A recent item about Colorado Shakespeare covered a new musical production of The Three Musketeers while also noting a muscialization of Titus Andronicus (complete with the obligatory exclamation points) that was produced a few seasons ago. The question with such adaptation is obviously, well, why. In one camp, the argument is that these classics, while great, have been done a million times, so artists need to find new ways of producing them. Opposing that view is the notion that these stories became classics without orchestrations, so why add them? Titus Andronicus seems an odd choice, but then again, its legendary “baking” scene might lend the play to a kind of Sweeney Todd interpretation.

In truth, there is very little theatre up to the turn of the twentieth century that didn’t incorporate some kind of music. Furthermore, many of the most famous scenes in Shakespeare involve music. Ophelia’s mad scenes are presented in music form. The fool in Twelfth Night similarly uses music to convey story and character. Whether it is accurate or not, people associate music with drama, whether in the context of theatre or not. Still, productions must carefully navigate the line between dramatic and silly. The songs mentioned above are brief; what would happen if there were twenty more of them? Would we cry if Ophelia sang a farewell/suicide/love song entitled “Water Under the Bridge” or laugh?

Jukebox musicals are second only to Disney musicals in terms of popularity within the last ten years. The premise is commercially sound: take the catalog of a famous and successful pop act and build a story around the songs. This way, audience members will know they’ll enjoy the music before they’ve even seen the show. The mother ship of this trend is Mamma Mia, based on the songs of Scandanavian pop divorcees ABBA (a film version of this show is about to disco its way into theatres this Friday). Since then, hordes of pop solo and group acts (most of whom have, ahem, seen the glory days come and go) have attempted to duplicated Mamma Mia’s incredibly massive success, some with less success than others.

One that falls somewhere in the middle is the Elvis jukebox musical All Shook Up, which borrows a considerable portion of its plot elements from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. All Shook Up wasn’t the Broadway smash that Mamma Mia was, but it seems poised for moderate success on the regional, community and high-school circuit, where nostalgia sells big. A new regional production of the show is being mounted in Maine and the parallels to Shakespeare are quite prominent. Most notably, the central plot conceit involves a young girl masquerading as a man. While you might not initially pair The Bard with The King, All Shook Up does precisely that.

A new production of Twelfth Night is being hailed by one critic for taking the play in new directions. As the writer notes, this particular comedy of Shakespearean identity is typically handled with a very light touch (save for some comic highlights which tend to get milked for all they are worth). The critic describes this version as bittersweet and even a bit melancholy, suggesting deeper meanings that other productions might be tempted to gloss over. To evoke that darker side, the production has put some of Shakespeare’s words to music, since the Fool sings frequently. The difference in this version, is the original music is stylized to evoke torch songs.

One of the key area that can get short shrift in productions of this play is its exploration of sexuality. Although everyone ends up in a male-female couple by the end, along the way there are many pairings that suggest questions about identity and sexuality. For instance, what do we make of Olivia falling in love with Viola in drag? Similarly, how do we play Orsino’s feelings for Viola, whom he knows for the majority of the lay as a man? Interestingly, this version sidesteps one more complication via cross-gendered casting. Viola’s lost twin Sebastian is aided greatly by Antonio, whose feelings for Sebastian have often been played as romantic. In this production, the character is female, thus removing any homoerotic implications. The choice isn’t necessarily right or wrong; rather, it highlights Twelfth Night’s chameleon-like nature—it can be a play about all kinds of love.

Get ready for Now That’s What I Call Elizabethan Writing. Depending on your age, you may or may not know who Roger Rees is, but his face is doubtlessly familiar. For those of us in the States, he is instantly recognizable for his recurring role as a stuffy romantic foil on Cheers. Rees, however, has an extensive resume in stage, television and film, notably appearing in several adaptations of works by Charles Dickens. Most importantly, Rees has done Shakespeare galore, and his latest venture utilizes the skills he developed in countless Bard-based productions.

Stealing its name from the subtitle of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, What You Will is a Shakespearean actor’s dream. The ninety-minute play is a celebration of Shakespeare on the stage. The one-man show features some of The Bard’s greatest speeches, allowing Rees to show off his range and verbal dexterity. In addition, the piece also contains historical anecdotes about performances of Shakespeare’s plays, some of which were hilariously disastrous. The show also has some pop-culture name-dropping including the seemingly incongruous Stevie Wonder (if Rees impersonates him, what will THAT be like?).

What You Will seems to have a comic bent, but I would be willing to bet money the evening won’t end without a snippet of the Agincourt speech or a few lines of “To be or not to be.” This, after all, an actor’s showcase, so if Rees only plumbed the comic highlights of The Bard, he’d be missing a huge percentage of the writer he’s celebrating.

A new production of Twelfth Night takes Shakespeare’s comedy of long-lost siblings, mixed-up lovers and playful cross-dressing and moves it to the Subcontinent. A review of the production noted that this current multicultural motif is highly en vogue. Not merely satisfied with putting a Bollywood gloss on the proceedings, the production attempts to infuse some Hindu spirituality in the proceedings. The litmus test for this production isn’t necessarily how Western audiences receive it, but rather how Indians or those of Indian descent regard the production.

It is easy to see why India is an attractive context for reinterpreting Shakespeare. If nothing else, the country’s colonial history provides the opportunity to comment on imperialism and its effects on both the colonizers and the colonized. Still, there is the danger that the concept’s primary focus is on the exotic. In other words, those who oppose this kind of interpretation feel that the interest in India is aesthetic rather than cultural. On the other side of the fence, defenders of this kind of concept might argue that these productions might encourage audience members to learn more about a part of the world with which they may be largely unfamiliar.

Both sides of this issue have valid points that have nothing to do with political correctness. Ultimately, perhaps the value of taking Shakespeare to the East is not whether or not such an interpretation is right or wrong for the play or for the culture. Instead, maybe the greatest success it can hope for is to make people think and talk about the unanswerable questions it presents.

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.

Another news item referenced the phrase “Shakespeare’s greatest drama,” which got me thinking about the question of evaluating already esteemed works. Rather than picking a work of my own opinion (Is Hamlet too obvious? Is Twelfth Night too lightweight?), I wondered how you would decide which was the greatest. When comparing Shakespeare’s plays to those of other playwrights, the task is easier because of the inherent understanding that there are going to be differences between the two.

For comparing Shakespeare to himself, what do you use? Verse and meter are out, because while there are certainly variations among the plays, their imprint is too great overall. Plot is also problematic because so many were “inspired” by other works. It seems one of the main points of comparison then should be character. What really differentiates The Bard’s plays from those upon which he based them is the way he delineated character. By using this means of evaluation, you can also avoid the genre question (where, despite even the most open of minds, tragedy almost always trumps). The men and women of the comedies tragedies and mixed-genre plays can stand side by side fairly because they are all so richly drawn. When we watch or read Shakespeare, we choose sides based on any number of factors (some of which we may not even be aware of). Ultimately, which play you like the most will depend largely on your identification with the people who populate the story.

Everyone hates a poser. Pop culture is riddled with them, so there is plenty of bile to spread around. Paris Hilton, for one, has made a career out of being a professional object of hatred for posturing as an actress, philanthropist, and singer (“Stars Are Blind” made me wish they were deaf and mute, too). Justin Timberlake suddenly became “street,” discarding his whitebread Orlando upbringing. And Madonna, despite her long residence in the U.K., will never convince anyone that her pseudo-British accent is anything but pure affect. Maybe taking potshots at poser posters is really an outlet for our subliminal love-hatred of celebrities. Either way, many of them make very easy targets.

A new production of Shakespeare’s Richard III taps into this zeitgeist-y topic by fashioning the title character as a female “chav.” For the uninitiated, “chav” is a derogatory term of British origin for wannabes who revel in garish fashion excess. The term has been criticized as classist because chavs typically go for a working-class, urban-chic aesthetic. Perhaps that is part of the motivation for reconceptualizing the king as a track suit-sporting B-girl. The real question is whether or not that approach undermines Richard’s villainy. After all, how seriously can we take a dastardly king made up as a distaff Ali G? If chav/poser culture is the desired target, why not incorporate it into the comedies? Twelfth Night’s Malvolio might make an ideal chav given that fashion plays a key role in his comic humiliation. By creating a chav tragedy, the production perhaps seeks to examine the social implications of the followers of these trends rather than ridiculing them.

Shakespeare opens his charming comedy Twelfth Night with the oft-quoted line, “If music be the food of love, play on.” Though spoken by the romantically challenged Duke Orsino, the line has taken on a life of its own. Given how often people discuss the musicality of Shakespeare’s verse, perhaps it is appropriate that this particular quote has become so famous. Apparently, some have taken the sentiment to the next level. Cello phenom Matt Haimovitz is currently performing “After Shakespeare,” a collection of musical pieces directly inspired by different Shakespearean texts. Many of the big guns are included, such as Othello, King Lear, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The pieces are designed to reflect the emotions of specific scenes, characters and moments from The Bard’s classic works.

Combining music and Shakespeare is nothing new. Aside from the ballets, operas and other musical adaptations that the plays have inspired, the originals themselves often had musical components. The Fool in Twelfth Night sings and Ophelia’s madness in Hamlet is conveyed through song. Like the soliloquies, these musical interludes create moments of transcendence when the characters can communicate more directly with the audience. Given the lyrical nature of Shakespeare’s writing, the plays are as close to music as another form can be. Haimovitz approaches these qualities from the opposite direction, by finding the music without leaning on the words. Still, it is the words that are the root of the inspiration for these pieces. In The Bard’s hands, music is not only the food of love, but also pain, fear, pity and a host of other human emotions.

As a society, we never seem to tire of ranking things. Whether it is the American Film Institute’s list of the one hundred greatest movies or the weekly top video countdown, the need to name something “The Best” is universal. So it is not surprising that someone created a list of the greatest wits of all time. Shakespeare naturally made the cut, as did Oscar Wilde. The real curio, however, is Oasis musician Liam Gallagher. Really? Gallagher aside, the pairing of Shakespeare and Wilde struck me. Do these two writers share anything other than wit?

Wilde’s life and career were notoriously cut short by the famous trial over “the love that dare not speak its name.” Still, in his brief life, Wilde produced some of the sharpest comedies ever written about high society. His most famous of these is the mistaken-identity charmer The Importance of Being Earnest. Yet, how does this work line up against that of Shakespeare? Mistaken identity and double identity (which figure so prominently in Earnest) certainly show up in Shakespeare’s comedies. Twelfth Night and As You Like It feature cross-dressing heroines; The Comedy of Errors boasts not one but two sets of mixed-up twins; and A Midsummer Night’s Dream features a quartet of lovers, just like Earnest. Overall, however, the two writers create more of a contrast than a comparison. Both were witty and clever, but the snidely dry Wilde and the play-to-the-rafters Shakespeare made people laugh for very different reasons.