Marks
Over the last few days I have received marks and feedback for the essays I submitted back in January. All were either high Merit (68) or Distinction. (72) That's OK, though obviously I'd have liked an extra couple of marks. I am still struggling with the very short word-count the Shakespeare Institute requires. I'm sharing the 2,000 word essay for the core course Shakespeare and Theatre.
Title: Discuss the role of spectacle and/or special effects in either two of Shakespeare’s plays from a historical perspective or in at least one modern production (stage or film).
While Shakespeare uses the term ‘spectacle’ only in a negative sense, as a picture of death and disaster , in his later plays visual spectacle became increasingly essential to performance. The private theatres exploited some of the design elements introduced and developed in the Court masques which had become notably more complex in the decade after James I ascended the throne, and where possible the older-style public playhouses also adapted the techniques. The Tempest offered significant opportunities for visual spectacle, accompanied by music and other auditory effects, and continues to do so for a modern director. To a modern audience “spectacle” tends to imply something which is visually unexpected and extravagant, normally involving a larger scale than is normal in current theatrical productions. Visual grandeur is important, and is often accompanied by impressive aural effects, but to be truly effective they must both be seen to be intimately connected to the essential theme of the play, not merely “full of sound and fury.”
In the summer of 2002 the Royal Shakespeare Company, having abandoned the tenancy of the Barbican Theatre, took over the Roundhouse in Camden, London, for a sequence of productions of Shakespeare’s last plays. Michael Boyd, later to be appointed Artistic Director of the company, had the task of directing The Tempest for this venue which, as Charles Spencer described it in his Telegraph review, is a “cavernously atmospheric Victorian engine shed” , once used as a turntable for railway engines, but used as a performance space since the 1960s. The huge void requires deft design if it is not to overwhelm both production and audience, and thus diminish the sense of theatrical spectacle. It was important to use height as well as breadth and depth, so that the action gave a sense of ‘filling’ the space. Boyd enlisted the design skills of Tom Piper for that purpose.
On his blog, Piper discusses an aspect of his design which made sense to him: “I began working on the design shortly after 9/11 so the image of a ship of state as an abstracted tower that was blown apart by the storm resonated strongly”. Furthermore, the first half of 2002 was a period of political turmoil on the world stage and within the RSC; Adrian Noble resigned as Artistic Director a week before the play previewed, after a lengthy period of controversy within and beyond the Company. A coalition of Western forces, led by the USA, had entered Afghanistan in the previous year in direct response to the World Trade Centre atrocities Piper refers to. In such contexts Boyd’s use of the play to explore issues of power, leadership, colonialism and exploitation seems particularly apposite, and several of the most spectacular moments in the production could be seen to be linked to more than one of these.
The opening storm scene is frequently noisy and full of characters running and shouting, with scenery crashing; on this occasion there was, conversely, “an eerie, ominous calm” , so that the words were clearly audible. The use of a trap allowed the Boatswain to enter from below the acting space, while the King and his nobles were suspended well above it, the royal robe, lined with gold fabric, hanging down some considerable distance. The extremes of social distinction were thus presented visually even as the text and action disrupted them. Aerialists played the roles of ordinary mariners, swinging from ropes and climbing ladders, which became disengaged from their mountings to create the illusion of extreme danger, while two clusters of tube lights ‘opened up’, joined only at the base to suggest further disintegration. The wedge-shaped platform moved up and down and from side to side signalling the rough seas. As the storm appeared to intensify, patchy spot lighting combined with green uplighting through the trap to create a disturbing effect, enhanced by loud drumming, while the twisting and writhing of the aerialists and lashing about of ‘loose’ ropes emphasised the peril the occupants of the ship appeared to face. The golden robe remained utterly still throughout the action sequence, so that the disconnection of the royal party from the realities of the situation and the pointlessness of such symbols of dominance were constantly expressed.
There was thus an immediate contrast with the second scene, as Prospero explained the situation to his daughter. The wedge-shaped area became simply a raised acting platform which linked to a runway at the level of the lowest row of audience seating, which made it easy to see facial expressions and feel involved in the action. The debris of the shipwreck, in the form of ladders and ropes remained visible, while Prospero’s account of his usurpation was illustrated by a procession of the aristocrats led by the King, whose train, still extraordinarily, ridiculously, long, was carried by two courtiers. Again, Boyd and Piper made impressive use of visual elements to focus on aspects of the dialogue and thematic implications. The performers, acrobatic mariners during the storm were effectively transformed into spirits - perhaps the corpses of the drowned sailors or Prospero’s minions; there seemed little point in distinguishing.
It is hardly new to consider this play in the light of Post-Colonial theory and the long history of imperialism, as John Gross pointed out in his Sunday Telegraph review . The presentation of Ariel and Caliban, the original inhabitants and owners of the island, in this production fitted well into this approach. One of the simplest yet very powerful moments was the use of a long pole with a ragged piece of red fabric on it, used by Caliban in Act III Sc ii. The “spirits” created further confusion during this scene, picking up and moving players (in one case rotating Trinculo 360°) making their status as puppets very obvious, and joining in the raucous ‘catch’ at the end. The most visually effective moment, however, was Caliban’s use of his ‘flag’ as he shouted “Freedom!”, echoing Delacroix’s painting of Liberty , before shouting “This island’s mine!” as the lights snapped to blackout. By this stage, too, Ariel’s initial neat doublet and hose had lost the sleeves, revealing five cicatrices on her left arm, which also had a tie of (apparently) hessian twine tied round it at bicep level. As Caliban was deludedly making claim to freedom and presuming a non-existent equality with his lower-class but still imperialist oppressors, Ariel seemed to be moving visually away from hers. Caliban in his early appearances seemed barbaric and subhuman, controlled not only by a chain and harness but also by a metal slave-ring around his neck; towards the end of the play he seemed to have achieved an impressive dignity which fitted particularly well with the “Be not afeard” speech; Ariel moved from a neat, subservient figure, all in white, to a determined, self-determined individual adopting a deliberately non-Western guise.
In performances during Shakespeare’s lifetime the masque and anti-masque sequences offered the greatest scope for visual spectacle, and to some extent this was the case in this production. The anti-masque, in which the aristocrats are offered, then denied, food, became an impressive and powerful sequence in which the ‘civilised’ men at the pinnacle of their society were revealed to be the true savages on the island. The opening of the banquet scene was a beautiful, highly stylised sequence in which a circle of ‘spirits’ passed large watermelons from hand to hand in a highly balletic, ritualised way, with a swan’s neck and head forming the centrepiece. As the men reached for the fruit, however, they fought for it and ripped the melons open, smearing their faces with the juices and trying to tear chunks from the centrepiece. At the same moment the ‘swan’ rose, becoming Ariel, whose white wings and back contrasted dramatically with the crimson belly, a bloodbag which burst in order to coat the diners still more liberally in red. The scene transformed from beauty into bloodbath as the aristocrats were berated for their greed - explicitly, their participation in the usurpation of Prospero’s duchy, but in terms of the visual message the wanton destruction of a paradise. They are “men of sin” who are “most unfit to live” as they cower before Ariel’s harpy, and in this production they were coated in a mixture of blood and fruit which emphasised their savagery and ludicrous unfitness to rule anything, including themselves. Charles Spencer described it as a “hideous orgy of blood and greed”; it was also an indictment of “civilised men” and their misuse of power in a broader comment on the imperialist project.
The formal wedding masque with which the union of Ferdinand and Miranda is celebrated was markedly more controversial. Some critics found the mixture of broad comedy and breathtaking aerialism enchanting, but others found it crude: Benedict Nightingale dismissed it as “comically camp”, for example. Before the movement sequences started, Prospero set the tone with the instruction, “No tongue,” quite evidently a comment and instruction based on the kissing of the lovers rather than the command for silence implied by the text. Kananu Kirimi, as Ariel, took the role of Iris, messenger of the goddesses, in spotless white and sang most of her words lyrically, with a delicate musical accompaniment. The roles of Ceres and Juno, however, were performed by men dressed in garish colours and female clothes with enormous head-dresses reminiscent of the late seventeenth century fontange. Juno was lowered to the acting space while sitting on the throne which had been occupied at the start of the play by Alonso, and the trio were joined by two further attendants wearing hawk-headed masks, as if other, stranger deities were also blessing the match.
Up to this point the effect, though striking, was predominantly comic. The entrance of the Reapers initially seemed to continue this, as the “spirits”, once more performed by the acrobats, cascaded through the audience, leaping over rails, and with impressive skill threw each other, tumbled, flipped and swung from the ropes and ladders still part of the set from the shipwreck onwards. While a literary analysis might interpret them as symbols of fertility, here they were an explosion of joy in physicality, a direct challenge to the formal purity advocated by the drag-queen goddesses who seemed like a painted irrelevance. The final section, however, went well beyond the realm of the comic, into an astonishing and moving display of virtuosity. Two performers ascended a pair of hanging loops and, twisting and swinging, entangled their bodies, meeting and separating rhythmically. In the production reports this sequence is consistently called “The Flying Fuck” ; on the recorded performance, as at the performance attended by the present author, there was an initial sense of discomfort, of embarrassed giggling, in the audience, but in each case this was followed by an enraptured silence, total absorption in an arresting, almost euphoric, spectacle. Prospero seemed forced to step in to stop the vision because, from his perspective, it had got out of hand; a formal representation of chastity, fidelity and marital fertility had become an explicit celebration of joyous sexuality beyond societal control, arguably returning the characters, and the audience, to a prelapsarian sense of innocence contrasting with the innuendo and farce of the goddesses.
The production as a whole drew heavily on the balletic and acrobatic skills of a carefully-selected group of highly-trained performers to impressive effect. They also significantly contributed to the dominant themes of the production - the corruption of so-called civilised society and the damage caused by the thoughtless assumption of superiority implicit in Western imperialism. The spectacle induced thoughtfulness as well as entertainment, as all the best should do. Despite a few negative reviews and lower audience numbers than might have been desired the production can be accounted a successful integration of intelligent reading of the text and demonstration of exceptional visual effects.
Title: Discuss the role of spectacle and/or special effects in either two of Shakespeare’s plays from a historical perspective or in at least one modern production (stage or film).
While Shakespeare uses the term ‘spectacle’ only in a negative sense, as a picture of death and disaster , in his later plays visual spectacle became increasingly essential to performance. The private theatres exploited some of the design elements introduced and developed in the Court masques which had become notably more complex in the decade after James I ascended the throne, and where possible the older-style public playhouses also adapted the techniques. The Tempest offered significant opportunities for visual spectacle, accompanied by music and other auditory effects, and continues to do so for a modern director. To a modern audience “spectacle” tends to imply something which is visually unexpected and extravagant, normally involving a larger scale than is normal in current theatrical productions. Visual grandeur is important, and is often accompanied by impressive aural effects, but to be truly effective they must both be seen to be intimately connected to the essential theme of the play, not merely “full of sound and fury.”
In the summer of 2002 the Royal Shakespeare Company, having abandoned the tenancy of the Barbican Theatre, took over the Roundhouse in Camden, London, for a sequence of productions of Shakespeare’s last plays. Michael Boyd, later to be appointed Artistic Director of the company, had the task of directing The Tempest for this venue which, as Charles Spencer described it in his Telegraph review, is a “cavernously atmospheric Victorian engine shed” , once used as a turntable for railway engines, but used as a performance space since the 1960s. The huge void requires deft design if it is not to overwhelm both production and audience, and thus diminish the sense of theatrical spectacle. It was important to use height as well as breadth and depth, so that the action gave a sense of ‘filling’ the space. Boyd enlisted the design skills of Tom Piper for that purpose.
On his blog, Piper discusses an aspect of his design which made sense to him: “I began working on the design shortly after 9/11 so the image of a ship of state as an abstracted tower that was blown apart by the storm resonated strongly”. Furthermore, the first half of 2002 was a period of political turmoil on the world stage and within the RSC; Adrian Noble resigned as Artistic Director a week before the play previewed, after a lengthy period of controversy within and beyond the Company. A coalition of Western forces, led by the USA, had entered Afghanistan in the previous year in direct response to the World Trade Centre atrocities Piper refers to. In such contexts Boyd’s use of the play to explore issues of power, leadership, colonialism and exploitation seems particularly apposite, and several of the most spectacular moments in the production could be seen to be linked to more than one of these.
The opening storm scene is frequently noisy and full of characters running and shouting, with scenery crashing; on this occasion there was, conversely, “an eerie, ominous calm” , so that the words were clearly audible. The use of a trap allowed the Boatswain to enter from below the acting space, while the King and his nobles were suspended well above it, the royal robe, lined with gold fabric, hanging down some considerable distance. The extremes of social distinction were thus presented visually even as the text and action disrupted them. Aerialists played the roles of ordinary mariners, swinging from ropes and climbing ladders, which became disengaged from their mountings to create the illusion of extreme danger, while two clusters of tube lights ‘opened up’, joined only at the base to suggest further disintegration. The wedge-shaped platform moved up and down and from side to side signalling the rough seas. As the storm appeared to intensify, patchy spot lighting combined with green uplighting through the trap to create a disturbing effect, enhanced by loud drumming, while the twisting and writhing of the aerialists and lashing about of ‘loose’ ropes emphasised the peril the occupants of the ship appeared to face. The golden robe remained utterly still throughout the action sequence, so that the disconnection of the royal party from the realities of the situation and the pointlessness of such symbols of dominance were constantly expressed.
There was thus an immediate contrast with the second scene, as Prospero explained the situation to his daughter. The wedge-shaped area became simply a raised acting platform which linked to a runway at the level of the lowest row of audience seating, which made it easy to see facial expressions and feel involved in the action. The debris of the shipwreck, in the form of ladders and ropes remained visible, while Prospero’s account of his usurpation was illustrated by a procession of the aristocrats led by the King, whose train, still extraordinarily, ridiculously, long, was carried by two courtiers. Again, Boyd and Piper made impressive use of visual elements to focus on aspects of the dialogue and thematic implications. The performers, acrobatic mariners during the storm were effectively transformed into spirits - perhaps the corpses of the drowned sailors or Prospero’s minions; there seemed little point in distinguishing.
It is hardly new to consider this play in the light of Post-Colonial theory and the long history of imperialism, as John Gross pointed out in his Sunday Telegraph review . The presentation of Ariel and Caliban, the original inhabitants and owners of the island, in this production fitted well into this approach. One of the simplest yet very powerful moments was the use of a long pole with a ragged piece of red fabric on it, used by Caliban in Act III Sc ii. The “spirits” created further confusion during this scene, picking up and moving players (in one case rotating Trinculo 360°) making their status as puppets very obvious, and joining in the raucous ‘catch’ at the end. The most visually effective moment, however, was Caliban’s use of his ‘flag’ as he shouted “Freedom!”, echoing Delacroix’s painting of Liberty , before shouting “This island’s mine!” as the lights snapped to blackout. By this stage, too, Ariel’s initial neat doublet and hose had lost the sleeves, revealing five cicatrices on her left arm, which also had a tie of (apparently) hessian twine tied round it at bicep level. As Caliban was deludedly making claim to freedom and presuming a non-existent equality with his lower-class but still imperialist oppressors, Ariel seemed to be moving visually away from hers. Caliban in his early appearances seemed barbaric and subhuman, controlled not only by a chain and harness but also by a metal slave-ring around his neck; towards the end of the play he seemed to have achieved an impressive dignity which fitted particularly well with the “Be not afeard” speech; Ariel moved from a neat, subservient figure, all in white, to a determined, self-determined individual adopting a deliberately non-Western guise.
In performances during Shakespeare’s lifetime the masque and anti-masque sequences offered the greatest scope for visual spectacle, and to some extent this was the case in this production. The anti-masque, in which the aristocrats are offered, then denied, food, became an impressive and powerful sequence in which the ‘civilised’ men at the pinnacle of their society were revealed to be the true savages on the island. The opening of the banquet scene was a beautiful, highly stylised sequence in which a circle of ‘spirits’ passed large watermelons from hand to hand in a highly balletic, ritualised way, with a swan’s neck and head forming the centrepiece. As the men reached for the fruit, however, they fought for it and ripped the melons open, smearing their faces with the juices and trying to tear chunks from the centrepiece. At the same moment the ‘swan’ rose, becoming Ariel, whose white wings and back contrasted dramatically with the crimson belly, a bloodbag which burst in order to coat the diners still more liberally in red. The scene transformed from beauty into bloodbath as the aristocrats were berated for their greed - explicitly, their participation in the usurpation of Prospero’s duchy, but in terms of the visual message the wanton destruction of a paradise. They are “men of sin” who are “most unfit to live” as they cower before Ariel’s harpy, and in this production they were coated in a mixture of blood and fruit which emphasised their savagery and ludicrous unfitness to rule anything, including themselves. Charles Spencer described it as a “hideous orgy of blood and greed”; it was also an indictment of “civilised men” and their misuse of power in a broader comment on the imperialist project.
The formal wedding masque with which the union of Ferdinand and Miranda is celebrated was markedly more controversial. Some critics found the mixture of broad comedy and breathtaking aerialism enchanting, but others found it crude: Benedict Nightingale dismissed it as “comically camp”, for example. Before the movement sequences started, Prospero set the tone with the instruction, “No tongue,” quite evidently a comment and instruction based on the kissing of the lovers rather than the command for silence implied by the text. Kananu Kirimi, as Ariel, took the role of Iris, messenger of the goddesses, in spotless white and sang most of her words lyrically, with a delicate musical accompaniment. The roles of Ceres and Juno, however, were performed by men dressed in garish colours and female clothes with enormous head-dresses reminiscent of the late seventeenth century fontange. Juno was lowered to the acting space while sitting on the throne which had been occupied at the start of the play by Alonso, and the trio were joined by two further attendants wearing hawk-headed masks, as if other, stranger deities were also blessing the match.
Up to this point the effect, though striking, was predominantly comic. The entrance of the Reapers initially seemed to continue this, as the “spirits”, once more performed by the acrobats, cascaded through the audience, leaping over rails, and with impressive skill threw each other, tumbled, flipped and swung from the ropes and ladders still part of the set from the shipwreck onwards. While a literary analysis might interpret them as symbols of fertility, here they were an explosion of joy in physicality, a direct challenge to the formal purity advocated by the drag-queen goddesses who seemed like a painted irrelevance. The final section, however, went well beyond the realm of the comic, into an astonishing and moving display of virtuosity. Two performers ascended a pair of hanging loops and, twisting and swinging, entangled their bodies, meeting and separating rhythmically. In the production reports this sequence is consistently called “The Flying Fuck” ; on the recorded performance, as at the performance attended by the present author, there was an initial sense of discomfort, of embarrassed giggling, in the audience, but in each case this was followed by an enraptured silence, total absorption in an arresting, almost euphoric, spectacle. Prospero seemed forced to step in to stop the vision because, from his perspective, it had got out of hand; a formal representation of chastity, fidelity and marital fertility had become an explicit celebration of joyous sexuality beyond societal control, arguably returning the characters, and the audience, to a prelapsarian sense of innocence contrasting with the innuendo and farce of the goddesses.
The production as a whole drew heavily on the balletic and acrobatic skills of a carefully-selected group of highly-trained performers to impressive effect. They also significantly contributed to the dominant themes of the production - the corruption of so-called civilised society and the damage caused by the thoughtless assumption of superiority implicit in Western imperialism. The spectacle induced thoughtfulness as well as entertainment, as all the best should do. Despite a few negative reviews and lower audience numbers than might have been desired the production can be accounted a successful integration of intelligent reading of the text and demonstration of exceptional visual effects.