. 

Funnily enough: 

“BIANCA […] O the deadly snares 

That women set for women, without pity 

Either to soul or honour! Learn by me 

To know your foes. In this belief I die: 

Like our own sex, we have no enemy, no enemy!” 

(ibid.) 

I mean, sure, Livia ensnares Isabella and Bianca, but do they not have agency? Do they not have free will? Nobody forces them to have an affair and deceive others. 

Everybody in the play, except for the Lord Cardinal, is rotten to the core. The character of Livia is fascinating and memorable, but it’s a repulsive play.    

Hamlet (2009), ft. David Tennant

Directed by Gregory Doran (who did my favourite version of The Winter’s Tale), this is in some ways a strong production. There are some interesting choices and there are some questionable choices. Let me gather my thoughts. 

Firstly, it is set in modern day and there are CCTVs everywhere. Like Robert Icke later does in the 2018 version (with Andrew Scott), Gregory Doran also emphasises the surveillance theme of the play. Sometimes it works well, often it feels gimmicky, but I’m afraid that the CCTVs only create more questions: does it not get anyone’s attention that at some point Marcellus, Francisco, Barnardo, and Horatio run around in fear and wonder, clearly speaking to something unseen?

Secondly, I don’t like the casting of Patrick Stewart for both the Ghost and Claudius. Some of you may tell me that this doubling is nothing new and some reviewers have said it’s sometimes done, but why then does Hamlet ask Gertrude “Have you eyes?”? Why then does he say that Claudius is “no more like my father/ Than I to Hercules”? And more importantly, how are we to feel about Gertrude, if she moves on from her dead husband to his brother, who looks just like him? It’s interesting however that Patrick Stewart plays the Ghost as stiff and stern—cold even—indeed, what does it say about the relationship between Hamlet and his father that when the Ghost appears, there are no words of love, only calls for revenge? Hamlet has to avenge the murder of a father with whom he didn’t have a close, loving relationship. 

Thirdly, I don’t like Patrick Stewart as Claudius. He softens the character. The production removes some of the more insulting lines in the wedding scene: 

“KING It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, 

A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, 

An understanding simple and unschooled.” 

(Act 1 scene 2)

Imagine how insulting these lines are to someone such as Hamlet. In front of the whole court! Claudius aims to sting and Shakespeare lets us see from the very first scene that he is cunning and subtle. But Gregory Doran cuts these lines, and Patrick Stewart’s performance as a whole softens the character. It is one thing to play Claudius as even-tempered, but is this really a man who murders his own brother, usurps the throne, marries his brother’s widow, sets others to spy on his nephew then plots to have him killed, takes advantage of a courtier’s death to manipulate the son into being his pawn, and so on? I don’t buy it. 

Someone has called it a nuanced performance but I don’t think so—a nuanced performance is one that shows Claudius as a ruthless man but also a good king and an adoring husband—the best Claudius I have seen so far is Robert Shaw.  

I do think David Tennant is very good as Hamlet however. The best Hamlet I have seen is still Kevin Kline, who conveys better something of “the sweet prince” that Hamlet once was, but David Tennant does convey very well the intensity and volatility and sardonic wit of the character, and also some vulnerability—it is much better than the performance of Andrew Scott, who plays Hamlet like a psychopath that anyone would want to remove from court. 

Penny Downie is also very good as Gertrude, playing her as a tragic character, and I like Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius.

What about the ending? 

“KING Gertrude, do not drink. 

QUEEN I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me.” 

(Act 5 scene 2)  

There are different ways of playing this moment. Gertrude may carelessly drink from the cup, too absorbed in the duel to notice. Or Gertrude may know the cup to be poisoned, and deliberately drink from it, as Juliet Stevenson does in the 2018 production. Or she may have a little pause, think, and then drink from it, which is what Penny Downie does here, and I think it works very well. 

One interesting thing Patrick Stewart does, which I don’t see in other version of Hamlet, is that at the end he shrugs and drinks from the poisoned cup himself. It adds something tragic to the character. But at the same time, the consequence is that it makes Hamlet even more passive—for the entire story, Hamlet doesn’t take any action (apart from staging the play wherein he catches the conscience of the king), and at the very end, he only slashes at Claudius’s hand—admittedly the sword is envenomed, but he still appears less active as he hands over the cup to Claudius and the King drinks it himself. 

Not the best rendition, but interesting and worth watching. 

Brief thoughts on Roman Polanski’s Macbeth

The trouble with Macbeth, I think, is that it’s such an exciting play—full of plot and action—that people sometimes seem to forget that the greatness of the play is in the happenings in the minds of the Macbeths. The clearest example is Kurosawa’s loose adaptation Throne of Blood, enjoyable enough but stripped off the characters’ thoughts, stripped off all depth and complexity. Roman Polanski’s film also seems to focus more on the external violence—it is bloody, full of graphic violence (and nudity)—if not for Jon Finch. I have seen Jon Finch as Henry IV in the BBC Television Shakespeare and he’s so much like a Shakespearean actor, so much better than Michael Fassbender (who doesn’t know how to speak the lines) and Denzel Washington, that I didn’t realise till after watching the film that it was the first time he did Shakespeare. You see him tempted by the witches; you see him struggle before and after the deed; you see him slowly lose his soul as he's in blood stepped in so far; you see that by the end, to him life’s a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. 

The problem with the film though is that Francesca Annis is a weak Lady Macbeth. When you see different versions of Macbeth, you might sometimes wonder if Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness could be abrupt—some people think perhaps the text is cut and we’ve lost a scene or two—but Trevor Nunn’s production demonstrates that there is nothing wrong with the pacing or structure, as Judi Dench shows from the very beginning that Lady Macbeth is more vulnerable than she thinks, that she has started to crack much earlier, so her descent into madness comes as no surprise. That abruptness is in Joel Coen’s film, as Frances McDormand is so evil, so unmoved at the beginning and doesn’t show the gradual change. Orson Welles and Kurosawa solve “the problem” by making some changes and creating a reason to explain Lady Macbeth’s shock and insanity. Francesca Annis doesn’t play Lady Macbeth as evil like Frances McDormand, but her insanity also seems abrupt because we don’t quite see her conflict, her struggle, her vulnerability. 

There are also some questionable choices. Why have the Macbeths discuss killing Duncan at the party, in front of everybody? Why depict so much nudity? Why do we need to see a completely naked young boy (Macduff’s son)? Why depict Macbeth and Macduff fight in front of everybody like it’s a spectacle, like they are gladiators? Not to mention the ending?  

I also wonder if the Manson Family’s murder of Polanski’s wife Sharon Tate in 1969 had any impact on his mind and his vision for Macbeth—the film came out in 1971—not only because the film is so bloody and violent, but also because Macbeth’s death is depicted in such a cynical way and doesn’t seem tragic. 

Overall, it’s still worth seeing, for Jon Finch (unless you boycott Roman Polanski’s films, which is perfectly understandable). It’s also an interesting approach.   

On Trevor Nunn’s production (Ian McKellen – Judi Dench). 

On Joel Coen’s film. 

On Orson Welles’s film. 

On Throne of Blood. 

Addendum on 20/5: I forgot that I saw the Ralph Fiennes version onstage, which I wrote about here and here. 

Some Shakespearean performances I wish to have seen

As I have been reading Judi Dench’s Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent (a very enjoyable read) and just updated my list of favourite Shakespearean performances, here’s a shortlist of performances I wish to have seen:

• 17th century: 

Richard Burbage as Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth (obviously, he worked directly with our man) 

• 18th century: 

Sarah Siddons as Lady Macbeth (because William Hazlitt calls her “Tragedy personified” and this is her most famous role) 

• 19th century: 

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth (I mean, have you seen Sargent’s painting? I’ve also seen the dress in person) 

Sarah Siddons as Hermione (because of some commentaries I’ve read in The Winter’s Tale Casebook)  

• 20th century: 

Vivien Leigh as Lady Macbeth (I’m curious about her performance) and Cleopatra (come on, she must have been great in the role) 

Diana Rigg as Lady Macbeth (the best Regan I have seen, she would have been great as Lady Macbeth) 

Ralph Richardson as Falstaff (he’s part of the trinity, and extraordinary in everything I’ve seen) 

Judi Dench as Gertrude with Daniel Day-Lewis as Hamlet (come on, that sounds amazing, I also like Judi Dench’s analysis of Gertrude and the play) 

Judi Dench as Isabella (I like her comments on the character) 

• 21st century: 

Frances Barber as Cleopatra (she is Cleopatra, I have heard her on audio and wish I had seen her onstage) 

Give me your list. 

My 50 favourite Shakespearean performances onscreen and onstage

The 30 list was first published on 29/12/2023. It is now updated. 

In chronological order. 

Robert Shaw as Claudius in Hamlet at Elsinor (1964)  

Michael Aldridge as Pistol in Chimes at Midnight (1965) 

Olivia Hussey as Juliet in Romeo and Juliet (1968) 

Leonard Whiting as Romeo in Romeo and Juliet (1968)

Diana Rigg as Helena in A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1968) 

Laurence Olivier as Shylock in The Merchant of Venice (1973) 

Jeremy Brett as Berowne in Love’s Labour’s Lost (1975) 

Marc Singer as Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew (1976) 

Ian McKellen as Macbeth in Macbeth (1979) 

Judi Dench as Lady Macbeth in Macbeth (1979)

David Gwillim as Hal/ Henry V in the Henry IV plays and Henry V (1979) 

Anthony Quayle as Falstaff in the Henry IV plays (1979) 

Jon Finch as Henry IV in the Henry IV plays (1979)  

Tim Pigott-Smith as Hotspur in Henry IV, Part 1 (1979) 

Kate Nelligan as Isabella in Measure for Measure (1979) 

Anthony Hopkins as Othello in Othello (1981) 

Bob Hoskins as Iago in Othello (1981) 

Michael Hordern as Lear in King Lear (1982) 

Anton Lesser as Edgar in King Lear (1982) 

Penelope Wilton as Regan in King Lear (1982) 

Michael Pennington as Posthumus in Cymbeline (1982) 

Robert Lindsay as Iachimo in Cymbeline (1982) 

Robert Lindsay as Edmund in King Lear (1983) 

Diana Rigg as Regan in King Lear (1983)

Cherie Lunghi as Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing (1984) 

Robert Lindsay as Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing (1984)

Richard Briers as Malvolio in Twelfth Night (1988) 

Frances Barber as Viola in Twelfth Night (1988)  

Kevin Kline as Hamlet in Hamlet (1990) 

Ian McKellen as Iago in Othello (1990) 

Imogen Stubbs as Desdemona in Othello (1990)

Helena Bonham Carter as Olivia in Twelfth Night (1990) 

Antony Sher as Leontes in The Winter’s Tale (1999) 

Ian Hughes as Autolycus in The Winter’s Tale (1999) 

Ralph Fiennes as Coriolanus in Coriolanus (2011) 

Vanessa Redgrave as Volumnia in Coriolanus (2011)

Amy Acker as Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing (2012) 

Adrian Lester as Othello in Othello (2013) 

Don Warrington as Lear in King Lear (2016) 

Miltos Yerolemou as the Fool in King Lear (2016)

Thomas Coombes as Oswald in King Lear (2016)

Ian McKellen as Lear in King Lear (2018) 

Ben Whishaw as Brutus in Julius Caesar (2018) 

Kathryn Hunter as the Witches in Macbeth (2021) 

David Oyelowo as Coriolanus in Coriolanus (2024) 

Mathew Baynton as Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream (2024) 

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The Devil’s Law-Case by John Webster

1/ You know what, 1580s-1630s plays are bonkers. But before we get there, let’s talk about the poetry. 

In 17th century’s English dramatic poetry, one may say that Webster is second only to Shakespeare—perhaps I don’t know what I’m talking about, but David C. Gunby calls him “a tragedian second to only Shakespeare” in my copy and I do love Webster’s poetry the most among Shakespeare’s contemporary playwrights. His best play is still The Duchess of Malfi, but The Devil’s Law-Case has many great passages:   

“CONTARINO […] For women’s resolutions in such deeds, 

Like bees, light oft on flowers, and oft on weeds.” 

(Act 1 scene 1) 

Or: 

“CAPUCHIN For pity’s sake, you that have tears to shed, 

Sigh a soft requiem, and let fall a bead 

For two unfortunate nobles, whose sad fate 

Leaves them both dead, and excommunicate: 

No churchman’s prayer to comfort their last groans, 

No sacred sod of earth to hide their bones; 

But as their fury wrought them out of breath, 

The canon speaks them guilty of their own death.” 

(Act 2 scene 3) 

Or: 

“ROMELIO […] O how this wicked world bewitches, 

Especially made insolent with riches! 

So sails with fore-winds stretch’d, do soonest break, 

And pyramids a’th’top are still most weak.” 

(ibid.) 

It’s amusing that Webster gives these lines to such a heartless fiend like Romelio. 

2/ There are some funny bits. For example, Crispiano, a lawyer, prefers money to “wenching”: 

“CRISPIANO Wenching? O fie, the disease follows it; 

Beside, can the fing’ring taffetas, or lawns, 

Or a painted hand, or a breast, be like the pleasure 

In taking a client’s fees, and piling them 

In several goodly rows before my desk?...” 

(Act 2 scene 1) 

What a nutter. 

“CRISPIANO Come, come, leave citing other vanities; 

For neither wine, nor lust, nor riotous feasts, 

Rich clothes, nor all the pleasure that the devil 

Has ever practis’d with, to raise a man

To a devil’s likeness, e’er brought man that pleasure 

I took in getting my wealth…” 

(ibid.) 

Probably one of those men who love amassing wealth much more than spending it (why though?). 

But generally, I don’t find Webster a particularly funny writer. Ariosto, a bad-tempered lawyer who later acts as judge, is clearly meant to be a comic character, but I don’t find him funny.  

3/ Some lines remind me of Shakespeare: 

“LEONORA I do look now 

For some great misfortunes to follow. 

For indeed mischiefs are like the visits 

Of Franciscan friars, they never come 

To prey upon us single…” 

(Act 3 scene 3) 

Does anyone look at that and not think about “When sorrows come, they come not single spies/ But in battalions”? 

The beginning of the scene, when Romelio chides his sister Jolenta for grieving, also makes me think of Hamlet: 

“ROMELIO Why do you grieve thus? Take a looking glass, 

And see if this sorrow become you; that pale face

Will make men think you us’d some art before,

Some odious painting: Contarino’s dead. 

JOLENTA O that he should die so soon! 

ROMELIO Why, I pray tell me, 

Is not the shortest fever the best? And are not bad plays 

The worse for their length?” 

(ibid.) 

I’m not sure—Shakespeare also adds some funny lines in the middle of a sad or intense scene, such as in King Lear or The Winter’s Tale, but in my head this exchange seems a bit harder to get right—how are those last lines meant to be played? to cause laughter?—Jolenta is in deep anguish. 

4/ The premise of The Devil’s Law-Case is some standard complications: Ercole and Contarino both love Jolenta; Jolenta also loves Contarino, but her brother Romelio wants her to marry Ercole, who has more money; Jolenta’s mother Leonora, a widow, also wants her to marry Ercole because she herself loves Contarino. The play however is bonkers—it is full of lies and disguises, schemes and plots, twists and turns—one thing piles upon another—the whole thing is bananas. It’s also quite different from The White Devil and The Duchess of Malfi as the other two are tragedies whereas this one is a tragicomedy. Anyone who thinks Cymbeline is “unresisting imbecility” should check out The Devil’s Law-Case. 

One good thing about the play is Webster’s poetry. 

“… Courts adieu, and all delights, 

All bewitching appetites; 

Sweetest breath, and clearest eye, 

Like perfumes go out and die; 

And consequently this is done, 

As shadows wait upon the sun. 

Vain the ambition of kings, 

Who seek by trophies and dead things, 

To leave a living name behind, 

And weave but nets to catch the wind…” 

(Act 5 scene 4) 

Another good thing is that Romelio, the villain, is a brilliant character. Avaricious, calculating, deceitful, ruthless. No morals, no conscience. 

“CAPUCHIN […] Will you pray with me? 

ROMELIO No, no, the world and I 

Have not made up our accounts yet. 

CAPUCHIN Shall I pray for you? 

ROMELIO Whether you do or no, I care not. 

CAPUCHIN O you have a dangerous voyage to take. 

ROMELIO No matter, I will be mine own pilot: 

Do not you trouble your head with the business. 

CAPUCHIN Pray tell me, do not you meditate of death? 

ROMELIO Pew, I took out that lesson 

When I once lay sick of an ague: I do now 

Labour for life, for life! Sir, can you tell me 

Whether your Toledo, or your Milan blade 

Be best temper’d?” 

(ibid.) 

And later, when he asks for food and Capuchin hands him a book, presumably a Bible: 

“ROMELIO Pew, I am not to commence Doctor: 

For then the word, devour that book, were proper. 

I am to fight, to fight sir, and I’ll do’t, 

As I would feed, with a good stomach.” 

(ibid.) 

Should you read The Devil’s Law-Case? Perhaps only if you’re a specialist. It’s no wonder that Webster is now only known for The Duchess of Malfi and The White Devil. 

The Winter’s Tale revisited: thoughts on the play and some commentaries

Alexandra Gilbreath as Hermione and Antony Sher as Leontes (my favourite production). 

I have just reread The Winter’s Tale. What a wonderful play! The final scene is one of the greatest, most moving scenes in Shakespeare, but I forgot that the play as a whole was like a fairytale, including the figure of the tyrant. I also picked up The Winter’s Tale Casebook, a collection of essays edited by Kenneth Muir. 

1/ My top 5 is Macbeth, Othello, King Lear, The Winter’s Tale, Measure for Measure. Is it not strange, when you think about it, that the last three plays took centuries to be understood and appreciated? King Lear is now generally recognised as the highest peak of Shakespeare, but Measure and Measure and The Winter’s Tale are still not particularly popular even though their status has now risen among some Shakespeare fans and critics. 

What is it about the development of taste over the centuries that early critics didn’t see the power of The Winter’s Tale but modern critics (and I) do? I can’t help wondering. But it’s amusing to see that Charlotte Lennox (the author of The Female Quixote) is among the ones insensible to the beauty of the resurrection scene and of the play as a whole. 

The usual complaints are these: 

a) The plot is improbable—Charlotte Lennox says “what reason could [Hermione] have for chusing to live in such a miserable confinement when she might have been happy in the possession of her husband’s affection and have shared his throne?”, but she’s not the only one expressing such sentiments; 

b) Leontes’s jealousy lacks a motive—Robert Bridges for example says “the jealousy of Leontes is senseless, whereas in the original story an adequate motive is developed.” 

The latter is not a surprise. Detractors—Tolstoy for instance—sometimes complain about the lack of motive in Shakespeare. But that’s his thing—it’s not only that Shakespeare doesn’t give motive to his characters (in some cases), sometimes he perversely removes the motive stated in his source story. I myself see nothing wrong or unconvincing about it. Shakespeare is fascinated by jealousy and explores it throughout his career, and in his final play about jealousy, pushes to the extreme the idea “They are not ever jealous for the cause/ But jealous for they are jealous; ’tis a monster/ Begon upon itself, born on itself.” 

As for the former, there are two interpretations of the resurrection scene: the mythic one and the realistic one. I’m inclined to go with the realistic reading, but the vision of resurrection in the final ending still fills me with awe and wonder—that she lives in isolation after 16 years isn’t illogical to me—do people forget that Leontes for no reason accused her of not only adultery but also treason? That he imprisoned her and put her on trial? That he caused the death of their son Mamillius? That he banished Perdita and she doesn’t know when she can ever see her daughter again? Leontes needs penance and Paulina is there to make sure he never forgets what he has done. 

2/ I like Robert R. Price’s remark from 1890: 

“And so, in dramatic art, The Winter’s Tale is, I think, Shakespeare’s experiment in constructing a diptych. This experiment no poet, to my knowledge, had ever tried before him, and none that I know of has ever tried it since. Thus, received as a bold experiment in dramatic art, The Winter’s Tale may well stand last in time of the works of Shakespeare’s genius, the final stretching forth of that genius to accomplish a design never before essayed. 

The play is, then, as I conceive it, a genuine diptych in construction. It is made up of two plays, the first a tragedy and the second a comedy, so joined together in the middle as to produce a final result that belongs equally to each.” 

That is indeed something that makes The Winter’s Tale different from everything else by Shakespeare, and most narratives in general. And I love that. When I first read The Winter’s Tale, I thought it lacked harmony even though I loved the play—the shocking rage and intensity seem to appear out of nowhere then vanish into thin air, the play slows down, the mood changes—but I no longer find it odd after watching the Antony Sher production—the two parts go together perfectly well, and the ending is wonderful. It’s a bold experiment that shows Shakespeare’s mastery of mood, pacing, and structure. 

But how does he do it successfully? I like that Ernest Schanzer writes in his essay “The Structural Pattern” that “the two halves of the play consist not only of a series of contrasts but also a series of parallels.” In both halves, Shakespeare paints a picture of harmony and happiness that is violently interrupted by a tyrant. In both halves, Perdita is “committed to the mercy of the waves.” In both halves, Camillio plays the same role of helping the victim of the king escape. In both halves, there’s a climax with Hermione in the centre. 

“The first half culminates in Hermione’s death, the second in her ‘resurrection’.” 

3/ Mark Van Doren says:

“Shakespeare disappoints our expectation in one important respect. The recognition of Leontes and his daughter takes place off stage; we only hear three gentlemen talking prose about it (v ii), and are denied the satisfaction of such a scene as we might have supposed would crown the play. The reason may be that Shakespeare was weary of a plot which already had complicated itself beyond comfort; or that a recognition scene appeared in his mind more due to Hermione, considering the age and degree of her sufferings, than to that ‘most peerless piece of earth’ Perdita.” 

“Our”? Speak for yourself! I don’t agree—the resurrection scene is more important—Shakespeare understands pacing and tension (better than anybody) and knows that two reunion scenes so close to each other would very much reduce the emotional impact—that’s why he leaves one offstage. 

In “Six Points of Stage-Craft”, Neville Coghill defends the scene of the gentlemen telling each other about the first reunion: 

“… in practice this scene is among the most gripping and memorable of the entire play. Whoever saw the production of it by Peter Brook at the Phoenix Theatre in 1951-2 will remember the excitement it created. I know of at least two other productions of the play in which this scene had the same effect, and generated a mounting thrill of expectation needed to prepare us for the final scene.” 

4/ In the same essay, Nevile Coghill defends the “Exit, pursued by a bear” scene, which many people have derided: 

“… [Shakespeare] deliberately underlined the juxtaposition of mood, achieved by the invention of the bear, in the speeches he put into the mouth of the Clown, grisly and ludicrous, mocking and condoling, from one sentence to another: 

[…]

If Shakespeare did not mean it that way, why did he write it that way? So far from being crude or antiquated, stage-craft such as this is a dazzling piece of avant-garde work; no parallel can be found for what, at a stroke, its effects; it is the transformation of tragedy into comedy; it symbolizes the revenge of Nature on the servant of a corrupted court; it is a thundering surprises; and yet those Naturals that are always demanding naturalism cannot complain, for what could be more natural than a bear?” 

That’s a good point. I have learnt to always assume that Shakespeare knows what he’s doing—sometimes one may think something seems wrong or something is a flaw, until one sees a critic defend it, or even better, sees a production which works perfectly, demonstrating again that Shakespeare understands drama better than anybody. 

In the essay Neville Coghill argues several times against S. L. Bethell, who calls the play naïve, antiquated, outmoded, etc. I especially like this point he makes about the final scene (and the fact that Shakespeare does the anachronistic thing of naming a contemporary man as the sculptor): 

“The spiritual meaning of the play in no way depends on [Hermione] being a Lazarus or an Alcestis. It is a play about a crisis in the life of Leontes, not of Hermione, and her restoration to him (it is not a ‘resurrection’) is something which happens not to her, but to him. He had thought her dead by his own hand (‘She I kill’d’, v i 7) and now finds her unexpectedly alive in the guardianship of Paulina. […] That is the miracle, it seems to me, for which Shakespeare so carefully prepared. 

It had to be a miracle not only for Leontes, but for the audience. His first dramaturgical job, then, was to ensure that the audience, like Leontes, should believe her dead. For this reason her death is repeatedly reasserted during the play by a number of characters, and accepted by all as a fact. Shakespeare’s next care was to give credentials to the statue. The audience must accept it as a statue, not a woman; so the Third Gentleman names its sculptor, an actual man, Giulio Romano; a novel trick to borrow a kind of authenticity from the ‘real’ world of the audience, to lend solidity to the imaginary world of the play; it seems to confer a special statueishness.” 

I like that. And this scene is one of the most wonderful and affecting scenes in Shakespeare.  

5/ In my first reading of The Winter’s Tale, I didn’t particularly like Autolycus. But now I do, partly thanks to Ian Hughes’s hilarious performance in the Antony Sher production, partly because Scott Newstok argues in How to Think Like Shakespeare: Lessons from a Renaissance Education that the character of an unrepentant thief is Shakespeare’s joke (The Winter’s Tale is based on Pandosto by Robert Greene, who is now mostly known for calling Shakespeare “an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers”), and partly because I now see him as part of the sun-burnt mirth of the second half of the play. 

Updated: 

My first blog post about the play is here. My post about the play and G. Wilson Knight is here.