Anne Hathaway and William Shakespeare are about to be joined together again. No, this doesn’t involve a séance or a shovel, as the Anne Hathaway in question is not the estranged wife of Shakespeare, but the twenty-first-century actress who may or may not win an Academy Award next week. I’m pretty sure she won’t. especially if any of the Oscar voters saw Bride Wars; however that shouldn’t hamper Miss Hathaway’s status as It Girl. Over the past few years, the twenty-something actress has built up an impressive resume that alternates between smaller-scale prestige pictures and mainstream fare.

This summer, Anne Hathaway will test her star power and her Shakespearean chops by playing Viola in Twelfth Night in Central Park this summer. Hopefully, the part will be a perfect fit for Hathaway, who perennially seems to have stepped out of another century. If there’s a downside to the casting choice, it’s the extreme leap of faith required by the audience to believe that anyone would mistake her for a boy. Hathaway’s other shortcoming as a performer is that she seems a bit calculated, as though every moment (no matter how professionally executed) has been pre-planned well in advance. Perhaps Shakespeare and his challenging language will provide her the opportunity to loosen up her tightly-wound acting style. She certainly projects intelligence, which Viola must have in order to manage her increasingly complicated ruse. Fingers crossed that this Hathaway/Shakespeare pairing is a smoother combination than the last one.

The Shakespearean authorship debates have their highs and lows. At best, they elevate the level of discussion about The Bard’s poetic style and the culture of Elizabethan England. At worst, they can devolve into the equivalent of a shouting match: “Yes, he did!” “No, he didn’t!” “Wabbit Season!” “Duck Season!” Amy Freed’s play, The Beard of Avon falls somewhere in between these two extremes. While the Pulitzer-nominated play (written in 2001) is meticulously researched, it is also replete with sharp humor. In short, it is very smart historical fiction. A current production of the play makes the case that the authorship question can be fun instead of antagonistic.

The conceit of the play is fairly straightforward. Young Will is a dreamer from the country who yearns for a theatrical life in the big city, far away from his hag of a wife (poor Anne Hathaway, who—justly or not—is neck and neck with Yoko Ono for most maligned spouse of an artist). Once he ditches Stratford and the shrew he couldn’t tame, he finds himself in London, where he meets Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford. The Earl, it seems, longs to write for the theatre, but needs a cover since playwriting (and the theatre as a whole) is considered déclassé. What ensues is a kind of literary Cyrano de Bergerac with lots of Shakespearean inside jokes thrown in for good measure. Fact, fiction, or somewhere in between, The Beard of Avon finally gives the debate a much-needed sense of humor.

Shakespeare’s 444th birthday is fast approaching (try looking for a card for that in Hallmark), and Bard Buffs will doubtless find ways never before imagined to recognize the occasion. NC Wesleyan College might have the creative edge this year because they are holding a “roast” for Shakespeare. Normally, roasting a dead person might seem déclassé, but time heals all, so four centuries has allowed us enough distance to poke fun at Will.

The real question is what kind of roast will it be? Will they roast him as if it were the late 1500’s? “Boy, that Queen Elizabeth! What a taskmaster, huh?” Furthermore, will they roast Will, his plays, or both? I anticipate there will be a lot of Anne Hathaway jokes, particularly at the expense of the second-best bed that he left her in his will (“Who got the best one? Ben Jonson?” Cue laugh track). I can also imagine them taking the air out of several overblown tragic heroes. “Hey, Othello, lighten up. You killed your wife over a handkerchief. You make the guy in Sleeping with the Enemy look normal.” Also, please be prepared for the inevitable slew of “Y’Momma” jokes at Hamlet’s expense. In addition, there will be the inevitable authorship jabs. “Will Shakespeare is here tonight ladies and gentleman. OR IS HE?”
What’s fun about an event like this is that honors Shakespeare by not taking him far so seriously. Despite his reputation worldwide, I like to think he would get a lot of laughs out of a roast at his expense.

Lots of ink (and webspace) has been devoted to documenting the various, massive cultures of fanboys. They come in all shapes and sizes and their subjects of devotion can vary from comic books to Star Trek to Gone with the Wind. Late-night shows and comedians are fond of making fun of these people, particularly those inclined to dress up like characters from their favorite movies, comics or books. Yet, in the same breath, movie and T.V. studios have recognized them as a huge potential market. Long before the release of films like next summer’s Iron Man, fanboys (and girls) are courted through online promotions and conventions like Comic-Con. Perhaps fanboy culture is no longer the laughing matter it used to be, particularly as it moves further into (and absorbs) mainstream culture.

People exhibit a similar devotion to Shakespeare, who is the subject of countless books, plays, discussion groups and, yes, conventions. It seems the rabidity with which people devote themselves to pop-culture staples like The Lord of the Rings is equally applicable to Shakespeare. Whether analyzing his work, his life, his marriage, his sexuality or, of course, his plays, Will’s fanboys are no less devoted than their pop-culture counterparts.

One such example is Annapolis’s Yvonne Hudson, who is seeking to position herself as a one-woman Bardapalooza. She has performed a self-written play about Anne Hathaway and is interested in engaging other Maryland locals in all things Will. If Hudson had her way, she would develop the kind of fan base other pursuits have long enjoyed. Bard-Con, anyone?

Germaine Greer caused quite a stir in England last week by bashing the late Princess Diana while promoting her new book on Shakespeare’s wife, Anne Hathaway. Aside from questioning the late princess’ intellectual capabilities, Greer also cast her in a villainous light for carrying on with married men. These shocking statements (which, wouldn’t you know it, make for great publicity) also dovetail with some equally surprising comments about our beloved Bard. According to Greer, Shakespeare died of syphilis after battling it for many years. Furthermore, it was his “angel” (Greer’s word) Hathaway, who is responsible for Shakespeare’s lasting reputation because she paid for the First Folio.

Since the princess’ passing was only ten years ago (as of the end of this month), Greer’s barbs at her are likely to raise more ire than what she has to say about a playwright who’s been gone for nearly four centuries. Still, in both cases, I’m struck by the polarizing terminology she used. For a feminist writer, it seems surprising that her categorization of people should reek of the virgin-whore dichotomy. For Greer, Princess Diana was revered as a kind of virgin, yet in real life was a duplicitous whore. Anne Hathaway was a virgin/”angel” bestowing her magnanimous blessings on Shakespeare who, as it turns out, was a syphillis-ridden whore. Maybe Shakespeare didn’t write his plays; maybe he wasn’t a nice guy; maybe he was a philanderer and a lousy husband. Maybe. In a different light, maybe Greer’s comments (aside from being opportunistic and tacky) indicate a larger dichotomy: the need to build up and tear down pillars of all aspects of society. While the truth may lie somewhere in the middle, perhaps there will be always be two schools of thought on Shakespeare. One will revere him as a god of literature, while the other will despise him as a talentless hack. And a slut.

Today, most people would associate the name Anne Hathaway with the star of last year’s The Devil Wears Prada. To Shakespeare historians, the name is associated with a mysterious and significant figure in The Bard’s life: his wife. Before his “lost years” and his later stage success in London, Will Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway and had three children (one of them, a boy named Hamnet—ring any bells?—died at a young age). Following his many dramatic triumphs, he left London in 1613 and returned to Stratford (and Anne) where he died in 1616.

This year, at another Stratford (Ontario, that is, home to the Stratford Shakespeare Festival), a new one-woman show that is all about Anne just premiered. Shakespeare’s Will finds an aged Anne awaiting the bequeathment of her husband’s estate, reflecting on their life together…or, rather, not. A recent review of the production was pretty lukewarm, chalking up the show’s shortcomings to what I’d call P.P.S. That’s Priscilla Presley Syndrome, wherein a person with little magnetic draw themselves becomes of interest only because of their relationship to a more famous and magnetic spouse (I’d have called it K-Fed Syndrome, but in that case, I think both parties have more than maxed out their fifteen minutes). For the reviewer, as for many Shakespeare scholars, Anne holds little interest because her husband’s greatest successes were achieved when they were apart.