I became
significantly more interested in reading Shakespeare during summer 2006. I'm
not entirely certain what I was able to read, but I generally would knock out
an act or two each Sunday before I would get knocked out myself, snoozing with
my head cricked against the wing of my armchair.
My biggest
difficulty was deciding which text to pursue. The familiar ones I could more
easily follow, but I wanted exposure to others that I didn't read as often.
With my birthday-given copy numbing my lap, I would take certain steps before
starting a play. I would copy down each character from the dramatis personae on a yellow sticky-note and use that as my
bookmark. I would try to paint the image of the Cedar City stage in my mind for
the characters to enact. I would sleep whenever the need hit me, since pushing
through Shakespeare while drowsy never yields beneficial results.
The fall of
'06 came around and my wife and I decided to take our anniversary in Cedar City
and Manti, Utah. After a miscarriage, my wife was again expecting and, like all
of her pregnancies, it was a nauseating affair. She had to eat constantly to
keep the bile at bay, which made the attendance of a play a tricky affair. During
the intermission, we had to slide out to the car to get a Nutri-Grain bar to
keep her stomach settled. We almost missed the beginning of the second act as a
result.
We attended The Merchant of Venice and, having
learned our lesson from Hamlet, paid for tickets on a wing but
in the front. My in-laws, on our recommendation, had been down the previous week
to see the same play and had thoroughly enjoyed it, so I went in anticipating a
great performance.
I wasn't
disappointed. The characters of Morocco and Aragon still stand out in my mind,
while the Portia they cast walked a line of compassion and ruthlessness that
softened the rougher edges of the woman. Bassanio was attractive enough, and
Antonio carried himself with the appropriate air of sanctimony and martyrdom.
But, as is always the case with Merchant,
Shylock stole the play.
Despite the
fact he's only in five of the scenes, he entirely composes the play, and what's
always striking is that the fifth act is bereft of any appearance of the Jew.
It makes the ending seem hollow, as the most intriguing character doesn't
resurface in the text. Yet, despite that flaw, Merchant is one of my favorite comedies.
This
particular production, however, had a fascinating premise. While the stage was
deliberately minimalist, the beginning of the performance had the actors coming
on stage and getting into costume in front of the audience. Pulling on hats,
coats, and boots, the characters acted as though they were chatting as they
prepared for the story they were about to tell, with Shylock putting on his
gabardine and beard and yarmulke. His smiles with his fellow coworkers
disappeared as he put the clothing on. They then launched into the play.
As the lovers
all exited from the stage at the end of Act V, Shylock, dressed still in his
religious garb, entered by himself. He opened the trunk in which his costume
was kept and, tears running down his face, he took off his costume--and his
yarmulke--and threw them into the trunk. As the lid slammed, the lights turned
off, perfectly timed. The realization of what the Christians had done echoed
through the theater.
I was floored.
The amount of
complexity that Shylock showed by this simple addition truly broadened my
understanding of the consequence of the play.
With the
matinee over, we headed toward Manti, a two-hour journey. We got there
unscathed, despite nearly being creamed by a FedEx truck that lost control of
its brakes for a while.
In my baggage
was another Harold Bloom book, the pretentious but delightful Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human.
I read over his thoughts on The Merchant
of Venice and, while I didn't agree with all he believed, I enjoyed seeing
another point of view on Shakespeare's works. Gayle, always game to listen to
me ramble aloud, had her own additions that we considered, too, of course, but
neither of us had any real expertise on the matter. With Bloom in my bag, I
could turn to a true Shakespearean savant whenever the mood suited me. I began
to read a play, then read Bloom immediately upon finishing, which certainly
warped the way I consider Shakespeare even to this day.
Comments