Two thoughts intersect, and they fit...to a point. It's that area of friction that I'd like to uncover, but I don't know if I'll get to it or get it out. Right now, my baby is screaming his head off because I'm not patting him on the back so that he can fall asleep. Ah, the joys of parenthood.
"We're Only Human"
The current song that's stuck in my head comes from Jason Mraz's latest offering, We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things CD/album (CD is too specific of a term for the release of music these days, I suppose). The song is called "Only Human" and deals a bit with the idea of humanity and what that means.
Taming of the Shrew
The Utah Shakespearean Festival has just launched its summer season, and my wife and I–as we are wont to do for the last three years–have just finished enjoying three of the six plays offered by the festival. It was wonderful, amazing, and all of the other superlatives that you could expect from a Bardolator like myself about works from the Swan of Avon. There, my wife and I saw The Taming of the Shrew, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and Othello. An eclectic mix of Shakespeare's work, no doubt. Shrew is ever difficult to stage, Gentlemen is a weaker comedy, and Othello is staggering in its scope, execution.
So much for my two thoughts.
Joint
Here's my point and the joint twixt the two: both the song and the plays all dealt with the same concept of humanity, what it is to be human, and how we all go about different aspects of existence in different ways. While Othello is rife with ontological declarations–perhaps the topic of another blog later on–I've decided to try to coalesce some of my thoughts about Shrew instead, taken in light of the staging that I just saw, and running along the theme that Mr. A-Z sings about.
Excuses, Excuses
I'm fond of the subtle–yet essential–difference between excuses and reasons. The former seeks exculpation for the consequence of the action; the latter merely states the motivation behind it. So often, I fear, we look at our atrocities and dismiss them. As Mraz sings, "We keep paving over paradise/'Cuz we're only human." We make mistakes, and then brush them away with the trite, "We're only human," the implied, "What else could you expect from us?" dangling, unsaid.
But yet we're quick to claim the highest we can provide while shunning the darkness within–and here we encounter Shakespeare.
Indeed, I can't get enough of his works. I have a shelf dedicated to his plays, commentaries about the works, dictionaries, and synopses. It's only half full, but then, I've only been deeply intrigued by him in the last three years or so (the Festival being the main reason for my inflamed interest).
Shakespeare is arguably the most beloved author of all time (the authorship question perhaps proving that more than we realize). His influence is broad–so broad, in fact, that almost every fluent English speaker has quoted him, usually without even knowing it. But his durability is less the point here. No, instead it's the concept of humanity, and, in reality, the reason why the Bard is still so venerated after 400 years.
Shrewish Humans
William Shakespeare had a penchant for portraying humanity cloaked in human's skin. Let me elaborate a bit on that. What I feel from his plays is a persistent observation of the way humans treat and think of each other. Whether it be brotherly love (like Antonio and Bassanio in The Merchant of Venice), or lustful love (like the eponymous Romeo and his fair Juliet), or true love (like the Macbeths seemed to have ere their catastrophe), Shakespeare had a way of capturing that humanity–the abstract concept of whatever emotion is being played–and, cradling it in poesy, cloaked it in a human character that can feel alive, even to the reader, rather than the playgoer. What he could do better than anyone before or since, was encapsulate part of the human experience and make it so real through the falsity of drama, that we, as an audience, can't help but understand ourselves better.
One of the more uncomfortable plays–one that taps into more of the base desires of man, rather than the more ennobling ones–is The Taming of the Shrew. I won't bother posting a synopsis; you can go to SparkNotes if you'd like, and get the information from there or any other resource online. You can also be brave and read the play yourself.
The Utah Shakespearean Festival took special liberty with their staging of Shrew, a choice that ended up requiring subtle modifications to the original text, excising of the Induction with Christopher Sly (a wise choice), and a fresh wardrobe. Instead of letting Italy of the early 17th century remain the backdrop for the tale, the director 'contemporized' this version, setting it circa 1946, with American forces occupying Axis Italy.
Hmm.
Part of the intended effect was to consider the same situation performed on stage as a microcosm for what the world stage was, at that time, seeing: namely, American imposition (Petruccio) over Italian custom (Katherina). This is an excellent analogy, and greatly heightens the 'difficult' parts of the play (the taming, really).
Unfortunately, there was a bit of a drawback by choosing this period. The taming that Katherina the shrew endures is hardly prime comedy to all save the most chauvinistic, but it can be assuaged with the consolation and understanding that the time period in which it takes place allowed the dowry to be all that was required for a father to marry off his daughter, that a woman was possessed (literally) by her husband, like little more than attractive property, and that the mores of the time permitted all sorts of abuse and retrograde behavior.
Not so with this staging.
By 1946, women's suffrage had been resolved, the civil rights of women (perhaps tenuously) established, and the war had been won because of the feminine labor. By the middle of the 20th century, great strides in the fight for perfect (a term used loosely here) equality between the sexes.
This makes a '46 Shrew a bit harder to chew.
In the back of my mind, I kept thinking, "This play is not an acceptable demonstration of devotion between people in the first place. This setting isn't helping..."
That being said, I loved the production. Slapstick comedy, hilarious timing, and brilliant costumes all lead to an excellent, exciting experience. But what Petruccio does to Kat simply can't be ignored, pushed aside, or viewed too permissively.
Now, to this production's credit, intimations that Petruccio truly did fall in love with Katherina–subtly done with sound effects, more convincing asides, and well blocked movement–are deftly inserted. I noticed them more because I was hoping for a way to have the play 'redeemed' in my mind than because I'm quick to observe.
Redeeming of the Shrew
Redeemed? Aye, 'twas my word. I have always struggled with Shrew, and for reasons most progressive people would probably agree with. The way he treats her smacks of misogyny, of chauvinism, of patriarchal tyranny, and just plain rudeness. He treats her with contempt because she is 'his' wife. He just does. That's the word that Will put down, and it has to stand on its own merits. Sadly, this play is not one of his masterpieces, though it was no doubt rather popular when released.
So, is it redeemed? No. Did they do the best interpretation? Possibly. I can't see a better way to do it. Is it entertaining? Immensely. Is it recommended? Absolutely.
Here's the Rub
And I don't mean Hamlet's kind. The rub here is between "Only Human" and Shrew, the culmination of these two possibly disparate thoughts that are rebounding through my head: Pretending that Petruccio is real, his excuse (there's that word again) for his behavior could easily be "I'm only human." Worse: "I'm only a man/Boys will be boys." Worst: "She's only woman."
Perhaps Shakespeare had a streak of inculcated misogyny within him. He certainly didn't treat his wife very well (second best bed and all that). That is not only unknowable, but moot. What he intended and what he created might not necessarily be the same. Nevertheless, the work is here, for what good it will do, and we have to interpret it through its own light, rather than using it as a taper to peek into the shadows of its author's life. Certainly we can't divine from the text whether the play was written as satire of men such as Petruccio, a vindication of the shrews in Shakespeare's life, or a 'guilty pleasure' that he scribed to just be nasty. All we can say for certain is that this is the play we have.
Of course, there are many different ways of twisting the text to fit a different interpretation. Have at it, whoever so wishes.
What, to me, resolves the issue (for now) is that the theme of this play is, sad as it is, part of being human. Dislike, hatred, desire to create conformity, imposition of one will over another, removal of agency, abuse–all sad instances of reality. Perhaps what I can learn most from this play is that excuses can't stand, and reasons can't shield us from what we are:
Only human.
"We're Only Human"
The current song that's stuck in my head comes from Jason Mraz's latest offering, We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things CD/album (CD is too specific of a term for the release of music these days, I suppose). The song is called "Only Human" and deals a bit with the idea of humanity and what that means.
Taming of the Shrew
The Utah Shakespearean Festival has just launched its summer season, and my wife and I–as we are wont to do for the last three years–have just finished enjoying three of the six plays offered by the festival. It was wonderful, amazing, and all of the other superlatives that you could expect from a Bardolator like myself about works from the Swan of Avon. There, my wife and I saw The Taming of the Shrew, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and Othello. An eclectic mix of Shakespeare's work, no doubt. Shrew is ever difficult to stage, Gentlemen is a weaker comedy, and Othello is staggering in its scope, execution.
So much for my two thoughts.
Joint
Here's my point and the joint twixt the two: both the song and the plays all dealt with the same concept of humanity, what it is to be human, and how we all go about different aspects of existence in different ways. While Othello is rife with ontological declarations–perhaps the topic of another blog later on–I've decided to try to coalesce some of my thoughts about Shrew instead, taken in light of the staging that I just saw, and running along the theme that Mr. A-Z sings about.
Excuses, Excuses
I'm fond of the subtle–yet essential–difference between excuses and reasons. The former seeks exculpation for the consequence of the action; the latter merely states the motivation behind it. So often, I fear, we look at our atrocities and dismiss them. As Mraz sings, "We keep paving over paradise/'Cuz we're only human." We make mistakes, and then brush them away with the trite, "We're only human," the implied, "What else could you expect from us?" dangling, unsaid.
But yet we're quick to claim the highest we can provide while shunning the darkness within–and here we encounter Shakespeare.
Indeed, I can't get enough of his works. I have a shelf dedicated to his plays, commentaries about the works, dictionaries, and synopses. It's only half full, but then, I've only been deeply intrigued by him in the last three years or so (the Festival being the main reason for my inflamed interest).
Shakespeare is arguably the most beloved author of all time (the authorship question perhaps proving that more than we realize). His influence is broad–so broad, in fact, that almost every fluent English speaker has quoted him, usually without even knowing it. But his durability is less the point here. No, instead it's the concept of humanity, and, in reality, the reason why the Bard is still so venerated after 400 years.
Shrewish Humans
William Shakespeare had a penchant for portraying humanity cloaked in human's skin. Let me elaborate a bit on that. What I feel from his plays is a persistent observation of the way humans treat and think of each other. Whether it be brotherly love (like Antonio and Bassanio in The Merchant of Venice), or lustful love (like the eponymous Romeo and his fair Juliet), or true love (like the Macbeths seemed to have ere their catastrophe), Shakespeare had a way of capturing that humanity–the abstract concept of whatever emotion is being played–and, cradling it in poesy, cloaked it in a human character that can feel alive, even to the reader, rather than the playgoer. What he could do better than anyone before or since, was encapsulate part of the human experience and make it so real through the falsity of drama, that we, as an audience, can't help but understand ourselves better.
One of the more uncomfortable plays–one that taps into more of the base desires of man, rather than the more ennobling ones–is The Taming of the Shrew. I won't bother posting a synopsis; you can go to SparkNotes if you'd like, and get the information from there or any other resource online. You can also be brave and read the play yourself.
The Utah Shakespearean Festival took special liberty with their staging of Shrew, a choice that ended up requiring subtle modifications to the original text, excising of the Induction with Christopher Sly (a wise choice), and a fresh wardrobe. Instead of letting Italy of the early 17th century remain the backdrop for the tale, the director 'contemporized' this version, setting it circa 1946, with American forces occupying Axis Italy.
Hmm.
Part of the intended effect was to consider the same situation performed on stage as a microcosm for what the world stage was, at that time, seeing: namely, American imposition (Petruccio) over Italian custom (Katherina). This is an excellent analogy, and greatly heightens the 'difficult' parts of the play (the taming, really).
Unfortunately, there was a bit of a drawback by choosing this period. The taming that Katherina the shrew endures is hardly prime comedy to all save the most chauvinistic, but it can be assuaged with the consolation and understanding that the time period in which it takes place allowed the dowry to be all that was required for a father to marry off his daughter, that a woman was possessed (literally) by her husband, like little more than attractive property, and that the mores of the time permitted all sorts of abuse and retrograde behavior.
Not so with this staging.
By 1946, women's suffrage had been resolved, the civil rights of women (perhaps tenuously) established, and the war had been won because of the feminine labor. By the middle of the 20th century, great strides in the fight for perfect (a term used loosely here) equality between the sexes.
This makes a '46 Shrew a bit harder to chew.
In the back of my mind, I kept thinking, "This play is not an acceptable demonstration of devotion between people in the first place. This setting isn't helping..."
That being said, I loved the production. Slapstick comedy, hilarious timing, and brilliant costumes all lead to an excellent, exciting experience. But what Petruccio does to Kat simply can't be ignored, pushed aside, or viewed too permissively.
Now, to this production's credit, intimations that Petruccio truly did fall in love with Katherina–subtly done with sound effects, more convincing asides, and well blocked movement–are deftly inserted. I noticed them more because I was hoping for a way to have the play 'redeemed' in my mind than because I'm quick to observe.
Redeeming of the Shrew
Redeemed? Aye, 'twas my word. I have always struggled with Shrew, and for reasons most progressive people would probably agree with. The way he treats her smacks of misogyny, of chauvinism, of patriarchal tyranny, and just plain rudeness. He treats her with contempt because she is 'his' wife. He just does. That's the word that Will put down, and it has to stand on its own merits. Sadly, this play is not one of his masterpieces, though it was no doubt rather popular when released.
So, is it redeemed? No. Did they do the best interpretation? Possibly. I can't see a better way to do it. Is it entertaining? Immensely. Is it recommended? Absolutely.
Here's the Rub
And I don't mean Hamlet's kind. The rub here is between "Only Human" and Shrew, the culmination of these two possibly disparate thoughts that are rebounding through my head: Pretending that Petruccio is real, his excuse (there's that word again) for his behavior could easily be "I'm only human." Worse: "I'm only a man/Boys will be boys." Worst: "She's only woman."
Perhaps Shakespeare had a streak of inculcated misogyny within him. He certainly didn't treat his wife very well (second best bed and all that). That is not only unknowable, but moot. What he intended and what he created might not necessarily be the same. Nevertheless, the work is here, for what good it will do, and we have to interpret it through its own light, rather than using it as a taper to peek into the shadows of its author's life. Certainly we can't divine from the text whether the play was written as satire of men such as Petruccio, a vindication of the shrews in Shakespeare's life, or a 'guilty pleasure' that he scribed to just be nasty. All we can say for certain is that this is the play we have.
Of course, there are many different ways of twisting the text to fit a different interpretation. Have at it, whoever so wishes.
What, to me, resolves the issue (for now) is that the theme of this play is, sad as it is, part of being human. Dislike, hatred, desire to create conformity, imposition of one will over another, removal of agency, abuse–all sad instances of reality. Perhaps what I can learn most from this play is that excuses can't stand, and reasons can't shield us from what we are:
Only human.
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