Court Masques and the Illustrated Component of Performace

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I’ve been thinking and reading a lot about court masques
this week, specifically about the style Ben Jonson worked to form. For those of
you who don’t know, court masques were theatrical productions for British
nobles containing music, dance, songs, and poetry in varying degrees. In
addition to the dancing, performance, and revels, they included elaborate set
designs and special effects.

Now, I know Jonson isn’t Shakespeare, but they were
contemporaries, and in many ways, the masques were like plays of the time.
Though the two inhabited different spheres, private versus public, and dealt
with different notions of fiction and reality within the space of the
performance, both may be read as literature. By that, I mean that the play
remained isolated, whereas the masque could blur the line between fiction and
reality because many times, nobles themselves would act in the performances.
Other times, the masquers would dance with members of the audience, uniting the
actors and observers in an in-between space of active entertainment. Such an
amalgamation between fictional characters and real life persons sets the tone
for further combinations of different realities.
 

Why, you ask, have I been looking at something that is
definitively not Shakespeare? Well,
it’s because I’ve been finding several items in the Special Collections that
fall into the category of masque using Shakespeare’s plots and/or characters. And
on the note of combining different realities, one in particular performs a sort
of literary mash-up or crossover, making characters from Macbeth and Henry IV
interact with Greek Gods, such as Apollo and Minerva, and even muses, like
Comedy and Tragedy.

 

cast list.JPG

Not only does this masque mix the different worlds of
Shakespeare’s plays, it also combines them with classical mythology. Not only
does this fall into the masque tradition of using Classical figures to augment
the performance, but it sets up Shakespeare as worthy of such comparison. In a
way, the masque suggests that Shakespeare’s characters are as powerful and
everlasting as the Greco-Roman gods.

The court masque, in a way, lives on through printed
editions of Shakespeare’s plays by drawing on the concepts of spectacle,
design, and illustration as accompaniments to the text of a performance. A few
examples show colorful scenes from
The
Tempest
and Macbeth.

 

tempest pic.JPG

macbeth pic.JPG 

Both place the characters in a fictional world, choosing
instead to make the scenes they depict works of literature rather than theatre.
Through these pieces (including the masques), we see a form of genre
manipulation taking place, showing the versatility of Shakespeare’s works. 

That’s just another reason to appreciate Shakespeare. And for further genre manipulation, watch The Lion King (a version of Hamlet), or even take a gander at a graphic novel based on the Bard and his characters (called Kill Shakespeare, and you can find it here through the library).

Hamlet: A Fellow of Infinite Jest

This week’s SpeCol (Special Collections) Scoop comes from the Philbrick Collection, which is a massive collection of drama-related media donated to the school by the Philbrick family. One of these boxes is a collection of sets for toy theaters, which were somewhat like dollhouses with removable backgrounds and paper dolls. From what I can tell, toy theater companies chose short plays, gave plot synopses, usually in one act, provided the backgrounds for each scene, and gave the characters in various necessary positions for the play.

Some of these date back as far as the 1700s, which is, as always, incredible to see. The subject of this blog post, however, is from much more recently – 1948. In 1948 Sir Laurence Olivier did a highly-praised film version of Hamlet, which although an excellent play, is not exactly what I would call kid-friendly. When I was a wee one I enjoyed my fair share of dramatic sword fights, escaping from pirate ships, and even the occasional painful “death,” but, although this play has all these things and more, there are no real winners in Hamlet, except for maybe Fortinbras, who is often deleted from the play. The good guy exists in a morally gray area. This play is predominately about a man questioning himself and those around him, going on an emotional and physical journey that ends in death and sadness. 
There seems to me to be something strange about explaining the trauma of the end of the play in a way that will be most easily actable and accessible for a group of young children. In the plot synopsis: “Finally, while picking flowers alone at the river’s edge, she falls in and is drowned.” It sounds like Ophelia tripped and fell (note the passive “is drowned,” removing all agency for her death!), rather than committing suicide thanks to the betrayal of those she loves and the murder of her father by her lover. Maybe it’s just the judgmental 1950s housewife in me speaking, but I can’t imagine that these emotionally challenging themes would be good play fodder for young children.
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Laertes jousts jauntily with his two swords, preceded by Laertes dying painfully in Osric’s arms
This version of Hamlet brings up some questions for me about what it means to experience the play in this child-friendly way. Is there an age too young for Shakespeare, or is it good to let children know about this classic play from an early age? The criteria for being “old enough” can’t just be that the reader understands Shakespeare, whatever that means; if so, then I don’t think anyone is really old enough for him. It is not possible to understand a work of art, exactly; even if Shakespeare had one interpretation in mind, we can’t know what that was and it isn’t important, because interpretations hold weight regardless of their Elizabethan relevancy. Is it possible that, as my reaction suggests, this and other similar interpretations are “missing the point” if no one can really say what the point is?
Looking at my earlier blog posts, I would have to say yes; just as with that Romeo and Juliet burlesque, my immediate reaction is a shade of disgust that belies a specific expectation for what it means to play Shakespeare. However, I plan with the rest of this summer to dig deeper into my expectations for Shakespeare, and in general, what it means to expect anything from a subjective performance. It isn’t necessarily fair that liberal adaptations have my mistrust, and I want to research how that and other expectations affect the experiences one can have in experiencing his work. Stay tuned for more personal and academic revelations on this theme!

The Fool

I’ve spent a good chunk of my time with King Lear pondering (or maybe just being weirded out by) the king’s Fool. I’m not the first reader to feel the Fool is a bit off. Nahum Tate’s infamous “happy ending” Lear left the character out entirely. The Irving Shakespeare, the same series from which I posted images when I wrote on Measure for Measure, tells us that the Fool was nearly kept out of the revival of Shakespeare’s original plot in 1836. Illustrations of the Fool from that edition, housed in Special Collections, are below:
IMAG0262.jpg
The Fool is often described as a prophetic voice, one that speaks for the play to the audience. I think this plays into what makes the Fool unsettling, at least for myself: the Fool functions in a variety of ways on stage, but it is difficult to ascribe him personal motives at all (whereas other characters certainly have some motive, disputable though it may be). And it isn’t clear that the Fool has emotional responses to what takes place on stage, instead simply providing commentary. 
The Arden Shakespeare’s introductory comments on the Fool, for example, characterize the Fool as “shrewd, witty, and very much a conscious entertainer.” These are, on the one hand, descriptive of a human personality; on the other hand, they do not indicate at all what the Fool cares about, and the Arden commentary does nothing to attempt to answer this. A more emotive description says he “breaks out of every category in which might be fixed. Young or old, humble or aggressive, sad or merry, sensitive or acerbic, most representations of the Fool tend to emphasize his strangeness, his difference from others…”
IMAG0261_1.jpg
The “difference” between the Fool and the other characters is that the Fool is performing–not merely is he played by an actor, but he is of course an actor, and his job is to play a part while the other characters go about their “real” lives. What disturbs me, then, is that we never see him break character. But I use “see” in the sense of the reader, and perhaps the Fool on stage is a different experience–can he really be played as constantly in jest? The above illustration shows a Fool fearful of the looming storm,perhaps suggesting the answer is no.
Is the Fool really “strange” then? It’s difficult to say. Since he’s always acting, we never know how he really acts on his own time. His behavior is strange in the sense that, as Cavell discusses so enjoyably, theater is rather strange behavior. To make an analogy of it, someone might observe and find us to be creatures with emotional depth. But when we went to the theater, that person might wonder why the actors on stage created such an unsettling effect, why they were producing such strange and inaccessible renditions of our own behavior. So it is with us and the Fool; we come to expect a certain kind of theatrical model in which characters, particularly in tragedies, have clear desires and schemes. When one character simply wants to play-act and editorialize, we feel strange indeed.

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The Unscripted Kiss

Early this week I happened upon Special Collections’ Windsor Shakespeare collection, a series of four books with 2-3 plays each inside. This collection is exciting, different from the countless others (people just loooove collecting Shakespeare’s plays), for the performance-based scribblings all up and down the margins of the book, written by Baliol Holloway (1883-1967), a fairly popular Shakespearean actor. In 1921, he performed the role of Bottom/Director in 1921 in A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Stratford-upon-Avon. 
His handwriting is not incredible, unlike some of the beautiful calligraphy I’ve seen in other promptbooks and various letters. Unfortunately, a lot of the likely fascinating production notes in this copy remain a mystery to me. However one note, about the scene in which Hermia finds out that Lysander has deserted her, and confronts Helena, is quite legible, and provides some interesting possibilities for interpretation of the play and the production.
Luckily for many directors, Shakespeare’s in-text stage directions are minimal, which adds a lot of variability to the way actors and directors can take a scene. There are many emotions likely running through at least the non-addled characters in this scene, and the movements directors choose to emphasize create a different feeling for the scene.
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The line that this stage direction goes to belongs to Hermia, the woman whose lover has just inexplicably changed affections: “O me!-you juggler! you canker-blossom! / You thief of love! what, have you come by night / And stol’n my love’s heart from him?” (III.ii) Unfortunately, I can’t know what the production was really like, but even based on these minimal notes it is possible to conjecture some ways the scene played out. The notes seem to say that, after the line “thief of love,” Hermia kisses Lysander, Lysander holds her (probably holds her back from running at Helena, but it could mean anything), and Helena hides behind Demetrius. 
This line is directed at Helena, but the manner of its delivery is up in the air. Is she talking directly to Helena, full eye contact, taking the time to turn and kiss her lover and then yelling once again? Early in the play, Helena is bitter about Hermia’s happiness with her lover; could Hermia be trying futilely to inspire that old bitterness again, by speaking of love and then kissing her man? The kiss could be angry, spiteful, despairing, or pleading. She could be caught up in her memories of love, originally wanting simply to yell at Helena and then seeing her lover and needing to kiss him one more time. Her fire and rage can be interrupted, losing potency, or she could be channeling her feelings towards everyone into the kiss. This one stage direction adds a world of subtle but useful interpretive tools, on top of the inexhaustible possibilities of Shakespeare’s words. 
There is no information about how Lysander (or Hermia!) react to the kiss, nor how entirely Lysander and Demetrius are slaves to the spell, which can be shown through body language and subtle cues. That sort of decision can only be made in the play, for those watching and those acting, but I believe that unpredictability and potential for interpretation both as actor and audience are essential parts of Shakespeare performance and scholarly study. The possibilities are endless.

Appreciating the process

Another week gone by, and more folders to create. 

The process can certainly feel repetitive at times, but as I have gone “deeper and deeper” into the collection, it is fun to see some similarities between certain folders, including overlap between topics, articles, events, etc. in order to pair them together and arrange the folders accordingly. Because Professor Miller has written extensively on contemporary issues, including weekly columns for publications such as Que Pasa (as demonstrated last week), it has been extremely interesting to notice some “hot topics” that he has written about more than others. Some examples are the contentious, and extremely relevant, debates regarding immigration laws as well as environmental issues such as climate change. Although I cannot get too carried away reading many of the articles while processing the collection, it has still been enlightening to get a grasp on the articles’ themes and in some cases see the development of important issues over several years in which Char has written. 
By simply paying attention to each folder’s contents by the titles of many articles or essays alone, I have been able to pair many folders together – by title – which should hopefully aid a future researcher in finding much of Char’s work on a specific person, topic, or theme in one “spot.” Of course, this doesn’t always work so seamlessly. Certain folders may require a specific title for a variety of reasons. 
But, getting an understanding of the different areas of expertise exemplified through Char Miller’s work, and how they have been incorporated into debates of contemporary issues and politics, has certainly brought an even greater appreciation for the work I am doing. Not only am I gaining more and more practice at processing an archival collection every day, but I feel as though I am learning something from the collection itself. That aspect has been an added bonus and a fun, enlightening way to “plug through” the repetition. 
Looking forward to seeing what comes next!
 

The Third and Final SURP/CCEP Researcher Chimes In

I’m Alana, a rising Senior, English major, and Writing Fellow at Pomona College. Just two weeks ago, I returned home to sunny SoCal after 6 months in Cambridge, UK. Currently, I’m part-time (but that may change; we’ll see). Anyway, in addition to curating exhibits and working in CCEPs with Emma and Pieter, I’m also going to use this library time to get started on my thesis examining magical language in Shakespeare’s plays. 

When I’ve told people that I’ll be writing about Shakespeare (and will possibly be pursuing a Master’s in it as well), I’ve gotten two reactions. 1) That’s awesome! or 2) Ew, Shakespeare is no fun. Well, part of what my aim for this blog is to make the latter group see is that Shakespeare is fun. For example, take a look at this picture of an actor portraying Richard III.

Sassy Richard III.jpeg

Just look at his facial expression and body position and try to tell me that he’s boring. There’s so much sass. 

More that just this picture, though, I’ve come across a few cool illustrations while searching for a direction for my research. One (see below) is from The Tempest, one of the magic plays and one of Shakespeare’s last plays. In this one, Prospero commands certain natural forces and spirits of this abandoned island, and we can see the extent of his power in this image from a 1871 decorative edition of Shakespeare’s works.

Tempest Illustrated.jpeg

 This same edition contains this image (see below), featuring the Bard himself (again, look at that body position and tell me this is serious). As the creator, Shakespeare sits with some of his characters, including the transformed Bottom (he’s the donkey) from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The banner at the top asserts something we have seen come true: Shakespeare has endured for all time (so far).

Illustrated Title for Shakes.jpg

There’s a whimsical feel to this picture and places Shakespeare in the same plane as his characters, possibly suggesting that they exist in the same world. Considering how writer had come to be “our immortal Shakespeare,” it is no surprise to see him placed in the same plane as his characters (from the Proem of F.G. Waldron’s The Virgin Queen: A Drama in 5 Acts; Attempted as a Sequel to Shakespeare’s Tempest. 1797).

 Along these lines, I found a masque called Shakespeare’s Jubilee (1769) which places characters from plays like Macbeth, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and The Tempest in one common setting, one which the bard eventually enters. Not only does this masque reflect trends of people imitating his works, it represents a fictionalization of the writer into an idea subject to creative manipulation rather than a static historical figure.

(The Bard, right there in the masque with characters he created.)

 I don’t know about you, but I think that’s pretty cool. If you do, too, please stick around for more posts to come. It’s nice to make your Internet acquaintance! 

Alana