Thursday, June 28, 2007

Parting is such sweet sorrow?

In a horror movie, why doesn’t the girl (and it is usually a girl – perhaps because horror movie screenwriters believe that girls scream better than do boys) leave the haunted house/spooky room/ freaky cave/weird woods and so on as quickly as she possibly can?

The most obvious answer – and probably, in some cases, the true one) is that there would be no more movie if she (or, occasionally, he) left at that point.

The same sort of question must be asked of Juliet. Why, when Romeo is banished and living in the next town, does she not follow and go to live with him? After all, they are man and wife and, according to her protestations, she is deeply in love with him. Her motivation to stay must be stronger than is her desire to leave.

If that is so, and her continued stay in her father’s house is not merely a plot device, then what is the reason?

She is demonstrably and genuinely upset that Romeo has killed her cousin, Tybalt, but she recovers from this relatively rapidly even though she pretends to mourn until she has to admit to her mother that it is her separation from Romeo that is saddening her rather than grief over Tybalt. However, this state of grief over Romeo being banished can only be regarded as contributory to her inaction rather than causal.

After they spend the night together, Romeo does not suggest she comes with him, presumably because Friar Lawrence has counselled him to wait until the marriage may be announced and a pardon from the Prince obtained. She does not suggest eloping with him and, when her mother comes to her rooms to inform her of the arranged marriage to Count Paris, she no longer has the opportunity. Just prior to the meeting with her mother she even says to him, “Ohh, do you think we’ll ever meet again?”.

Once her mother has spoken to her regarding her impending second marriage and Juliet informs Lady Capulet of her love for Romeo, her father enters and, once he learns that she does not wish to marry Paris, threatens to disown her and throw her onto the streets if she does not marry Paris. Neither her mother nor her nurse offer any succour.

For a young girl of that period being disowned was very serious. Female relatives – wives, daughters, sisters and so on – were regarded as the property (goods and chattels) of the man of the household and, for him to relinquish or absolve himself of such ownership was, to say the least, undesirable. Without a dowry, Juliet would have no money of her own and, if Montague, Romeo’s father had disinherited him as well after the killing of Tybalt (or if the fines the Prince had levied had been severe), Juliet could not look forward to a life with Romeo conducted in the merchant class style she was accustomed to. Indeed, they both would have been condemned to a life of penury.

However, this is not suggested within the play itself and, unless it was generally accepted by the audience that such would be the normal consequences of a girl being disowned, it does not suffice as the answer to why she stayed.
So, the hundred pound question is – why did Juliet stay?
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The Cursed Play?

The Curse of the Play
BY ROBERT FAIRES

The lore surrounding Macbeth and its supernatural power begins with the play's creation in 1606. According to some, Shakespeare wrote the tragedy to ingratiate himself to King James I, who had succeeded Elizabeth I only a few years before. In addition to setting the play on James' home turf, Scotland, Will chose to give a nod to one of the monarch's pet subjects, demonology (James had written a book on the subject that became a popular tool for identifying witches in the 17th century). Shakespeare incorporated a trio of spell-casting women into the drama and gave them a set of spooky incantations to recite. Alas, the story goes that the spells Will included in Macbeth were lifted from an authentic black-magic ritual and that their public display did not please the folks for whom these incantations were sacred. Therefore, they retaliated with a curse on the show and all its productions.
Those doing the cursing must have gotten an advance copy of the script or caught a rehearsal because legend has it that the play's infamous ill luck set in with its very first performance. John Aubrey, who supposedly knew some of the men who performed with Shakespeare in those days, has left us with the report that a boy named Hal Berridge was to play Lady Macbeth at the play's opening on August 7, 1606. Unfortunately, he was stricken with a sudden fever and died. It fell to the playwright himself to step into the role.
It's been suggested that James was not that thrilled with the play, as it was not performed much in the century after. Whether or not that's the case, when it was performed, the results were often calamitous. In a performance in Amsterdam in 1672, the actor in the title role is said to have used a real dagger for the scene in which he murders Duncan and done the deed for real. The play was revived in London in 1703, and on the day the production opened, England was hit with one of the most violent storms in its history.
As time wore on, the catastrophes associated with the play just kept piling up like Macbeth's victims. At a performance of the play in 1721, a nobleman who was watching the show from the stage decided to get up in the middle of a scene, walk across the stage, and talk to a friend. The actors, upset by this, drew their swords and drove the nobleman and his friends from the theatre. Unfortunately for them, the noblemen returned with the militia and burned the theatre down. In 1775, Sarah Siddons took on the role of Lady Macbeth and was nearly ravaged by a disapproving audience. It was Macbeth that was being performed inside the Astor Place Opera House the night of May 10, 1849, when a crowd of more than 10,000 New Yorkers gathered to protest the appearance of British actor William Charles Macready. (He was engaged in a bitter public feud with an American actor, Edwin Forrest.) The protest escalated into a riot, leading the militia to fire into the crowd. Twenty-three people were killed, 36 were wounded, and hundreds were injured. And it was Macbeth that Abraham Lincoln chose to take with him on board the River Queen on the Potomac River on the afternoon of April 9, 1865. The president was reading passages aloud to a party of friends, passages which happened to follow the scene in which Duncan is assassinated. Within a week, Lincoln himself was dead by a murderer's hand.
In the last 135 years, the curse seems to have confined its mayhem to theatre people engaged in productions of the play.
· In 1882, on the closing night of one production, an actor named J. H. Barnes was engaged in a scene of swordplay with an actor named William Rignold when Barnes accidentally thrust his sword directly into Rignold's chest. Fortunately a doctor was in attendance, but the wound was supposedly rather serious.
· In 1926, Sybil Thorndike was almost strangled by an actor.
· During the first modern-dress production at the Royal Court Theatre in London in 1928, a large set fell down, injuring some members of the cast seriously, and a fire broke out in the dress circle.
· In the early Thirties, theatrical grande dame Lillian Boylis took on the role of Lady Macbeth but died on the day of final dress rehearsal. Her portrait was hung in the theatre and some time later, when another production of the play was having its opening, the portrait fell from the wall.
· In 1934, actor Malcolm Keen turned mute onstage, and his replacement, Alistair Sim, like Hal Berridge before him, developed a high fever and had to be hospitalized.
· In 1936, when Orson Welles produced his "voodoo Macbeth," set in 19th-century Haiti, his cast included some African drummers and a genuine witch doctor who were not happy when critic Percy Hammond blasted the show. It is rumored that they placed a curse on him. Hammond died within a couple of weeks.
· In 1937, a 30-year-old Laurence Olivier was rehearsing the play at the Old Vic when a 25-pound stage weight crashed down from the flies, missing him by inches. In addition, the director and the actress playing Lady Macduff were involved in a car accident on the way to the theatre, and the proprietor of the theatre died of a heart attack during the dress rehearsal.
· In 1942, a production headed by John Gielgud suffered three deaths in the cast -- the actor playing Duncan and two of the actresses playing the Weird Sisters -- and the suicide of the costume and set designer.
· In 1947, actor Harold Norman was stabbed in the swordfight that ends the play and died as a result of his wounds. His ghost is said to haunt the Colliseum Theatre in Oldham, where the fatal blow was struck. Supposedly, his spirit appears on Thursdays, the day he was killed.
· In 1948, Diana Wynard was playing Lady Macbeth at Stratford and decided to play the sleepwalking scene with her eyes closed; on opening night, before a full audience, she walked right off the stage, falling 15 feet. Amazingly, she picked herself up and finished the show.
· In 1953, Charlton Heston starred in an open-air production in Bermuda. On opening night, when the soldiers storming Macbeth's castle were to burn it to the ground onstage, the wind blew the smoke and flames into the audience, which ran away. Heston himself suffered severe burns in his groin and leg area from tights that were accidentally soaked in kerosene.
· In 1955, Olivier was starring in the title role in a pioneering production at Stratford and during the big fight with Macduff almost blinded fellow actor Keith Michell.
· In a production in St. Paul, Minnesota, the actor playing Macbeth dropped dead of heart failure during the first scene of Act III.
· In 1988, the Broadway production starring Glenda Jackson and Christoper Plummer is supposed to have gone through three directors, five Macduffs, six cast changes, six stage managers, two set designers, two lighting designers, 26 bouts of flu, torn ligaments, and groin injuries. (The numbers vary in some reports.)
· In 1998, in the Off-Broadway production starring Alec Baldwin and Angela Bassett, Baldwin somehow sliced open the hand of his Macduff.
Add to these the long list of actors, from Lionel Barrymore in the 1920s to Kelsey Grammer just this year, who have attempted the play only to be savaged by critics as merciless as the Scottish lord himself.
To many theatre people, the curse extends beyond productions of the play itself. Simply saying the name of the play in a theatre invites disaster. (You're free to say it all you want outside theatres; the curse doesn't apply.) The traditional way around this is to refer to the play by one of its many nicknames: "the Scottish Play," "the Scottish Tragedy," "the Scottish Business," "the Comedy of Glamis," "the Unmentionable," or just "That Play." If you do happen to speak the unspeakable title while in a theatre, you are supposed to take immediate action to dispel the curse lest it bring ruin on whatever production is up or about to go up. The most familiar way, as seen in the Ronald Harwood play and film The Dresser, is for the person who spoke the offending word to leave the room, turn around three times to the right, spit on the ground or over each shoulder, then knock on the door of the room and ask for permission to re-enter it. Variations involve leaving the theatre completely to perform the ritual and saying the foulest word you can think of before knocking and asking for permission to re-enter. Some say you can also banish the evils brought on by the curse simply by yelling a stream of obscenities or mumbling the phrase "Thrice around the circle bound, Evil sink into the ground." Or you can turn to Will himself for assistance and cleanse the air with a quotation from Hamlet:
"Angels and Ministers of Grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Being with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape that I will speak to thee."
Neither director of the current Austin productions has encountered the Macbeth curse personally, although Guy Roberts says that he did "produce a very bad version of the play when I was the artistic director of the Mermaid Theatre Company in New York. But in that case I think we were only cursed by our own inability." Marshall Maresca says that when he was in the 1998 production of Julius Caesar at the Vortex, "Mick D'arcy and I would taunt the curse, call it on. Before the show, everyone would shake hands, say, 'Good show' or 'Break a leg' or the like. Mick and I would look right at each other and just say, 'Macbeth.'"
For additional reference on the Macbeth curse, see Richard Huggett's Supernatural on Stage: Ghosts and Superstitions in the Theatre (NY, Taplinger, 1975).
http://www.austinchronicle.com/gyrobase/Issue/story?oid=oid%3A78882

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Which witch is which?

It is quite likely that the three Witches of M*****h (or three Weird – or Wyrd – sisters) were based on three demi-goddesses gifted with all-knowing powers (knowledge of past, present and future) and who are part of both Greek and Norse myth. In Greek myth they were the Fates and were called Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos; in Norse myth they were the Norns or Sisters of Wyrd and were called Urdhr, Verdandi and Skuld.

One of the Shakespeare’s sources may have been a story of noblemen who conspired with witches against King Duff but, by establishing that there are three of them, he taps into the associations of the above as well as all of the associations of the number three. At the temple of Apollo the Pythia sat on the god's tripod to deliver her oracular responses, the trident of Poseidon (the Minoan Poteidan whose name means ‘husband of the goddess Da-nu’ and whose worship reaches back to at least 7000 BC) was a magical weapon, and luck, especially bad luck, is said to come in threes.

According to legend, M*****h was first performed at Hampton Court in 1606 for King James I and his brother-in-law, King Christian IV of Denmark, and was clearly designed to appeal to King James. Was this performance Shakespeare’s attempt to cater (even pander) to a relatively new monarch with royal Scottish ancestry – Shakespeare re-wrote history in order to hide James’ ancestor, Banquo’s, role in the plot to assassinate King Duncan? Did he realise that King James had an antipathy towards witches? In 1604, Dr. John Dee had petitioned James for protection from accusations made against him. However, James was unsympathetic to anything linked with magic and witchcraft since he had participated in the 1590 trials of the North Berwick Witches saying that a coven of them had assembled to conjure up a storm to drown him and his new wife Anne of Denmark as they sailed up the Firth of Forth to Leith. In 1597 he published his famed and influential ‘Demonology’ that placed a curse on the next two centuries. (Although King James ceased believing in witchcraft later in his life, between 1590 to 1690 an estimated 3,400 people were burned as witches in Scotland). But James also had an especial dislike of political assassination, even of out-and-out tyrants such as the Roman emperor Nero and Nebuchadnezzar II.

M*****h combined his two major fears – treason and witchcraft. Yet, James did not ban it – although we have no evidence it was performed again until its brief revival in 1611 when Richard Burbage (c.1567-1619) played the title role at the Globe on 20 April, an event that Simon Forman recorded in his Book of Plaies. The next recorded performance was in 1663, by William Davenant's company, the Duke of York's Servants, at Lincoln Inn's Fields.
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