British thespians Emma Fielding and Simon Russell Beale got a rare honor, even among noted actors. The two had the opportunity to pore over a copy of the First Folio. Originally printed in 1623, the First Folio is a kind of sacred tome for those in the Shakespearean community. With price tags in the millions, there are only about two hundred extant copies of the roughly one thousand originally printed. In honor of the Bard’s birthday, the two talked about the Folio, along with questions of authorial intent and textual integrity.

One of the key issues to emerge from their discussion was the ages-old debate about which texts are the correct versions. Since there are lines and scenes in some of the quarto versions of the plays, many ponder who made the edits – Shakespeare, the compilers of the Folio, or other unknown parties. Beale and Fielding note that it was quite likely Shakespeare made changes to the plays after the initial runs, particularly to tailor them to specific actors. So, if Shakespeare made some of the edits, to we trust his judgment or include the omitted/altered bits? If we aren’t sure who changed what, how do we decide what to do in production?

It might seem nitpicky, but some Shakespearean scholars would go eighteen rounds to fight over whether Hamlet wanted is “sullied” or “solid” flesh to melt. Beale and Fielding seem to take a more balanced approach, noting the Folio as simply another resource to Shakespeare fans and scholars.

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.

Move over Christopher Marlowe; back up Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford; step off Francis Bacon. There’s a new sheriff in town, and he’s laying his own claim to some of Shakespeare’s plays. It is none other than Shakespeare’s contemporary and fellow playwright, Thomas Middleton. Your reaction to this news might be a maelstrom of emotions, asking yourself, “What does this mean for Shakespeare’s reputation?”; “How are the Oxfordians going to rebut this?”; and, most importantly, “Who the hell is Thomas Middleton?”

If you’re an aficionado of Jacobean drama, his name will not be a complete mystery to you; still, even for the faithful, Middleton’s best-known plays—The Revenger’s Tragedy, Women Beware Women, and The Changeling—rarely show up in multi-period anthologies or production. Nevertheless, Middleton did make an important contribution to English drama and, if you believe the evidence, a significant part of that contribution was the refining of some of Shakespeare’s plays. A new two-book set of Middleton’s plays takes the theory a step further, including two of Shakespeare’s plays. Many have speculated that Measure for Measure and Macbeth were partially written by Middleton and new textual analysis asserts that as much as ten percent of the plays may be his work. The relatively early publication of Shakespeare’s collected works (which appeared just seven years after his death) has long eclipsed Middleton’s potential contribution. This new collection seeks to re-stake Middleton’s claim as part of the Shakespearean canon.

Shakespearean actor and I, Claudius star Derek Jacobi has joined the growing chorus of actors and scholars who don’t believe that Shakespeare wrote all of his plays. Joining former Globe artistic director Mark Rylance, whose recent play I Am Shakespeare has helped reignite the debate anew, Jacobi and his counterparts have formed the Shakespearean Authorship Coalition (hmm, guess they didn’t think through that acronym very carefully). The purpose of this coalition is to further investigate historical misinformation that may have led to the plays’ authorship being incorrectly attributed to Shakespeare.

Eschewing the Christopher-Marlowe-was-Batman-to-Shakespeare’s-Bruce-Wayne conspiracy theories, Jacobi believes that “Shakespeare” was actually a group of authors. His rationale is that no one person could be responsible for all of the plays. I’m not saying that Sir Derek is wrong (in fact, his idea is not without merit), however, I’m not sure I agree with his reasoning. Scholars often turn to the “nobody-could-be-that-brilliant” justification for doubting Shakespeare’s authorship, using his lack of formal education as back-up. For me, this is and always will be an opinion statement, and an elitist one at that. If hard evidence arises proving this true, so be it. Until then, there is no way of proving that Shakespeare was any dumber (or smarter, for that matter) than his contemporaries.

Some historians like to expound (and some would say, extrapolate) on how much we know about Shakespeare. On the other end of the spectrum are scholars who revel in the dubious nature of his existence, his authorship, and even his appearance. In a recent article, Bill Bryson investigates ideas that fall more into the latter camp, starting with the most basic idea of all: his appearance.

Our notion of what Will looked like is based on three renderings of dubious origin and/or artistic merit. One is a stone statue at Holy Trinity Church. The second is a poor engraving from the publication of the First Folio in 1623. The most intriguing of all is a painting which some argue wasn’t even the Bard himself. Some points of contention include his too-dark complexion and—gasp!—an earring. If it is the famous writer, does it suggest he was something of a rake? Was he in costume as Shylock? Perhaps the painting (whether it is authentic or not) tells us more about ourselves based on our reaction to it. It reminds me of how images of Christ became increasingly Anglicized over time, despite the incongruity of such a rendering with his heritage and place of origin. Is our contemporary reluctance to accept certain ideas about Shakespeare relatable? Since Bryson himself ties the debate to questions about Shakespeare’s authorship, does the reaction indicate a need for some to believe that one man, with a likeness we already know well, wrote all of those masterful plays?