I believe that I owe you a Manningtree ox of an apology, seeing that communications from my side of the cliff abruptly went lemming. In my defence, however, I plead temporary insanity brought on by the appalling amount of work that the last few weeks of school -- hell, undergrad -- latched onto my ankles. Coupled with moving out and taking care of grad school paperwork, it's enough to make anyone hang themselves in their garters, heir-apparent or otherwise.
Now that I've just returned from vacation, however, I'm free to indulge myself in all manner of nerdiness, be it tragical-comical-historical-pastoral. (All awful Shakespeare jokes shall be henceforth canned, I promise.) With regards to studying three-quarters of the Henriad in my mediaeval literature class, I see your puzzlement and raise you an ineloquent explanation. Rather than confine the class to a certain period of literature bound by dates and style, the professor chose instead to focus on a watershed moment of mediaeval history -- namely the deposition of Richard II -- and examine the circles of discourse that the furious controversy generated. Party like it's 1399, as it were.
From this angle, then, incorporating Shakespeare into the syllabus was not an anachronistic blunder caused by inhaling too much book dust, but rather an attempt to raise questions about historiography and writing. For the sake of idealisms about artistic integrity, we often forget that Shakespeare -- quite against the romance of the starving writer, TB sold separately -- was also a shrewd businessman. Early modern London were rife with pressing concerns far and away from 1399: disease raged, Europe was experiencing a miniature Ice Age, Cate Blanchett's formidable cheekbones barely kept the Spanish Armada at bay, and dammit if the Virgin Queen wasn't putting out. Why, then, would writing a play about comparatively ancient history warm the benches with bottoms? What could Shakespeare say that hadn't already been written?
. . .As it turns out, a hell of a lot -- and certainly far more than I can babble about here. Enough about myself, though -- I'm very intrigued by your own experiences portraying Harry Monmouth. It's wonderfully ironic that English majors often don't see the plays that they study, so please forgive my curiosity when I inquire how you interpreted his character -- a faultlessly reptilian Machiavel, in control to the last? Or a gilded boy wonder, fluttering down from the clouds and inspiring an insta-crush in poor Vernon? XD
Keanu Reeves as Spike . . ugh, .what was the point of eating lunch again? -_-
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Now that I've just returned from vacation, however, I'm free to indulge myself in all manner of nerdiness, be it tragical-comical-historical-pastoral. (All awful Shakespeare jokes shall be henceforth canned, I promise.) With regards to studying three-quarters of the Henriad in my mediaeval literature class, I see your puzzlement and raise you an ineloquent explanation. Rather than confine the class to a certain period of literature bound by dates and style, the professor chose instead to focus on a watershed moment of mediaeval history -- namely the deposition of Richard II -- and examine the circles of discourse that the furious controversy generated. Party like it's 1399, as it were.
From this angle, then, incorporating Shakespeare into the syllabus was not an anachronistic blunder caused by inhaling too much book dust, but rather an attempt to raise questions about historiography and writing. For the sake of idealisms about artistic integrity, we often forget that Shakespeare -- quite against the romance of the starving writer, TB sold separately -- was also a shrewd businessman. Early modern London were rife with pressing concerns far and away from 1399: disease raged, Europe was experiencing a miniature Ice Age, Cate Blanchett's formidable cheekbones barely kept the Spanish Armada at bay, and dammit if the Virgin Queen wasn't putting out. Why, then, would writing a play about comparatively ancient history warm the benches with bottoms? What could Shakespeare say that hadn't already been written?
. . .As it turns out, a hell of a lot -- and certainly far more than I can babble about here. Enough about myself, though -- I'm very intrigued by your own experiences portraying Harry Monmouth. It's wonderfully ironic that English majors often don't see the plays that they study, so please forgive my curiosity when I inquire how you interpreted his character -- a faultlessly reptilian Machiavel, in control to the last? Or a gilded boy wonder, fluttering down from the clouds and inspiring an insta-crush in poor Vernon? XD
Keanu Reeves as Spike . . ugh, .what was the point of eating lunch again? -_-
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