Tuesday, February 25, 2003

Wes Craven's A Midsummer Night's Scream -- no, wait, make that Mel Brooks

Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't

It was a midwinter night when we set out for the play, and with some trepidation. The director had chosen to move the play out of Athens and into New York City, 1969. The fairies would be hippies, Theseus would be the mayor, the actors performing "The Most Lamentable Comedy, and Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisbe" would be the a group of union workers, the Local 506. It seemed a shame to take this play, who's otherworldly plot seems less dated than any other of the Bard's plays, and try to modernize it. It didn't seem so much a matter of changing the setting as it did narrowing the scope. But I was wrong. The play is the play, and it probably could have been done with the actors in space suits and the fairies played by aliens to the same effect. What the 1969 setting did do, was give the play a Woodstock kind of a soundtrack, and I'm in no position to complain about that, because it really is the Age of Aquarius, isn't it? And it turns out that fairies and hippies; not so different after all. But what Jenn and I didn't anticipate was that the immortal words of Shakespeare would not be the most entertaining part of the play...

The lady doth protest too much, methinks

Cut to the first intermission. The two women behind us were discussing the play so far, or trying to anyway.
"I don't understand what they're saying."
"No, I don't either. I think I'm going to have to read it."
"Well, when you do, you can explain it to me, because my reading time is to valuable to waste on this."
Okay, I don't want to sound snooty, but I'm afraid that I can't help it. I could mention that here in Raleigh, they're hardly speaking the Queen's English, whereas up on stage, I think they actually were. A different Queen, but why pick a nit. But that's not what immediately struck me. I just had to wonder, "What is this woman reading?" I haven't read everything I ought to have read, in fact the list of things I have read is by far overshadowed by the things I should have, but I do know that there exists vast quantities of actual literature that it's important to be familiar with. So if you ever catch me saying, "My reading time is too valuable to waste on Shakespeare." you should feel free to straighten me out, or, at the very least, you should feel free to sit two rows ahead of me and quake with suppressed laughter, because, perhaps not to our credit, that's what we did.

O happy dagger!

And did it end there? Can make a whole essay out of ridiculing one poor woman? No to the first, and yes to the second, I'm afraid. Act V, scene i, the Local 506 presents "The Most Lamentable Comedy, and Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisbe." We've seen them rehearse throughout the whole play. They've outlined the plot for us, expressed concerns that the grisly ending may upset the audience. To that end, the Local 506 decides to warn the audience even before they start their play that it does end badly:

Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast;
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,
His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,

But all for naught, it seems. I guess we had already established that some people were having some trouble following the dialogue, but even so, I believe Pyramus' end was referred to about half a dozen times, so it was still surprising when, as Pyramus impaled himself on his dagger, the woman two rows back gasped in horror. Her companion rushed to reassure her, "Don't worry, it's not real." We should all be so sensitive to the pain of others, so intolerant of violence that it catches us off guard even in our entertainment. I think there's a lesson to be learned from this woman's reaction, a lesson it's hard to learn when you and your date are both fighting with every fiber of your being to not audibly laugh, fighting and, I'm ashamed to say, losing.

Lord, what fools these mortals be

I've watched the play, I've looked through the text. I cannot find a more inappropriate moment to have spasms of laughter the during the suicides of Pyramus and Thisbe. And if you've been in a similar situation, then you know it only makes it that much harder to regain control. Eventually, though, another punchline reached the audience and we were able to expunge our own laughter and compose ourselves, mostly, until the end of the play. Such a sad display I have seldom witnessed and even less frequently taken an active part in, and it really gave the play something special. I mean, I'm familiar with the text, and I've seen it performed before, so eventually the memory of this play was doomed to fade and merge with other stage and screen performances I've seen. The evening itself would be remembered for the extremely pleasant company I kept, but the substance might not have survived but for the poor woman who sat two rows back. I think it's a testament to her influence that several days have past, and yet I still can't write about this without laughing. I just hope she knows that we're not laughing at her, we're laughing with--no, that's just not true. Perhaps I'll let Mr. Shakespeare handle my apologies, and to the rest of you I bid adieu until the next time I make an ass of myself in public. Don't worry, it won't be much of a wait.

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I'm an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

posted 4:30 PM

Tuesday, February 11, 2003

???

My sister e-mails me this morning with an odd message. It refers to a girl she tried to set me up with when I first moved down here, a girl with whom I had maybe two phone conversations and with whom I made one date which she canceled, so we didn't actually meet until my sister's wedding, at which point I believe Kathy was already married, so the attempted set up was no longer in the works.

Subject:	Re: No work for the wicked
From:	Sis
Date:	8:10 AM
To:	Rob E.

My friend Kathy that used to live in Raleigh emailed me and said that she had called you a tree hugger when she was talking to you one time and she thought she might have offended you so 2-3 years later now, she wanted to apologize, I told her that I was quite certain that you weren't offended by being called a Tree Hugger!

True enough. I've been called much worse than a tree hugger. I remember the conversation, though, because she did say it with hesitation, like she was nervously treading the line between honesty and politeness. I just took it in stride, thinking, and maybe even saying, "I guess I am kind of a tree hugger." The only thing that bothered me at the time, was that it seemed that it might be an insult in her mind, that, on the other end of the line, she might be thinking, "Oh my god, he may care about the environment. What if he wears Birkenstocks? He might even recycle. What sort of monster am I talking to?" Well, that's okay. When doing an image search for a good tree hugger picture, I found that there's a lot of us out there, and most of them take their tree hugging a lot more literally than I do. I guess what I wonder about now is why this apology is coming down the pike after all this time is past. What happened that she felt the need to make amends? What I'm wondering is: could there be some kind of 12 step program for recovering Conservatives? And then of course the next question is: Can we enroll Trent Lott?

posted 12:20 PM

Thursday, February 06, 2003

Who Can Take Tomorrow,
Dip it in a dream,
Separate the sorrows,
And collect up all the cream?

Say, that reminds me

So I was collecting all of my games together in one place the other day, and it reminded me of something I had wanted to bring up a while ago. Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on - two years ago on Thanksgiving, when-- no, wait, that's someone else's story. Mine just happened this past Thanksgiving when, as an exercise in torture, someone decided it was time to introduce my niece to the game Candy Land. My family really enjoys their board games. I mean for favourite family past times, it's right up there with cigarettes, divorce, and asking me when I'm going to get married. However, I've recently found that this gaming proclivity is learned, rather than inherited. Sure, all you need to know to play Candy Land is your colours and how to count to two, both skills possessed by my niece, but it just doesn't naturally translate into moving your little, red, gingerbread man down the colourful path. No, it seems that it's just as likely that your gingerbread man would like to dance around on the board, plow over the other little men, or fly through air at the head of your aunt. We eventually made it through the game, and while she eventually decided we must know what we were talking about when we told where to put her piece each time, I don't think my niece ever understood why this was more fun then dancing, flying gingerbread men. Personally, I agree with her. Besides, when playing the game, I noticed a disturbing change from the Candy Land of my youth...

Swamped

I'm assuming everyone knows the rules, but just in case, here's a quick recap: There's a bunch of cards with colours that correspond to the colours on the board. Take the top card, move to the next square of that colour. Get to the end first and you win. But there's traps, the worst of which, to my mind, is the Molasses Swamp. You hit the swamp towards the end of the trail, when you've almost won, and once your in it, you have to draw a red card to get out. Many a game of Candy Land has been turned upside-down by someone with an early lead getting stuck in the swamps while everyone passed by them on the way to victory. I hated those swamps, but what could you do? It was just the luck of the draw. Well, luck of the shuffle, actually, because once the cards were shuffled, the game's end was predetermined. If you played again without shuffling the deck, the game would unfold exactly the same way. There were no choices to make and therefore no skill involved. I did try to introduce a little bit of skill into the game by surreptitiously picking the most advantageous card possible, even if it wasn't on top of the draw pile. Unfortunately what I called "skill," others called "cheating." Spoken, I say, like someone who has never spent the whole second half of the game stuck in the Molasses Swamp, alone, dejected, and wishing for just one more whiff of the pure, sweet air of the Gumdrop Mountains.

Ch-ch-Changes

But now the whole game's been modernized. In the past Candy Land was merely a landscape, colourful, quirky, and prone to causing cavities, but unpopulated. Now each geographical feature also has a corresponding denizen, garish with a sickeningly, yet appropriately, sweet name like Queen Frostine or Lord Licorice. Still, they play no active part, so I was willing to allow them, but then I saw another change: You have landed in the Molasses Swamp. Lose One Turn.
One turn!? I'd been known to spend the whole $#! game in swamp, and now it's been downgraded to one turn? It's wrong. I mean sure, I hated that place, but you needed a place to hate. It made that rare victory that much sweeter and gave you this heightened sense of well-being when you did manage to pass the swamp unscathed. I don't want to be one of those old coots who go around telling everyone who will listen, and everyone else just for good measure, that "kids these days have it easy," but there's your proof, right there. Whenever I faced any type of adversity, my grandmother would say, "It builds character." In my case, at least in regards to the Molasses Swamp, the character-building experiences inspired me to cheat, but I say bad character is better than no character at all. But now, right from the beginning, we're taking the adversity out of the picture. What will happen to this new, soft breed of children? When they go out into the world, will they be prepared? I fear for their ability to cope when it's time for them to move on, put Candy Land behind them and advance to other things, like Monopoly.

posted 9:16 AM