With headlines dominated by the financial crisis, porcine influenza pandemic, and international terrorism, it’s not hard to find things to be afraid of today.

Other problems like unchecked nuclear proliferation, global oil depletion, and the destruction of the environment seem to be ever present.

Which of these are real threats and which are distractions? What threats lurk under the radar?

What should we really be panicking about?

One of the wonderful benefits of living in New York is the wide availability of theatre and other cultural events. Of course, my particular interest being Shakespeare, I have easy access to live productions of his work, and if I decide to see a play on a particular evening, I often have my choice of Shakespearean fare. On rare occasions, I have the opportunity to see two different productions of the same play on the same day. This is a special treat, because watching two different interpretations of the same text back-to-back illuminates the choices made by each individual production, and draws out the essentials of the play itself.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to see two productions of one of my favorite plays, Measure for Measure, both in the East Village. I saw a production staged by the Guerrilla Shakespeare Project at the Under St. Marks theatre at 2pm, and a second production staged by the New York Neo-Classical Ensemble at the La Plaza Cultural park at 7:30. Both shows were effective at reaching a small audience who might not be familiar with the play, though they did so in very different ways.

Jacques Roy, directing the Guerrilla Shakespeare Project production, masterfully stripped the play down to its barest elements. The space was a tiny Black Box set-up, and the set consisted only of a few vertical bars that looked like they belonged there, a spool-shaped stool, and about twenty feet of rope that was used in a variety of inventive ways, from defining the space to threatening a hanging. The script was also stripped down so only the main storyline was depicted. Only seven characters survived the cut. As it turned out, that was all that was needed to really tell the story. Gone were Mistress Overdone, Barnardine, Juliet, and Elbow the Constable. The role of Escalus was expanded slightly to absorb the Provost and a few other functional roles, but otherwise only Claudio, Lucio, Mariana, Angelo, Isabella, and the Duke were needed. The cast was fantastic across the board. Kelby T. Akin and Diana Buirski were outstanding in those all-important scenes between Angelo and Isabella, and Tom Schwans absolutely stole the show as Lucio. For me, though, the real stand-out was Kimiye Corwin as Mariana. For me to watch a show I’ve seen a dozen times and feel like I’m watching it for the first time is the greatest compliment I can give, and her performance did that for me. Unfortunately, I saw the final performance, so I’m unable to send you to see it, but this is a company I’d like to keep an eye on in the future.

The New York Neo-Classical production was a free outdoor performance, and it was a beautiful night for it. Under the direction of Steven Stout, the production was very broad and presentational. It felt like it was staged for a much larger arena than the four-leveled stone steps where we were sitting. It occurred to me that this style must have been very much like the original staging of the play in Shakespeare’s time. The production played up the slapstick elements of the play, and the audience was well-entertained. Even the small children who were playing on the steps throughout the performance would pay attention to the action from time to time. Richard Douglass and Ariana Venturi as Angelo and Isabella were able to sustain the more serious moments of the play. She seemed very young, and he looked like he had a good ten years on her, but that just highlighted her innocence and made his advances all the creepier. Also worth mentioning are Michael Bartelle as a more proactive Escalus than I’ve seen before, and Danielle Levanas, who played a number of minor roles (such as Juliet, Froth, and the Servant) but never let you forget she was on stage.

I love this play, but there are certainly problems with it, and one of the really fun things about yesterday was watching how each production dealt with a particular problem in keeping with its own production concept. One good example is the scene where the Duke (disguised as a friar) tries to convince the Provost to postpone Claudio’s execution. After an extended debate, the Duke realizes he’s not getting anywhere and says “Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir; here is the hand and seal of the duke: you know the character, I doubt not, and the signet is not strange to you.” So where did the letter come from? Obviously he wrote it, but if he had it all this time, why go through all of the debate? Roy handled this by eliminating the letter. When the Duke said “Look you, sir; here is the hand and seal of the duke,” he removed his cowl, revealing his identity and creating a very entertaining theatrical moment. In Stout’s much sillier production, the Duke actually turns his back to the Provost and writes the letter in full view of the audience. He then turns back to the Provost, who hasn’t noticed the long pause, and presents the letter.

Another troubling moment of the play is at the very end. After everything has been resolved, the Duke propositions Isabella, which to a modern audience is completely inappropriate after all that she’s been through. I expressed the same problem with the ending in my lipogram summary. In Stout’s production, the Duke delivers these lines quite cavalierly, and scampers off, leaving the rest of the cast on stage slackjawed and dumbfounded by the suggestion. Roy’s solution was simple: he just cut the lines.

As I said, the Guerilla Shakespeare Project production is over, but the New York Neo-Classical production is just getting started. If you like your Shakespearean comedy writ large, it’s well worth checking out.

Not to beat a dead horse or anything…

From The Tempest:

But this rough magic
I here abjure; and, when I have requir’d
Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,—
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I’ll drown my book.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

It’s been fun. I’ve written quirky plays and we’ve had much mirth – even a kind of rebirth.

But I’m done. Rough-hewn London is hectic and grim. The trickier ajar rhythms rear up too much burden. I feel hemmed in by the dramas.

Whatever. As soon as this play is done, I am so out of here.

Will

I subscribe to a service called “SiteMeter” which allows me to see a limited amount of information about my visitors. One thing that I can see is if someone finds my site via a Google search, and what they were searching for.

It’s been a while, but every now and then I check in on what searches people have done to find themselves at Shakespeare Teacher, and to respond to those search terms in the name of fun and public service. All of the following searches brought people to this site in the past week.

Obviously, this depends on how much time you spend reading per day, how quickly you read Shakespeare, and how deeply you want to examine the text. But Macbeth is a play, and is one of Shakespeare’s shorter plays at that. You could probably stage an uncut production in about two and a half hours. A first-time reader should be able to make it through the text in two evenings. Reading it out loud in a group should not take more than four hours, including breaks between acts.

“The Promised End” is the last episode of the Canadian television series Slings & Arrows. As with all Season 3 episodes, the title is taken from King Lear. In the last scene of the play, Lear enters carrying his dead daughter and, in a mixture of delusion and denial, believes it is possible she is still alive. Kent looks at the pathetic scene and laments “Is this the promised end?” After a lifetime of power and majesty, Lear has become an object of pity. And if a king can be reduced to this, what end can the rest of us be promised?

The word analysis makes me think this is a homework assignment, but no matter. Here’s the scene. Othello’s hardly in it, and doesn’t seem all that arrogant to me. Did you mean Iago’s arrogance?

I still get a lot of hits for this. But we should clear up the difference between descendants of the Tudors, and descendants of King Henry VIII. Henry VIII has no known descendants, though the conversation continues. But the Tudor line was founded, not by Henry VIII, but his father, Henry VII. His line continued, not through son Henry, but through daughter Margaret. She was ancestor to all future English monarchs. So there are many, many people descended from the Tudors alive today.

This may be controversial, but I’m not a big fan of teaching King Lear in a K-12 setting. I know there are people who have done wonderful things with it, but I think there are better choices. The themes of the play are really more relevant to more mature audiences. I think kids relate better to young lovers, revenge killings, and battles for power than they do to the strained relationships between aging parents and their adult children. It’s one of the greatest works of literature ever written, but I think it takes some life experience to digest. I’ve only ever taught it once, in an advanced graduate course in Shakespeare, and it was one of the best experiences I’ve ever had teaching Shakespeare.

I admit I could be wrong about this, but I hold this belief firmly. I look forward to one day being convinced otherwise.

This is probably not what you were looking for, but my name is Bill.

I leave the task of responding to the remaining search terms to my readers:

I’m a feat that’s unmatched, for the future to break;
In a corporate meeting, the minutes you take;
I’m a list of a criminal’s every mistake;
Or a musical album an artist might make.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Nicci. See comments for answer.

Lawrence Lessig has been hailed as a man of brilliance and vision. With his recent innovation of e-mail bankruptcy, I am convinced.

I have unreturned e-mail going back almost two years now, and I blame the iPhone. I used to come home, check my e-mail, and respond to the most pressing items right away. Now, I can read my e-mail wherever I am. I can deal with the contents mentally, but I’m not always in a position to respond right away. When I get home now, I look at all of my new e-mail and say “Oh, I read those already.”

I’ve noticed a similar convergence/replacement effect with Facebook. Once I joined, I all but stopped blogging. A daily status update to my 200 closest friends felt like enough of a public presence. Plus, it was less effort on my part, more likely to generate feedback, more likely to reach people I knew, and was more interactive. But my voice was curtailed. I was part of a community, but it wasn’t my own space.

I’m going to continue with Facebook, but I’m back on the blog as well. It just took me a few weeks to sort out this particular convergence. Compared to the e-mail/iPhone problem, I worked this one out relatively quickly.

And now I have about twenty unreturned e-mails on Facebook as well. Ah, convergence…

We come to school expecting answers, but what we really learn is how to ask good questions.

Any work of drama must ask a question. We see it on television all the time. Who killed Laura Palmer? Will Jack Bauer stop the terrorists? What do the “numbers” mean? We also see a number of television shows and movies where the main characters have jobs that require them to ask good questions. Journalists and police detectives are quite common. We see doctors and lawyers in this role too.

When creating dramatic activities for the classroom, it’s often useful to think of the power of the dramatic question. Putting students in roles (like detectives) that ask questions can help stimulate their inquiry process.

Last night was the last class in my Dramatic Activities in the English Classroom course, and I invited my graduate students to write any remaining questions they may have about the course material on an index card, and I would try to address them. One student wrote “Why don’t you post your Macbeth lesson to your website?” – a reference to a lesson on Macbeth that I had demonstrated earlier in the course. So now I share it with you.

This is an actual lesson I have taught many times to introduce Macbeth to a class that is new to it. I originally created it for a fifth-grade class that would be studying the play, but I have taught the lesson in many grades, and in this course many times. The lesson is meant to be taught before the students begin reading the play, so they are not expected to have any prior knowledge.

The students are put in role as police detectives. The teacher is in role as the chief of police. The chief informs the detectives that they will be traveling back in time to the 11th century, and gives them an overview of the crime – Duncan, the King of Scotland, has been murdered. There were nine people in the castle at the time the body was discovered. They must choose which suspects to interview and form a theory of the crime. The chief reviews each of the nine suspects:

MACBETH – The Thane of Glamis and Cawdor. It was his castle at Inverness where the murder took place.
LADY MACBETH – Macbeth’s wife.
MALCOLM – The King’s older son, and the Prince of Cumberland. It is assumed he will become king.
DONALBAIN – The King’s younger son.
BANQUO – Kinsman to Macbeth and Duncan.
FLEANCE – Young son to Banquo.
MACDUFF – The Thane of Fife. He discovered the body.
LENNOX – The Thane of Lennox.
PORTER – Keeper of the gate. Nobody can enter the castle unless the gate is opened from the inside.

The chief asks the detectives who they would like to interview. The detectives vote, and whoever is chosen is played by the teacher, who sits in a chair to indicate the change in role. The detectives interview the suspect and take detailed notes until they are satisfied. They may then choose to interview another suspect, who will also be played by the teacher. At the end of class, students have to write a police report, stating who they believe committed the murder, and why they think so.

Though the interviews, intriguing details emerge. The porter was not at his post all night! There were two other people in the castle, and they were killed by Macbeth after the body was discovered! Malcolm and Donalbain have fled, and are not available for questioning! Other details provoke further questions. Why won’t Macbeth give a straight answer about what he discussed with Banquo on the battlements last night? Were Macbeth and Lady Macbeth both woken by Macduff’s knocking this morning? How did Malcolm respond to hearing his father was murdered?

Obviously, the teacher needs to be very familiar with the play to pull this off. But if done well, it gives the students the opportunity to dig around a little bit in the world of the play before approaching the text. The teacher should not overact the role; the activity should be driven by the questioning of the students. Also, I try to avoid giving any information that’s not in the play, if possible.

It really doesn’t matter who the students ask to talk to. I don’t have any particular information that it’s necessary for students to gain from this activity. The focus is not on giving students any particular answers; the value is in getting them to ask the right questions. And when they leave, they should still have questions. It just might motivate them to want to read the play, and help them understand it better when they do.

In a recent review of Shakespeare and Modern Culture by Marjorie Garber, the Shakespeare Geek mentions that Garber completely dismisses the idea that The Tempest was Shakespeare’s “farewell” play. I thought I’d take a closer look at her argument, and perhaps offer a different perspective, with the greatest of respect.

She cites the passage that is most commonly used to make the claim:

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

She then goes on to praise the high quality of the speech, before turning to the matter at hand:

But what this passage certainly is not is “Shakespeare’s farewell to the stage.” The imagined social pathos of his departure from London – which would not come for more than a year after The Tempest, and after he had written at least one more play, Henry VIII, or All Is True, and possibly parts of some others – is something some readers and commentators have wanted to elicit from these words, for a variety of reasons. So far from being “Shakespeare’s farewell,” it is not even, in the play, “Prospero’s farewell,” since it takes place in the fourth act of a five act play. (14)

So she uses the same argument as Alan that this wasn’t his last play, plus she adds in that the speech comes in Act 4. The rest of her argument basically boils down to ascribing psychological motivations to those who don’t share her certainty.

I can’t say for certain that this play was his farewell to the theatre, but I’m not convinced by this argument that it wasn’t. First of all, it’s not entirely certain whether Shakespeare did write Henry VIII, or under what circumstances. It may have been a collaboration. So what we actually see following The Tempest may very well be an end to Shakespeare’s solo writing career and the beginning of a year-long period of mentoring John Fletcher who would replace him as playwright for the King’s Men. If so, the Shakespeare who wrote The Tempest would have been pretty well geared up for retirement. The fact that it took him an extra year to leave London is just life happening while you’re busy making other plans. And that brings me to my next point. Even if this wasn’t Shakespeare’s last play, he would have no way of knowing so while writing it.

As for the point that the speech is given in Act 4, I don’t see why it should make a difference. Even if the speech isn’t Prospero’s farewell in the play, Shakespeare might be expressing his own sentiments about leaving the theatre in this speech. But if this is still a problem for you, let’s take a look at a speech from Prospero in the final scene of the play:

I have bedimm’d
The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,
And ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault
Set roaring war: to the dread-rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove’s stout oak
With his own bolt: the strong-bas’d promontory
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck’d up
The pine and cedar: graves at my command
Have wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let them forth
By my so potent art. But this rough magic
I here abjure; and, when I have requir’d
Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,—
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I’ll drown my book.

An early quarto continues this speech:

Upon three score and ten I can expect
To end my labors, for I may collect
My years of 401(k) contributions
Through required minimum distributions.

Okay, I made that last part up. And I’m not saying definitively that this play is his farewell to the theatre. I just take exception to Garber saying that it “certainly is not.” That’s always a tough sell when talking about Shakespeare. But I’m interested to hear what you think.

Is The Tempest Shakespeare’s farewell to the theatre?

I learned this morning that Brazilian theatre activist Augusto Boal passed away yesterday at the age of 78. His death has received little attention in the news, which shouldn’t be too surprising, but I thought there was a chance that his Nobel Peace Prize nomination last year might at least get him on Stephanopoulos this morning. It did not.

There are many places on the Internet to learn about Boal, so there’s no need for an obituary from me, but I did want to say a few words about how Boal has impacted my life and my work. I can easily say that Boal’s writings have had a greater influence on me than any other author’s. (Shakespeare doesn’t really count as an influence.) I apologize in advance if this post seems indulgent, but I could think of no better place to record my thoughts about the man whose work has meant so much to me over the years.

In 1993, as a young graduate student, I read Theatre of the Oppressed for a class, and it blew my mind. Boal examines the conception of theatre from Aristotelian, Hegelian, and Brechtian standpoints, and redefines the theatrical event as a political act. Aristotle’s concept of a catharsis, explains Boal, purges the audience of the impulse to act and to make a change in society. The spectator gives away the right to act to another person, who is even referred to as the actor. Just as Paolo Freire before him had demonstrated the need for teachers to learn from their students, breaking down the artificial barrier between them, Boal calls for a new theatre, one where the barrier between actor and spectator is broken down, and the theatrical event increases the impulse to act instead of purging it.

My interest stimulated, I sought out Boal’s other key work, Games for Actors and Non-Actors, which contained a wealth of activities I’ve been able to draw from for the past 15 years. In 1996, I had the opportunity to take a class with Boal himself at the Brecht Forum here in New York City. The class was on the then-new techniques he had developed for using Theatre of the Oppressed techniques for therapeutic purposes. It was an incredible experience. I had read Boal’s book on the subject, The Rainbow of Desire, but wasn’t able to make any sense of it. Actually getting a chance to use the techniques under Boal’s guidance was an invaluable experience I’ll never forget.

Boal was not like I thought he would be. I was expecting him to be a serious revolutionary type, but he had a jovial, even avuncular, demeanor. Even when telling a story about how he was tortured in Brazil, he had such a positive energy and good humour that you’d think he was talking about riding his bicycle in the park. (The punchline was that he was being tortured for going to other countries and saying that Brazil used torture.) He also told us about his recent experiment in what he called legislative theatre. He returned to Brazil (many years after his torture experience) and successfully ran for public office. As an elected official, he had his theatre group conduct Theatre of the Oppressed workshops with the people to learn what they needed, and then he would introduce the ideas into legislation. The experience is chronicled in an entertaining and enlightening way in Boal’s book Legislative Theatre.

In 1997, I started using Boal’s Forum Theatre technique as a staff development activity within the organization where I work. I have since used it in a variety of settings and it remains the sharpest tool in my kit. For a while, it looked like I might do my doctoral dissertation on Boal, though I ended up returning to Shakespeare in the end. But while I was doing my coursework, I was planning to write about Boal, so a great deal of my graduate studies focused on his work.

For the past twelve years, I’ve been teaching a graduate class at NYU on using drama as a teaching tool in the English classroom, and Boal’s influence is ubiquitous. Not only do I devote an entire class session to using Theatre of the Oppressed techniques in the classroom, but a major theme of the course is taken directly from a speech that Boal gave when Paulo Freire died, which I read during the second session of class each year. (The speech can be found in Legislative Theatre.) Boal describes how power relationships too often create a monologue, where only one party has the right to speak. Freire’s insight, according to Boal, is that education is much more effective when it becomes a dialogue between teacher and student. This forms one of the core philosophical principles of my course. The theatrical metaphor is significant, as dramatic activities can empower students to find their voice, drawing upon their prior experience and cultural values. This makes the learning experience more relevant to them.

You may have noticed this blog is more interactive than most. I certainly share my own opinions about the matters at hand, but almost all of my regular features are interactive. This blog is nothing without you. That’s because I believe that the power of Web 2.0 tools is that they break down the barrier between writer and reader. This is a philosophy I may not have embraced if it weren’t for Boal and Freire.

We lost a giant this weekend. But his legacy lives on in me, and the many, many others who have been influenced by his work and his writings. And I invite here all of them who wish to say along with me what Boal said upon Freire’s passing:

I am very sad. I have lost my last father. Now all I have are brothers and sisters.

From The Winter’s Tale:

There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper, but
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Methinks today’s pandemic is not the fiercest I set, because in my era we had the plague.

Swine flu is not as harsh, so cut it out.