A recent review of Shakespeare Orange County’s new production of The Tempest compared it to the reality show Survivor. The reviewer noted the influence of the long-running program on the production, as evidenced by the scantily-clad actors (the one major exception being Prospero, played by middle-aged actor with a stockier physique). The Tempest in particular seems to receive this kind of interpretation frequently. If the director’s note includes words like “elemental” or “primal,” you can expect to see a fair amount of skin. Other justifications include the weather. After all, it’s a tropical island, and people are hot (pun possibly intended). Whether it’s Caliban, Ariel, the young lovers, or the duplicitous castaways, some of the characters doff their clothes.

In past blogs, the issue of sexuality in Shakespeare has come up periodically, but this play presents a different angle on the issue. The Tempest, despite occasionally being labeled a Romance, features only one romantic relationship. Unless Ferdinand and Isabella’s budding love is given a Blue Lagoon twist, the potential for sexing up the proceedings is limited. Still, what is the impact of ripped actors reciting the Bard’s poetry? Does it add to or detract from the play?

It could be argued that such an approach places a greater focus on the actor. Depending on how scenery is or isn’t used, limited costuming simplifies the play. In essence, it is merely bodies, space and words. Still, what does it say about a production when the heavyset actor is one of the only ones covered up? If a production is truly primal, shouldn’t bodies of all types merit equal exposure?

The Tempest continues its renaissance with a new production in Florida. While lately the play has largely served as a platform for examining racism, imperialism and other cultural issues, this new production takes The Tempest into sexual politics. This version sets the play in 1968 California, at the height of hippie-dom. Furthermore, it cross-casts several of the lead characters, namely Prospero (dubbed Prospera here) and Caliban. As a result, this tempest strands a bunch of men on an island controlled and populated by women.

Despite the potential for devolution into Survivor: Shakespeare, this interpretation raises a number of interesting questions about the play. First, does it empower the men, the women, or both? Prospera controls the island, but she was banished there by some of the shipwrecked men. Furthermore, what does it say about the sisterhood that she enslaves the now-female Caliban to do her bidding?

One area that could benefit from this approach is the romance between Miranda and Ferdinand. The instant attraction between them is always hard to pull off in performance, but in this version the added subtext might help. If Miranda has grown up in an all-female world, Ferdinand would have an added exotic allure simply because he’s a guy. It also would a different perspective on Prospera’s protectiveness of Miranda. Given how the male world has treated Prospera, it makes sense that even a nice guy like Ferdinand would merit her distrust. Setting the play on the cusp of the women’s movement allows its now-female characters to imagine new identities for themselves, just as the director has imagined a new identity for the play itself.

“Hello, My name is Prospero. You banished me to this island. Prepare to die.” If you never thought you would hear that uttered, think otherwise. If, like me, you have a special place in your heart for The Princess Bride, that statement might vaguely make sense to you. It comes from the character Inigo Montoya, played with gusto in the 1987 film by Mandy Patinkin. It was recently announced that the erstwhile Mr. Montoya will be treading the boards as Prospero in a new production of Shakespeare’s mixed-genre masterpiece, The Tempest.

Patinkin is a rather idiosyncratic actor. While he works steadily on the stage, his film appearances are highly sporadic. He also makes headlines for leaving highly successful television shows just as they are taking off. Onstage, Patinkin is most frequently cast in musicals due to his remarkably high tenor voice. Therefore, his appearance in The Tempest represents a change of pace.

It also represents a highly unusual bit of casting. The one danger of stardom in any medium is that at a certain point you get the opportunity to play parts for which you are less than ideally suited simply because of your stature. Patinkin has many fine qualities, most of which are completely wrong for Prospero. First, he is too young for the part. Prospero is a role best suited to an actor in his post-King Lear years. Also, Prospero is many things, but quirky is not one of them, and, alas, Patinkin is quirky with a capital “Q.” As his former costar might have said, his playing this role is “inconceivable.”

Take a good, long look at the picture that accompanies this posting. What is it you ask? It is kind of hard to tell because there is a lot happening. At first glance, it looks like The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert by way of The Wicker Man. The people depicted are clearly taking part in some kind of parade, but it also has a kind of odd costume-party vibe to it as well. This most unusual picture comes to us from the United Kingdom, where throughout the country people are gearing up to celebrate Shakespeare’s 444th birthday.

The particular group of celebrants pictured here are from a sort of poly-theatrical theatre group that mixes puppetry and circus elements into its performances. The Globe (a kind of Mecca for the Shakespeare-devoted) is overseeing a week’s worth of gosh-ain’t-Shakespeare-great activities. On the actual day itself, a barge with a miniature version of an Elizabethan playhouse will float down a river. What? No giant floats of Shylock or Prospero? How about effigies of Christopher Marlowe or Ben Jonson? Maybe the whole thing could be capped off with a sing-along to the songs Ophelia sings before she drowns herself? Doesn’t that sound like fun for the kids? No? Well, perhaps no one will try these things at this particular festival, but never say never. If there’s one thing you can be sure of, it is that there is no limit to the varying ways that people will celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday.

In music, remixes never die. In fact, some songs only get air play when someone else gets their hands on it and revamps the material, adding vocals, beats or other elements. We live in a self-referential age, so even songs that don’t “sample” earlier works often refer to them lyrically or mirror them melodically. Theatre is a different animal. For the most part, if you take even part of someone’s play and rework it, the results tend to be criticized as plagiarism rather than celebrated as innovations. A related idea is the mash-up, wherein two pieces are combined almost equally (rather than simply having a new work sample an old one). In this format, the idea of commentary is clearer because the two pieces share relatively equal focus.

A new children’s production has effectively created a Shakespearean mash-up. Tempest in a Dream is, as you might have guessed, an integration of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Tempest. The result is that the framework of the latter sets up the love quadrangle of the former. It’s an interesting concept as both plays deal with magic and the attempts of those who conjure to change fate. For example, in this version, the enchanted Titania falls for Caliban instead of a donkey. Also, both plays can be interpreted both lightly and darkly depending on the bent of the director and acting company. The result may not be a new play, per se, but it invites the viewers to change how they think about the originals.

You’ll have to bear with me this week…My daughter just turned 11, and so my focus is, of course, on her!  But in thinking about this blog and my daughter, it occurred to me that I had a few things to say about children and Shakespeare.

Scott wrote a recent post - http://www.enotes.com/blogs/shakespeare/2008-03/kinder-bard-en/ - which discussed an article about exposing children to Shakespeare at the age of 4.  I agree completely with this premise.  Why not get kids interested in these wonderful stories while they’re still young enough to love fairy tales?  Why can’t they understand The Tempest if they can understand “Rapunzel”?  And language experts say that the younger a child, the easier it is for them to learn a new language.  Now, far be it from me to say that Shakespeare is another language!!  But I know it presents difficulties to some people when they are first trying to handle the Elizabethan poetry, and so if it works better for little kids whose brains still have all those wonderful firing synapses, then why not go for it?

I started the Shakespeare Festival at our school because I figured out that getting Shakespeare “off the page and onto the stage” is critical to students’ enjoyment and understanding of these plays.  People scoff when I say that I added Hamlet to our 7th grade reading list.  Of course it’s a bit of a stretch, but it’s nothing they can’t handle, particularly when we get up and starting reading aloud and acting out the story.  Last semester I worked with a group of students who ranged in age from 5 to 15 on a scene from The Tempest.  This exercise that I did came from a great book called Teaching Shakespeare, by Rex Gibson.  In it he suggested using Ariel’s story of the shipwreck and dividing lines amongst all of the kids, except Prospero, who is a single actor/reader.  So I took one of my older girls and gave her Prospero’s lines, and then divided Ariel’s lines among the rest of the kids.  The lines were divided, too, so they were manageable for younger kids.  Our littlest boy had a line with four words, and then we just worked on up to more and longer lines for the oldest kids.  They had so much fun with this - We even added sound effects so that there were ocean/surf crashing noises in the background while Ariel is telling his story, as well as thunder bolts at “Jove’s lighting, the precursors O’th’ dreadful thunderclaps”!  This was a great experience that led several of the kids to ask me, “When can we do more of this?”  In addition, they really wanted to know the entire story of The Tempest, which gave me the opportunity to do more teaching and sharing of Shakespeare.

Another great way to get younger kids involved in the plays is by having them be extras.  Our Much Ado last summer included the masked ball scene in Act II, complete with a choreographed 16th century Italian court dance!  It was SO neat to see these actors (yes, even the teenage boys!) get into this and want to learn these dance steps to bring even more dimension and life to our production.  Altogether we had 20 dancers - five groups of four dancers each - and the majority of them were extras - younger kids without lines in the play but who really wanted to be involved in the production in some capacity.  My daughter was one of these, as well as the Noble Lady who sings at Hero’s tomb in Act V (yes, I just had to mention my cute kid again!)!

So what exactly is the point to this post, other than to talk about my adorable birthday girl?  I want to encourage all teachers out there - elementary and secondary, public and private schools, and homeschoolers - to not be afraid to tackle the Bard and bring him to life with whatever group of kids you get to teach.  It never ceases to amaze me how much kids can do when they’re encouraged and loved through the process!

Kids and Shakespeare are making plenty of headlines these days. Ever since the RSC’s announcement that kids should be taught Shakespeare from age four up, people have been debating when and how young people should be exposed to The Bard. On the heels of this debate is a news item about a kids program that performs musical comedy versions of Shakespeare’s plays in language and content understandable to (and appropriate for) kids. Despite the modernizations, some of the poetry has been retained. Current offerings include The Tempest and Hamlet.

I’m sorry, what? A musical, child-friendly version of Hamlet? Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this the play about the young guy whose father is murdered by his uncle who then marries the young guy’s mom (who said lad might be a little TOO close to, if you catch my drift)? Then, doesn’t this dude kill his girlfriend’s father, prompting her to commit suicide? Doesn’t it all end with dead bodies EVERYWHERE, including the young guy, his mom and his pervy uncle? How exactly can this be turned into High School Musical? What did they have to cut to make it appropriate and, of what was left, how was it made into a musical? Does Hamlet sing Daughtry? In her mad scenes, does Ophelia sing a slowed-down version of Rihanna’s “Umbrella?” Maybe the end results are charming, but I don’t know that presenting Hamlet Montana necessarily whets kids’ appetites for future Shakespearean studies.

The feedback on the British students’ protest of Shakespeare’s Anti-Semitism continues to mount. There are strong opinions both for and against the protest, further underlining the idea that this is no simple matter. One op-ed piece pointed out one specific point of contention that further complicates things. The students in question protested an exam about Shakespeare based on his Anti-Semitic depiction of Shylock in The Merchant of Venice. This writer was quick to point out that Merchant was not covered on the exam. The play in question was The Tempest, and the editorial noted that the students’ complaints did not include the racist or colonialist issues present in the play that was actually covered by the exam.

Rather than re-debate the merits of the students’ argument (and question their motivations), I am intrigued by a question underneath this editorial. Is it possible to separate a writer from his or her work? Assuming no one found anything offensive about, say, Twelfth Night, could students study it without feeling their identities or values were being compromised? For those who love Shakespeare, that seems like an easy “yes,” but that’s because for most of us The Bard is not a controversial figure. What if, however, Adolf Hitler had written a sparkling romantic comedy in his youth? Would it be okay to do it? I do not think the students’ argument is anywhere near this extreme example, but the discussions it has generated bring up questions that must be addressed by scholars, teachers, actors, directors and anyone with a passion for Shakespeare.

The Alley Theatre is playing host to two unique takes on classic works. The first is Shakespeare’s The Tempest, the hard-to-pigeonhole play that has been labeled a comedy, a problem play, and a romance, among other monikers. The second is a stage adaptation of Mary Shelley’s gothic classic Frankenstein. To be clear, this is the more faithful rendition of the story, not the bolts-in-the-neck version made famous by the 1930’s film interpretation.

Though written in distinctly different periods and movements, The Tempest and Frankenstein share many things in common. In many ways, they are ideally paired. At the center of both pieces are men with god complexes. Victor Frankenstein’s desire to create human life takes disastrous turns and ultimately undoes him. The Tempest’s Prospero, though miserable in exile, has fashioned life on the island as his very own universe. Throughout the play, he controls the characters (and of course, the environment) with near-ruthless single-mindedness (only in the play’s finale does it sidestep the seemingly inevitable tragic outcome).

In addition, both stories feature creatures who are badly abused by their masters. Frankenstein rejects his creation when it fails to live up to the perfection for which he strove. Similarly, Prospero’s harsh treatment of the orphaned Caliban has led to numerous post-colonial interpretations of the play. Only at their respective ends, do the two tales diverge. For Victor Frankenstein, his initial hopes have degenerated into a Faustian fall from grace. For Prospero, there is a reprieve, a restore to the “order” he so desperately desires (regardless of how probable or improbable you might find it).

Somewhere out in the blogosphere recently, someone name-dropped Shakespeare and Calvin and Hobbes in the same post. While I will confess the purpose of the blog escapes me, the mention of Bill Watterson’s erstwhile comic brought a smile to my face. I was much dismayed at Calvin and Hobbes for throwing in the towel after a brief (by industry standards) decade-long run. Looking back now, I appreciate it for leaving while it was still fresh and funny (unlike Garfield, a cartoon I was once very fond of, but now regularly makes me groan, “More lasagna jokes? Really?”). Still, there is a part of me that longs to see my favorite rebel six year-old and his trusty stuffed tiger torment his parents, his friends, or (especially) each other.

The fact that Calvin and Hobbes was mentioned alongside Shakespeare got me thinking about whether or not The Bard could ever work as a standard, daily strip, telling its story in four frames at a time. More specifically, which of the Bard’s many characters would make a Calvin-and-Hobbes-esque pair? Trinculo and Stephano from The Tempest are certainly merry mischief-makers, but a couple of lushes with iffy I.Q.’s hardly seem to be the ideal duo. Much Ado About Nothing’s Beatrice and Benedick are wittier banterers, but the romantic angle just does not fit (and please, all of you Freudians out there, suppress any urges to look for the creepy in my beloved cartoon). Perhaps one possibility might be Oberon and Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The fairy king has Calvin’s mercurial and temperamental nature, while Puck has Hobbes’s loopiness and accidental wisdom. A strip about their endless misadventures in the forest might be very entertaining indeed.