Broken Glass By Arthur Miller - scene one analysis

Broken Glass: scene 1; Hyman and Margaret
The change of tone that occurs upon Gellburg’s exit is obvious; it changes from that of formality to informality, and on from this, the supposes taken on by the couple in their dealings with Gellburg and their everyday personas. The first line after the exit is Margaret’s ‘that’s one miserable little pisser’, clearly establishing the relinquishment of formality which characterises this anticipatory ending of the play’s opening. This is very much the end of the beginning, as we begin to feel that what’s past is prologue, and this is the real beginning. Apart from Margaret becoming significantly more judgemental and more realistic, so too does Hyman, as we see the man behind the mask, the real person who disguises himself as a doctor for his patients, as he expresses fear, in that ‘he’s not completely sure he ought to get into it’, and desire, as he ‘tell[s her] what [he’d] like to do with [her].’ This adds another dimension of realism to these already fleshed out characters, and challenges the conceptions we have sought to establish up to this point. The change of tone here challenges the status quo, and reminds us the what we see is not always what we get, and to challenge the seemingly obvious, something that becomes increasingly important throughout the play.
Two characters that we have previously seen with Gellburg, but only existed in relation to one another, with this relationship influencing our view of them, are now brought together. Up to this point we have not had sufficient time to imagine what this conversation might entail, but had we done so, this may be very close to our preconception. On the surface it seems as if Margaret is inferior to Harry, needing him to reassure her of his fidelity, at ‘She’s a very beautiful woman’, when the uncertainty at this point is within Harry’s faith in his abilities, as he expresses that he ‘barely know[s his] way around psychiatry’, and it should be her reassuring him. However, in the same way that for us Margaret exists primarily as a dramatic foil, for Hyman she is nearly as one dimensional. He does not need any actually input from her, only for her to listen to how he’s ‘beginning to get a sour feeling about this thing’, and it is alone he realises that he’d ‘really love to give it a try’. The aspect of Margaret realised only by Harry is the sexual, as, on the stage, it is only information which establishes our link to her, not sensibility. This unusually intimate moment introduces us to the fact that we are seeing more private moments than most plays would allow us to see. This, along with the new aspects of the Hymans, will lead us to trust the information being given to us. Hymen is the god of marriage, and, in the final scene of As You Like It, speaks these lines: “'Tis Hymen peoples every town; /High wedlock then be honoured”, making Hyman an expressionist representation of a celestial force of goodness beyond Gellburg’s comprehension, as well as this layered, desirous individual we are presented with. Hyman’s marriage is functioning better that Gellburg’s, a stark contrast, and just as Hymen in As You Like It tells Rosalind ‘You to his love must accord’, so Harry tells Gellburg effectively the same thing. Both Hyman and Hymen are the marriage guru, and here we see that Harry is quite justified to be giving this advice.

The tone at the close of the scene changes surprisingly, as ‘the lone cellist plays. Then the lights go down’. Throughout this scene we have been presented with a dynamic mix and shifting scene of comedy, awkwardness, drama, emotion and sheer peculiarity, but this choice of a sad, low register instrument indicates Miller’s clear desire to bring our attention back to the more tragic elements of the scene, which, when considered, really make up everything it is about; Gellburg’s dull personality, his wife’s paralysis, Harry’s self-doubt and his wife’s lack of depth. Every character in this scene, either present, as the main three are, or only referred to, as Sylvia and the men scrubbing the streets in Berlin, are innately troubled. Sylvia is paralysed, perhaps by lack of love, Gellburg and the men who scrub the streets are persecuted for their faith, either by others or themselves, and the Hymens, though on a smaller scale, have fundamentally human problems. These issues cause almost all the action in the scene, save Dr Hyman’s transcendent professionalism associating him with his divine namesake. Therefore, regardless of anything else in the scene, tragedy is both fundamental and paramount, framed at the fundamental, the beginning, and at the paramount, the ending, with the inherently tragic sounding cello.

Luke Dyer

He Jests At Scars and Loud Rumour - accompanying commentary

Creative Commentary

My creative pieces, 'He Jests At Scars' and 'Loud Rumour' are both explorations of Shakespeare plays; namely, an illumination of the contrived nature of a tragedy, and the limitation of art imitating life. The first, a response to Romeo and Juliet, looks at how a play only gives us an incomplete image of people's lives, which are not 'resolved' at the end, whilst 'Loud Rumour' looks at how we can see truth in a work of fiction, and whether anything not mentioned in the text can be taken to exist.

'He Jests At Scars' is taken from the line directly preceding Romeo's famous monologue beginning 'But soft!'; 'He jests at scars that never felt a wound'. This introduces the idea of those outside the action being able to take the damage lightly; an audience can go home after the tragedy, and 'jest at scars', for they have never 'felt a wound' that the characters in the play have inflicted. The tone of the play is absurdist and realistic, beginning with absurd dialogue reminiscent of Beckett, the irony being that the scene is a hanging. The idea of two characters with separate consciousnesses breaks down, leaving one creative entity which speaks through two characters, 'You have to leave/I have to leave'. It also introduces the theme of existential apathy, how no one can find reason to make sense since life as has been known is now changed, bringing a dissatisfying peace.

The next scene is spoken in a more realistic dialogue, exhibiting the characters who have enough purpose to stay in Verona, as opposed to those in the previous scene who left. The ellipses of 'No, no, I wasn't...that...I wasn't' characterises in a more realistic sense than the blank verse of Shakespeare, a stylistic reflection of this more everyday depiction of their lives. Benvolio's monologue in scene three metatheatrically confuses the date of events as '1562. 1595. Umm...oh never mind'. The first is the rough date of events, the second the date of the play's composition, highlighting the temporal duality of any text. His exchange with the prince begins 'Who's there?/Nay, answer me. Stand, and unfold yourself', famed as the opening lines of Hamlet. This original text appropriations serve both to remind us of the characters' origins, as well as providing an awkward clash of styles which exposes fiction as merely a consistent construct, by removing the consistency part.

In this section Benvolio shouts 'Cut it!' at the prince. As the style and storyline of the original composition deteriorate, so does the social hierarchy which is so present in all of Shakespeare's canon. The scene ends with an introspective monologue by the prince which, along with Benvolio's opening speech, frames the scene. This marks the move from a chorus-like exposition to a hard-line realism which will become painfully stark in the next scene. The prince also reflects on the meaning of life, and the absence of that meaning for characters in a play by observing that 'it's just...purposeless. This life, is purposeless.' Scene four introduces an expressionistic element to the play, as the conversation involving lady Capulet is a projection of Montague's dream, who lies on the ground in this section. This satirises Shakespeare's disregard for proper time in many of his plays, and by most playwrights who do not adhere to the classical unity of time.

Whilst Lady Capulet talking to herself may read oddly, it exposes the impossible duality of literary reflection: how can a character reminisce about an episode involving them, when a person can only exist in one place at once? This is a paradox avoided by literature. The ensuing dialogue includes more Shakespearean quotations, such as the passage from Two Gentlemen of Verona, 'if the gentle spirit of moving words can no way change you to a milder form, I'll woo you like a solider, at arms' end, and love you against the nature of love - force you'. This highlights rape as a theme present in both Shakespeare and modern drama. The final scene of the play brings the style full circle, back to absurdism. Capulet and Montague have lost all purpose, devolving into cyclical speech patterns such as 'What's the point?/What's the use?/What's done is done.' Petruchio, of a younger generation, has more hope and continues to make sense. The prince enters, and delivers a monologue full of parenthesis, reminiscent of glib dukes such as Vincentio from 'Measure for Measure'. He also, however, refuses to take action, and he becomes nonsensical as he refers to Petruchio as a servant . Petruchio is surrounded by prating lords, each having surrendered themselves to an empty fate, and himself is caught in a loop of 'Doesn't make sense, doesn't make-'. The only character who may provide any hope is the tactfully silent Peter, the only character who has chosen to think, rather than speak or act rashly with terrible consequences.

'Loud Rumour' is a phrase from the prologue of Henry IV pt. II. This is how the chorus refers to herself, expressionistically personifying a social phenomenon. The poem opens with an emphatic spondee, setting the tone as 'loud'. The regular four line stanzas are often in a loose iambic tetrameter, giving a sense of state, whilst the variation adds to both effect and confusion. We at first see that which the courtiers see, the sennet and the pomp, but the illusion is dispelled at once, referring to all this majesty as 'vacuous' and 'casual'. We are then introduced to something akin to the second scene of the play, and are presented with several antitheses: 'cloudy' and 'sunny', 'father' and 'lord, and to some degree 'kinsman' and 'son'. The poem places Hamlet somewhere in the middle of all these, but fails to find a word for any of these states, instantly recognising the failures of the medium if language through which the poem is expressing itself.

Whilst enjambment is used often, caesura is mostly avoided, contributing to the imagine of a 'riverrun' poem, unable to stop easily. The rhyme scheme is somewhat convoluted, seeming at first well thought out, ABBA, but then descending into a much more occasional rhyme, 'dust' with 'trust', returning again for 'lust'. The idea that rhyme is a pretence such as court appearance which is difficult to keep up, and as the events amongst the courtiers become less decorous, so does the poetry. The motif of the verse 'Blacker than young Hamlet's was' is used both to chart the progression of a character, but also expose the ambiguity of language. At first it speaks in his defence, as to the character of his soul, but in the second instance it refers to the blood on the gown of the man he had killed. Not only has Hamlet changed, but the words have taken on new meaning because they were removed from context, just as we cannot be sure we understand the events of 'Hamlet' because we only have a glimpse of his life, not the full picture.

The long stanza beginning 'The whisper' serves to mock dramatic structure, an idea imposed upon us by dramaturgy. It is altogether unrealistic, since if we were to choose a section of someone's life it is unlikely it would begin with an exposition, end with a denouement and include such processes as climax, catharsis and peripeteia. In the same way, the visual structure of this poem, whilst interesting or aesthetically pleasing for a reader, does not reflect the way language is really used, showing literature not to imitate life at all, but a stylised adaptation of it. It also introduces us fully to the theme of rumour, 'debris from muddy shoals' metaphorically, and how this is one way in which 'truth' is obscured, as well as being taken out of context in literature. The idea of "the 'only truth' [...] in an abyss' is the idea of a single truth being something we strive for but are here mocked for because it doesn't exist, it's merely what we've constructed to fill the 'abyss' of ignorance in which we live, a social constructivist theory.

The ensuing prose exists in sections paragraphicalally: exposition, the Hamlet brothers' story observed from afar, a commentary on this, the Gertrude episode, the Laertes episode in which Gertrude briefly appears, and a question. This contributes to a heavily self-conscious piece of literature, frequently mocking itself and reflecting. An example of this is when it is questioned what happened to old Hamlet, the writing posits that 'it could be the former, the latter, the one in the middle, or all of them at once'. The writing taunts the reader, as it could just deliver the answer, supposedly, but takes the role of a critic instead and speculates philosophically, unhelpfully reminding us that as long as we are unaware, it could be anything. The piece ends with the question '"Who's there?"', the first line from the play. We here have the idea that we have been presented with events prior to the action of the play which may change our understanding of it, and that any excerpt of storytelling is so far from the whole truth that we cannot presume to really know anything about what has occurred.

We Are Underlings - accompanying commentary

Commentary: 'We are underlings'

The quote, of course, is from Cassius of Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar', a play well known if anything for its relationships between masters and men, and for the timeless issue of social class . 'We are underlings' attempts to address some of the issues which either arise as a direct result of or derive from the human condition. Decadence, ignorance, violence, and, above all, poverty. Miranda the sweeper girl is subjected to poverty and violence as she watches the violated Helena murdered, and Cecily is perhaps subject to the worst of the conditions, decadence and ignorance.

Although the play is set in 19th century Paris, it is meant to be transcendent in its message. Some are always more privileged than others, some work while others play, some are abused, others are amused, and all choose to ignore each others' plights if they are not involved. Few, such as Andrew Reed, have attempted to transcend this inner disregard for others under the crude pretext of 'it's not my problem'. Charity in its purest form is rare, and we are lucky at Reed's to live under its legacy.

The problems, however, continue, and will never be truly solved. One can never do everything, be it read all the books in the world, save all the lives in the world or see every inch of the world, as the vastness of the earth and it's population means too much is happening at once for it all to be solved. It can merely be reduced, infinitesimally, but worth every second nonetheless.

I have deliberately contradicted stereotypes here, as the poor and uneducated speak in archaic iambic pentameter, the inner city girl is a soldier in a war zone, and the beautiful princess can no more string a sentence together than she can survive without her handmaidens. Speech should be a reflection of the person, but, like so much else, is instead hoarded and rationed by the rich and educated, for the most part at least. Is Miranda a servant girl and her father a weaver, or an aspiring student of rhetoric and her esteemed master? Is Helena a bread thief, destined to die a lowly serf, or a noble knight in the midst of war? And is Cecily a princess of a kingdom with luxuries abound, or an abused slave of decadence, who cannot express her thoughts as she would, subject to a basement by her master, ignorance.

We Are Underlings, or Class - a social and moral commentary

Miranda

Dearest child, hast thou quenched the floors outside,
The master didst but tell of how his pride,
Belike for want of value true, will nought
Than both of us pursue, 'til sans-culottes
Both here and thence no more - please yet my haw
Forgive - feel the draw of our adamant.
Dearest child, the broom still weighs you down, though
Still weigh you down it shall not.

Oh dearest father, I have done all said
and so your inquisition is bootless.
But as I swept the floors, did strike me such
A thought. An we were to take a loaf, just
A fruit or less, would we hereby be damned
To Hades fires, or no? What thoughts do cross
The abysm of mind when we have none
For eat. Back to your weaving, say I or
Else we shall have no francs for food. Death is
written in our looks, thinks me.






Helena


Helena took to the road. She kept her head low as a round of stares looked their way into the wall barely inches a over her head. A desperate lunge for a window resulted in her being thrown to the floor, leaving her but seconds to make a dive for the safety of an upturned market stall. Traipsing along the hardened mud on hands and knees like a sewer beast, she fought the effluence away from the explosions of laughter and footfall that she dared not look back on.

A cart drew up not four feet in front of her, but of course in her lowly state it could not notice her. Why should it? She was inconsequential. The ugly horse of oppression reared before her as she waved her arms frantically, bearing arms in defiance at this assault. She would not be brought down. Evidently satisfied with its intimidation, oppression withdrew from the attack and raced off. Helena took her chance. She saw a glimmer of hope in the shape of a bunker, or more aptly a stable by the Queen's palace.

At the window of the renowned Queen's palace, short bursts of orders and commands broke out though the thrown open windows. The noxious gas of bread was intoxicating Helena. She dared not look up. Wiping the worst of the waste off on her knees, sweating like the most rancid soldier of the war, and reached for the bread. The cold grip of death grabbed her wrist like a vice, and she felt as if it were preparing her for the saw. She was not wrong. She soon blacked out from the pain, but not before she saw a young girl, although not much younger than herself, watching her from the doorway of the opposite building, sweeping the drowned pavements with a broom.







Cecily
Demétrio Abrantes
34 Calle de brasil
Vigo
Galicia

Ar'ight dear, how's the Duchy treatin' y'all? Up in ol' Paris we en't got much in the way o'servants right now, only our handmaid'a quit herself not three nights since. See, there was this thief'o'bread, stuck'er hand right through the window, which were wide open might I add, and grabbed a loaf! Poor ol' handmaid were fright'd t'death but she stuck it out and grabbed the lil'filcher by the arm, cut her right across. Left her in the gutter somewhere, don' matter now, do'it? En't no one checkin' for nought these days, no one'll notice a beggar girl gone missin'.

I be makin' me way up to Albion to meet him with'oo I'm betrothed. I couldn't find me best silks so I'm stuck with me animal furs 'till the white cliffs. 'Parrently my futur'usband only got himself few hundred acres 'r so, 'ardly worth the time, I says, but father ent having none e'that. He's got himself an obsession with a marriage with them Angles, 'tho can't see why. By the by, to for the presents, I loved 'em, they look the part and all with those I got from father last spring. One was broken on the way, but like I says, no one ent goin'a notice a beggar girl in the gutter, ay?

A dramatic response to Jane Austen's Emma

Scene 1
A bare stage with white walls. Across the walls is written, in its entirety, Jane Austen’s Emma.
Enter NARRATOR. He wears black and presents the prologue, which is acted out in dumb show by WILLIAM and JOHN. These two wear regency dress.
HEATH: John Eastleigh, wealthy, striking and bright, with a thriving business and an unyielding nature, seemed to present himself as the paragon of his high-standing community.  His every need was met by a young page boy, who fell little short of a servant in assistance. (Spoken in unison with WILLIAM) Between them it was more the relationship of slavers. Even before John came into their employment, William’s treatment had not allowed any minor fault to go unpunished. (Only Narrator) The real evils of William’s temperament were his assumed superiority over almost all others, even where it was, perhaps, unwarranted. Sorrow came – though not in any form he could have predicted: Mrs Eastleigh requested a divorce.

Exit NARRATOR

WILLIAM: As I have said, John, I will not speak with her. She will come to her limited senses once she has spoken in her characteristically inane manner for a sufficient time. She is one of those women who are likely to talk incessantly and never hear another. Such prudence is not to be thought tolerable in a woman, or indeed in any man, any at all!
JOHN: Any man, sir?
WILLIAM: Say you? No, I beg you to listen whilst I am speaking! No, any man, but mostly any woman. For women’s mind are of such hollowness, that they must instead listen to the wise saws of men to fill them.
JOHN: Are they really, sir?
WILLIAM: Why, of course. After all, the empty vessel sounds the loudest. Yes it does. But she should follow your prime example, for you respect me as your superior, which of course I am.
 Pause. MRS EASTLEIGH enters, seen only by JOHN
WILLIAM: Am I not? Am I not superior, to you, and to her?
MRS EASTLEIGH shakes her head at JOHN.
JOHN: I...I dare say you are sir.
WILLIAM: Good. Good.
Exeunt. Lights dim to near darkness.


Scene 2
Lights up slightly, sunset, or sunrise. Enter NARRATOR. WILLIAM, JOHN, and MRS EASTLEIGH, now in modern dress, act the chorus.
NARRATOR: Now Mrs Eastleigh failed in her suit. (Said with WILLIAM) But only as she realised the extent to which she relied upon her husband. (Now with MRS EASTLEIGH) But what might have happened, were they born in another time. Were her options less limited. Were her husband’s influence negated.
Exit.
MRS EASTLEIGH: No! Will, can you not- stop making this harder than it has to be, I…it can’t be any other way. Men like you have done this for generations; I’m going to live with John, alright? That’s how it is! (WILLIAM lunges for MRS EASTLEIGH) Get you- get off of me! (JOHN hits WILLIAM) Stop acting…it’s… not proper!
WILLIAM: proper! Don’t you talk to me about what is proper! You shun your own husband, just to run off with the bloody postman! (MRS EASTLEIGH attempts to interrupt) He brings our mail, Anne! How can you do this to me-?
MRS EASTLEIGH: Please don’t- just don’t you speak to…to me! You, my husband... no one cares if you’re a respected figure in our community, or if you’re from a wealthy family, or any of that! When do you think we live! It’s not the nineteenth bloody century Will!
WILLIAM: You can’t speak to me like that! I won’t let you!
This isn’t th’end of social caste!
From me you have not heard the last!
My lineage once would earn respect,
But to your will you me subject.
Is it cruel, unfair, unjust
To tell my wife have her I must?
Be it wrong, unkind, improper
To fight for her you love?
Good Mrs E, with adoration
Did I entice you to my bed,
But through your out of place flirtation,
From our glad house you are now fled.

Pause. MRS EASTLEIGH laughs.

MRS EASTLEIGH: You are really, fucking stupid, husband. (He tries to interrupt) No, no! You are. I don’t need you! I don’t need a man to provide for men, I have skills. There are things I can do, get a job, make my own way. I married too young, I can see that now, but I was so convinced that that was the only way I could survive. And how you’d love to believe that- love me...to believe that. But it’s not true, is it. I’m not leaving you because I don’t love you...I suppose I do, to an extent. I’m leaving because I can’t be the person I’m expected to...by you. I’m sorry, I-

JOHN and MRS EASTLEIGH leave. WILLIAM cries alone. Blackout

The Great Gatsby and The Sun Also Rises: F Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway - a postmodern comparison

“In The Great Gatsby and Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises the authors use their narrators to suggest that there is no single and unequivocal truth.”
Definitions of unreliable narrators make reference to the idea of an objective reality, or truth, which the narrators deprive us of with their opinions. David Lodge tells us in 'The Art of Fiction' that 'the point of using an unreliable narrator is indeed to reveal in an interesting way the gap between appearance and reality, and how human beings distort or conceal the latter'. However, this essay argues that the although the narrators provide us with a perspective, there is no actual truth that we may attain, merely different, more accepted, points of view. The way in which the narrators characterise the others often conflicts with the actions performed by the those characters, leading us to the belief that Nick’s and Jake’s actions and opinions are determined by their schemas, or the cognitive framework in which they view the world. One slightly apathetic and detached in Nick, and also in Jake, yet here somewhat resigned and disillusioned. This disorients the reader in The Great Gatsby, and places them at a skewed perspective in Fiesta, opening the novel up to a plurality of readings. The authors’ constructions of the novels form psychologically real characters, providing us with a perspective, a version of the 'truth' of the novel; providing us with a personal truth, personal to the narrator, but often questioned the reader.
This first point discusses the authors' intentional contradictions which seek to incite uncertainty. In the first chapter of Gatsby, we are told by Nick that Gatsby had ‘an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness[…] No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby[…]that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men’. However, we are later to learn that Gatsby’s dreams have been funded by illicit bootlegging, a fact known by Nick whilst he vehemently denies Gatsby’s fault in the matter. Whatever his reasons for doing so, Nick influences our view of Gatsby before we have all the facts to form a proper opinion. We can even see Nick’s thoughts working in his ‘No’, as if Nick has to justify Gatsby’s innocence to himself as much as to us. Nick here also provides us with an example of perspective: how, during the time frame of the novel, he lost interest in people’s mood. This disillusionment gives us a feeling of loss, emphasised by the word ‘abortive’, with almost deathly connotations. We are, therefore, reading a novel written by someone with very little interest in anything other that Gatsby’s successes, and our views of the other characters may be infected with a lack of interest. Likewise, although on a smaller scale, we see Jake's pessimism when he says of Georgette that 'the girl looked sullen'. However immediately afterward he adds that 'She grinned', and goes on to criticise that as well. But for her to look sullen and then grin indicates a serious disparity in observation. His return from the war and his injury have made him bitter, and, in terms of Freudian psychology, he projects his gloomy demeanour onto others, even those who smile. His description of her as a 'girl' reflects his view of women as immature since his rejection by Brett on account of his impotency, which he views as a childish reason not to be with someone.
The imposition of these contradictions within itself constructs the schemas of the narrators. We can determine the narrator's tendencies or attitudes via actions that they actually perform in the novel. When Tom informs Nick in chapter two when they reach the valley of ashes '"We're getting off"[...][Nick] followed him over a low white-washed railroad fence'. Considering that Nick's original plan was to go to New York, his agreeability at a sudden change of destination suggests a lack of preference in the direction of his own life, the low fence contributing to the idea of having only a vague sense of the terrain under his feet he has to cover, despite their actual problematic nature. We therefore imagine that descriptions of those in whom he has little interest may be scarce and bare. This would explain, despite the countless characters mentioned, including a list of nearly a hundred in chapter four, there are very few 'actual' people. Daisy and Gatbsy are continually described due to Nick's infatuation, and Jordan due to their relationship. However, considering his proximity to Jordan versus Daisy, we may see an uneven distribution of blame, and Wolfsheim, key in Gatsby's downfall, is missed out almost completely after the first encounter. In chapter six of Fiesta, after Frances Clyne's rant to Cohn, of whom Jake had said he was one of a 'certain people to whom you could not say insulting things. They gave you a feeling that the world would be destroyed [...] if you said certain things', about how 'Robert's always wanted to have a mistress', Jake stands and says '"I've got to go in and see Harvey Stone a minute"', and then proceeds home instead. The comment on the end of the world is very drastic, and supposedly shows some great passion for Cohn, and yet his lack of action corroborates the saying 'the empty vessel sounds the loudest'. Furthermore, although Harvey Stone is the person he has seen most recently, and therefore in the fore of his mind, as an aimless, gambling drunkard who claims not to have eaten in five days, he provides an interesting parallel with Jake's lack of purpose. Whilst Jake has very strong opinions of the integrity of Robert and the selfishness of Frances, he is ever the pacifist, choosing to avoid conflict because he doesn't wish to make enemies, but more because he does not care enough to act. This provides a context or Hemingway's minimalist style, in which rich description is often abandoned for the sake of lists and clear events, places and people. Jake has no interest in a romantic, literary view of the world, as is quite clear from his disdain of Cohn's reading 'The Purple Land'. Instead, he lets the world pass by him, and chooses not to act, and, by extension, to comment.
Heretofore we have narrators presenting us with biased attitudes towards the world; what this does in the context of reading is give us a novel which is somewhat incomplete at times, one which we must figure out ourselves. In chapter six of 'Gatsby', Nick narrates the main events of Gatsby's life, ending by saying 'he told me all this very much later, but I've put it down here with the idea of exploding those first wild rumours about his antecedents, which weren't even faintly true'. Not only are we presented with the issue that, as a character, it is only Nick's opinion that this version of Gatsby's past is true, but now we have information that Nick did not have at this point in the novel, and would not have until chapter eight. We now experience the plaza hotel scene with a firm belief in Gatsby which none of the other characters would have had, putting us into a false sense of security, since these events may, in fact, be lies as well. We are now out of synchronisation with both our narrator, the chronology and the truth. In chapter seven of 'Fiesta', when Brett asks '"Want to go?" I had the feeling as in a nightmare of it all being something repeated, something I had been through and that now I must go through again. "......" the drummer sang softly. "Let's go," said Brett. "You don't mind." "......" the drummer shouted and grinned at Brett'. This extract, if we are to read it in keeping with the reading of Jake as rejecting difficult realities and situations, seems to work towards a dark profundity, but regresses into observation of the drummer. It could be read that Jake is omitting either strong emotions he experienced, or even something that went on between the two of them on the dance-floor which he wishes to forget.
Jean Evans, in her article 'The Unreliable Narrator: How Unreliable is Unreliable?', stipulates that Nick 'takes a very partial view of the protagonist and reveals himself to be not entirely trutstworthy within the world of the text', also admitting it is a given 'that all first person novels are in one way or another partial and biased'. But no view of any world, either first person, third person omniscient, or a general consensus of generations of readers, is so virtuous as to be impartial and unbiased, as can be seen in the world of a text: where all the information we receive is through someone who is claimed to be unreliable, and yet we have our own opinions on it. Every individual views the novels through their own schemas, with an individual collection of genes, thoughts and experiences. We may therefore say, in a world populated with vile bodies and imperfect minds, that reliability is an almost divine concept, which we, as humans, will never understand.
Bibliography
 Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. London: Penguin, 2000.
 Hemingway, Ernest. Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises. London: Vintage, 2000.
 Lodge, David. The Art of Fiction. S.l.: Vintage, 2011.

Loud Rumour - a creative response to Hamlet

Loud Rumour

All hail, the King of Denmark!
Magisterial vacuousness.
All hail, imperial jointress!
Casual sennet, pomp's remark.

How is our young prince of Denmark?
More than cloudy, less than sunny,
More than kinsman less than son.
Less a father, more a sort of

Lord that lords it over thus.
'Cast thy nighted colour off',
She purposed to entreat her son,
And yet I think her blemished soul was

Blacker than young Hamlet's was.

Good, good, always good -
That's how his mother thought of him.
And he had thought of her as madam,
Since his father lay in dust
He had no care for parental trust.

'Get thee to a nunnery!'
The lachrymose Ophelia must
Have died a little then. She was
a paragon of beauty, lust

No more in her eyes could be found.
Flowing flowing, riverrun,
The fatal streams made Polonius' gown far

Blacker than young Hamlet's was.

The whisper of a town circumambulates, as a river
That collects debris from muddy shoals, and the,
Perhaps, pure truth of how it started is sullied,
Much. A letter here, a conversation there.
Words, words, words, absurd
Conclusions reached from
False assumptions,
Matched with
Presumptions,
Contribute to a
'Truth', the 'only truth',
A truth in an abyss. What
Is passed, and what is believed
To have passed, are, here, two quite
Separate entities. Catches of hearsay,
Fragments of truth amalgamated with new
'Truths' born of uncertainty. What results...that
I have set down. And now for what occurred, we
Shall see. But for the amount, order and coherence...


A bold crash of a titanium wave sent a pair of lovers scattered across the bay. Clothes flew, glass shattered, steel cans clattered and a rough wind cycled through the airborne waves, Nature her holiness breaking out torrents of supernatural carnage. It was almost too much for the small tribe of that little nation to bear: except that they had been bearing it for over a thousand years. The Danish were no strangers to the harsh truth that moonshine and tide were not curious as to the workings of the law; no, in fact, it was only custom that prevented them from giving up altogether and just leaving the coastal towns to rot. The custom was not any one in particular; merely a general tradition, a shared heritage, a collective life force. A sort of service owed, a debt needing to be repaid. A debt for what? The gracious state of Denmark would protect them from plague, keep them from poverty, and generally permit them to do as they pleased. Brother and brother would stand together and face the world as one. Well. Nearly all brothers.

An inconceivable, immeasurable lag between the water slapping the shore and the unavoidable smash that greets one's ears with scream invited an ethereal sense of calm (before the storm, almost,) into the heart of each who heard. One of these was a young man, trimly dressed with a compact form, and his brother, older by some fourteen months or a year, of slightly more generous dimensions. The pair reached the base of a tattered tower, looked at it enquiringly, and proceeded indoors. What passed within these walls is by and large unknown, but what is known is that only one man emerged, not too much later, and, putting on a hat, kept true down a perpendicular alley until out of sight.

Many theories have emerged as to the whereabouts of the older brother. Some say young Claudius was jealous of old Hamlet's power and rule. Others say he felt deprived of his father's love. Cynics and gossips have even speculated that doubt had been cast over the circumstances of the younger's birth, and he took it upon himself to silence his sibling. Of course we will never know. But we can say that it could be the former, the latter, the one in the middle, or all of them at once. The only mind in which a certain truth exists is that of he who committed the act. A mind which we are unlikely to access, soon.

After the storm, a shape appeared from a dark recess behind the tackle shop and lurched around a corner. A man approached and the shape slowed. He was taken aback, visibly afeard. Gently he tipped his toe upwards, knee bending, face cast down. Madam, he said. He passed, she waited, she continued. Past designer brands, past the new issues of Morning magazine, until she reached the end of the street. A left, a right, a dark cave, that wasn't a cave, more like a ravine, between which were...stone steps. One, two, one, two, feet ascending, the hem of her dress flipping up on every second clip of the heel. She could see high over the town now. What a thing it was, to climb and clamber up a giant mountain, how excellent, how wild. It was these days for which she lived. Not the days of the castle, but Elsinore days, where she could dip in amongst the lusty labourers and get by on stealth and quality, rather than composition and dull formality.

After passing the fierce cleaner on the first floor, Laertes jumped the last two steps to the courtyard, still chewing the stale bread he took from the pantry that morning. The swinging of his bronzed arms and angle of his chin gave away that the tired, moody man of yesterday, had died, in a sleep, giving way to a more lively, youthful man, who woke the fools he passed with his mere existence. It was doubtful that there was a single thing that evening could faze Laertes. Clang. Wait. Grind. Stop. Thump. Creak. Pause. Slam. A woman ran past him, drenched through her gown. Ophelia? Doubtful. Man on the wall. The guard. A figure behind him. Two more approaching from the courtyard. What's this? What's this? The guard turns. Weapon raised. Voice more terrified than any he would ever hear again.

"Who's there?"

Swingin' In The Backyard - a short play, based on the music of Lana Del Rey and influenced by the style of Arthur Miller

Swinging in the Backyard

Scene 1

A garden, somewhere in the state of New York. A swing hangs from a tree centre stage, on which Elizabeth sits, in a sundress. A house upstage. Enter John upstage, from the auditorium. Elizabeth looks up and stands realising who it is.

John:
That damn Bugatti, having trouble with the brakes again-

Elizabeth:
John! I didn't realise / you were-

John:
-and bullshit I'm driving too fast, I don't drive too fast, they just don't like me living, like really living...

Elizabeth:
I think you've got a wonderfully fast-

John:
That's the problem with these mechanic types, they don't know how to live themselves, and they don't want anyone else doing it neither. That's it you see, that's just it.

Elizabeth:
What is, dear?

Pause

How are- how was your day?

John:
Hm? Oh it...yes it was good. It was good. Little thirsty, though-

Elizabeth:
Oh!

She goes into the house. He walks centre stage. She returns with a beer and gives it to him. He opens it. She walks downstage again. He walks upstage to the house, then looks at her, aware of his disregard for her, now guilty.

John:
Come on, Lizzie. Get over here and...play a video game!

She smiles and walks back over to him.

Elizabeth:
No, I don't feel like it. You know I don't get those things.

John:
Why don't you tell me about the future again, how you got it all planned out.

Elizabeth:
(Laughs). Don't be ridiculous, John, I'm not a little kid!

John:
Oh aren't you? (Pause) That is my favourite dress of yours, ya know.

Elizabeth:
I know. I thought you'd like it. I wore it to please you. Maybe you'd like it better off of me.



She takes off the sundress. She stands now in underwear.

John:
You are...so beautiful in the sun.

Elizabeth:
Oh John stop it...

John:
(He grabs her and spins her around). But seriously, come on, tell me. (He sits on the swing and indicates for her to follow)

Elizabeth:
Well. (She sits on his lap). We'll have a house. Not like this, a proper house. French or Italian, Georgian...it doesn't matter. And we'll have big gardens with lawns and fountains and...oh can't you just see it John!

John:
I'm gonna get it for you, Elizabeth. One day I'm gonna get it all, and we're gonna live like...well like king and queen of New goddam York.

Elizabeth:
(Mock silly voice) You the bestest, Johnnie. (Leans in for a kiss. Normal voice) I'm wearing the perfume you like. I want to please you. I wanna make you so happy John. Come on. I'll go put some more perfume on, just say the word, and you, you can...go play a video game. If you like...

She stands and moves towards the door. Stops, turns, beckons seductively. He leaves with her.
 
Scene 2

Enter Elizabeth

Elizabeth:
I love him. I love him. I really do, I always have...and he knows it - how I worship him, adore him, how I'd do anything for him, anything he'd like, whatever he asked. Whenever. Wherever. I try to be what he wants me to be. He likes...those girls. Dirty, and...bad. I think. But that's not me. I try to be but I don't know if I can. It doesn't matter though. Mother always told me falling in love is the best thing in life, but...I had no idea. When we're together, it's like every other person on this planet of however many billion...they're just not there. Here. It's me, and him. My purpose. My cause. The reason I get up every morning and continue my tiny little life. And in return...he has me.

She leaves.

Scene 3

A bar. Elizabeth stands by the bar with two men in suits, laughing flirtatiously, drinking. John is playing pool with another man, happy, but somewhat uncomfortable with Elizabeth's company.

Scene 4

The scene is eighteen months later, inside the house. John sits on a chair, slouched, his gaze vacant and slightly downcast. Enter Elizabeth in a black leather dress. John does not react to anything in Elizabeth's speech.

Elizabeth:
How do you like it? (Pause) I did my nails. They're black. Do you like my nails black, John? And my hair, too. Well it's not black really, just a dark brown. You like that, don't you. You like women with...you like dark women. (Pause) I suppose I'm boring you. I'm not strong like those girls. Not as...proud. But you haven't left me.(Pause. Looks out of a window) It's still light. It gets dark pretty quick though, right? Won't be long now, I can feel it. I feel like I could do it, like I could spill my black varnish all over the stratosphere- (Begins to laugh, stops almost instantly, remembering herself).

John:
If out of your...varnish bottle came a magic genie, and I could have one wish, any wish, you know what I'd want?

Elizabeth:
Of course not, John.

John:
I'd wish for it to be nighttime. This...day just doesn't fit with me anymore. I'm an instrument. A melody. I'm a collection of melancholic resonances.

Elizabeth:
Don't say that, John, you know I can't have it. It just kills me, John. You should be in tune with the day, you really ought to be.

John:
(Turning to her) But I'm not though, am I? (He returns to his solemn position)

Elizabeth:
(Starting to cry) Oh, what can I do?

John:
Nothing. Nothing at all, my pretty little thing. You always reminded me of a bird. So cheery, so free. You need to be free to fly away. Maybe it's time you stopped singing your song for me.

Elizabeth:
Oh, what can I do? What can I say to make you better, to help you see. Life is so, so beautiful, and you have absolutely no idea. Oh, if only you could have my life, then you'd be happy. For, you see, being in love with you is the best thing in life anyone could have. I feel so selfish, depriving the whole world of it. But I don't suppose I'd give it up for anyone. Not even for you. (Pause). Look at that. Look at the sun, and the ocean. It's such a deep blue, and you can see the light coming off it. It's magnificent.

John:
I don't understand it. It makes no sense.

Elizabeth:
Not to you. Not right now. Your sadness is your beauty. (Beginning to cry) It's a terrible paradox, isn't it, John. So sorrowful, and still so amazing. (Becoming hysterical with love for John) You sit there and I'll get the black paint. No, not the nail varnish, I have a proper pot here somewhere...(searches). What shall we paint next? The house? The house! Look, my dress is already black. Oh, John I've had a wonderful idea. Let's get married again. In this dress, wouldn't I look so cool? It's leather, John. It would suit our wedding so well, because we'd both be black, me on my dress, and you...in your heart. (Reality returning. Calm)

John:
You're love is so strong, and bright, and god knows I appreciate it...but it's too light for me. For my life. I don't have any space to let you in, there's just a darkness that fills every gap, every cubic part of my soul. I hate to say it because I love you, and I love you loving me, but you're wasting your love on me - you're wasting yourself on me. (Pause) Your lips. They're red. Why are they red? I thought you would make everything black for me.

Elizabeth:
But John, don't you think they're wonderful, just like a pair of freshly grown cherries. Just like the ones we see in the garden every spring-

John:
But Elizabeth-

Elizabeth:
(Angry momentarily) For god's sake John you can't just let everything seem so dark to you! (Instantly regretful) Oh, I'm so sorry, my love, I am, I don't know what that was about. I just wanna be able to make up you feel again, like only I can make you feel, I want to make you a man, or I'll settle for less, just to get through this veil, just get through you, to you. Please.(She approaches the side of his chair, kneels) I'll never leave you. I swear I won't. You're so beautiful, I swear I couldn't live without you. I swear it!

Elizabeth cries uncontrollably, rocking backwards and forwards, her speech now incomprehensible. John continues to stare vacantly as her heart breaks, and she grabs his sleeve when-

Blackout.

A comparison of the acting of two actors each from from two plays

On 22nd March, at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, I saw 'The Knight Of The Burning Pestle' by Francis Beaumont, directed by Adele Thomas, a production I found interesting in comparison with 'Much Ado About Nothing' which I saw on 3rd May at Shakespeare's Globe, directed by Max Webster. Two actors who struck me particularly were Matthew Needham as Rafe and Hannah McPake Mistress Merrythought in 'Pestle', and Emma Pallant as Beatrice and Simon Bubb as Benedick in 'Much Ado'.

Matthew Needham interpreted the character of Rafe to be a timid, guileless young man, uttering a barely audible 'peace, mistress', when trying to quieten the citizen's wife, hesitantly touching her shoulder but quickly retreating. We, as an audience, instantly understood his low status. This contrasted with McPake's Mistress Merrythought, who came across as a proud, vain and rude woman, who I found instantly hilarious but dislikable. When she refused to bless her son Jasper she swung her arms around fancifully, without much direction, showing her to be full of hot air. Pallant's Beatrice was instantly assertive, spending much of the first scene stage left, away from Leonato. She is not moody, however, but fiercely independent, lowering her pitch on 'I know you of old', making the tone more serious, informing he audience that she has depth. Bubb's Benedick was unconvincingly brash, as if he was using his comedy as a front, as can be seen when he is taken aback by Beatrice, before physically composing himself, smiling, speaking his first line.

All styles of acting were naturalistic, although somewhat stylised so as to achieve comic effect. When Rafe is brought onto the stage in the prologue, his arms hang limply and straight at his sides and his wide eyes dart nervously about stupidly. The audience all laughed audibly, finding it humorous that one so unprepared had found himself in that situation. Michael Billington made reference to 'Needham's guileless Rafe' in the Guardian, which was a very apt word choice. Merrythought's physicality was equally odd, but more confident, such as when talking to Michael she would turn direction mid-speech and swoop across the stage with apparent purpose, which I found a particularly amusing aspect of the play. This corresponds with Billington's reference to her performance as 'boisterous', which is true, though I might have chosen a less aggressive word. Pallant's physicality was stern; she would step heavily across the stage, evidently with resolve, something which would excite the audience, expecting a confrontation. Bubb was much more reserved, tending to stand further upstage, and making less sudden movements, often moving his arms before his legs in hesitant gestures.

In Rafe's stilted heroic monologue, Needham achieved a staccato effect, adding ridiculous emphasis to the rhymes in the couplets to a comic effect for the audience: this showed him to be an inexperienced actor, a difficult role for an actor to play. He also characterised his social low-standing by his omission of 't' in many words, and pronouncing 'th' as 'f'. Dominic Cavendish in the Telegraph described this as a 'have-a-go knight errant', which I found observant. By the time of his blank verse he has come to grips with acting somewhat more, lowering his pitch to a growl on 'my trusty dwarf', raising it on 'distressed damsels'. He also regulated his tempo, giving enough time for complex sentences to be understood. Mistress Merrythought used her voice often to comic effect, such as when she put emphasis on 'Michael' each time, softening her voice to a sickly doting, exaggerating her preference for this son. When she says 'I have lost my money in this forest', she raised her pitch to comic proportions, clenching her fists, her voice breaking somewhat with the frustration, something I found indicative of her character.

A comparison of the stage design and other technical aspects of two production that I have seen.

On 23rd March 2014, I saw the Rose Theatre's production of 'The Massacre At Paris' by Christopher Marlowe, directed by James Wallace, which I found interesting when compared with the design concept of Cheek By Jowl's 'Tis Pity She's A Whore', seen at the Barbican Centre on 24th April 2014, directed by Declan Donnellan and designed by Nick Ormerod. Both designers chose to remove the plays from the Elizabethan and Caroline eras respectively, as well as playing down the significance of geographical setting, France and Italy respectively, in favour of a stylised realism with expressionistic elements. Massacre had a 1950s Hollywood vibe which served to comment on modern desensitisation to violence, whilst 'Tis Pity was set in generic modern bedroom, to emphasise the importance of Annabella's experience over the locale.

Both productions were staged in black box theatres, with the front row of the audience on the same level as the actors, the rows behind tiered, and used their stage design to explore a humanist theme, rather than the original context of the play. In Massacre, whilst the stage was only four meters deep, the railings at the back looked out across the foundations of the old Rose Playhouse, which served as an acting space representing distance, such as for those who fled Paris after the purge. The props onstage were a modern leather stool upstage and a high square wooden table with a three-tiered wedding cake and knives. The stripped back nature of the design was appropriate in terms of the production's focus, which was the effects of intense violence, rather than the historical event itself. In 'Tis Pity, the play also sought to explore the main theme more than the historical context of the play. The setting was clearly Annabella's bedroom, with a wall upstage, reaching only as high as an ordinary wall covered with teenager's posters to make the scene feel domestic. Set in the wall was a door upstage left, to the bathroom, and upstage right, to the hall. Stage right there was a wardrobe, and a table stage left. Annabella's bed was positioned centre stage, around which the majority of the action took place.

Lighting was used to set the tone of the plays: in Massacre, during the massacre itself, the main lights were turned off and torches were shone into the faces of the audience. This changed the mood to a frightening one for me, as well as indicating the time of day as being night. It also contributes to the composition of the scene, as the torches are shone onto the victims momentarily as they die. Here we see only small, fragmentary aspects of the scene, making the audience feel disoriented. Miranda Fay Thomas, writing for What's On Stage, remarked that "Wallace's production [...] revels in the play's carnivalesque atmosphere of slaughter and maniacal despotism". Low lighting was also used in the scenes where the Duke of Guise was alone, giving us the location and time of day as being inside his house in the evening, and allowing us selective visibility only, of the Duke. It also set the mood as solemn, scaring the audience. 'Tis Pity also uses lighting to establish mood, however in a more expressionistic manner. The opening sequence was bathed in a harsh red light, unrealistic and therefore setting the style as somewhat expressionistic. It also foreshadowed the copious amount of bloodshed to ensue, and was described by Paul Couch as the 'churning crimson sea of Nick Ormerod's retina-straining set'. This best describes the reaction evoked in the audience members, a sense of stomach-churning nervousness.

Music was used often to create a mood, such as in the Duke of Guise's death scene when dramatic choral music was played. This was a moment of particularly effective staging, as the murderers stabbed the Duke in slow motion, and red confetti was thrown from the 'wounds' across the stage to symbolise blood. Here we had a mock-melodramatic death, which was still quite emotional for me. In the Massacre, fifties rock music was played as the onstage deaths occurred. This staging was particularly effective because it created an irony, as the popular music was playing to the violence, commenting on how both are now media products, both disturbing and amusing the audience. In 'Tis Pity, music was more a part of the play as opposed to overture, but it again was used in ironic instances. Tarantella music was played at the wedding of Annabella and Soranzo, which was humorous for me as the wedding guests were all dancing a clearly choreographed dance to the Italian influenced music in a bizarre situation. Dance music was played in the opening sequence, setting the tone of the play as dynamic and modern.

As for costume, both productions used mainly suits, as the majority of characters of the plays were mainly high ranking males, best portrayed in a modern production with suits. In Massacre, Guise wore a silver penchant round his neck, indicating him being very overtly religious, to extremes. In 'Tis Pity, the religious cardinal was portrayed by dressing him in the traditional ecclesiastical apparel, rather than a single symbolic accessory. This showed up the church as behind the times, since this is the only character who would be dressed the same in original Renaissance production. Annabella wore blacks and a checkered red cardigan, making her look particularly girly, with her hair tied up. Much clothing, such as shirts, blouses and even trousers, were often removed, contributing to the sensuality of the production.

He Jests At Scars - a short play

Trying to direct shakespeare to fall in line with modern day realism's expectations can be a challenge for the best directors. Imagining the well known characters speaking in a naturalistic sense can be difficult for even experienced audience members. And the idea of what the characters of a tragedy might do after such a traumatic and life-changing event can actually be more depressing than the deaths themselves

Scene 1

The hanging of the apothecary, the gibbet not seen onstage. Enter the NURSE, FRIAR LAWRENCE and PETER, facing the audience, as if the gallows were there.

Nurse:
Is it fair?

Lawrence:
It isn't fair.

Nurse:
He had no choice.

Lawrence:
No other options.

Nurse:
Dead for forty ducats.

Lawrence:
He knew the law.

Nurse:
The law on selling poison.

Lawrence:
To any man in Mantua

Nurse:
Death. By hanging.

Lawrence:
We weren't to know.

Nurse:
I didn't know.

Lawrence:
You weren't told.

Nurse:
I loved the girl.

Lawrence:
We all did.

Nurse:
And now...and now...

Lawrence:
You have to leave.

Nurse:
I have to leave.

Lawrence:
It's what the Prince has said.

Nurse:
The sentence is passed.

Lawrence:
He thinks you helped the girl.

Nurse:
I didn't know...

Lawrence:
You never would have.

Nurse:
But you did.

Lawrence:
I married them.

Nurse:
You married them.

Lawrence:
I know.

Nurse:
Then why must I leave but not you?

Lawrence:
Isn't it obvious?

Nurse:
No. Not to me. But I suppose to you.

Lawrence:
Where will you go? Mantua?

Nurse:
It's haunted for me there.

Lawrence:
Then Milan.

Nurse:
Further.


Lawrence:
Rome? Naples?

Nurse:
Perhaps.

Lawrence:
Before the end of the day

Nurse:
Don't remind me.

Lawrence:
Fine.

The trap is heard to fall through. The crack of the Apothecary's neck.

Peter:
Come on.

Exit.

Scene 2

The funeral of Juliet, Lady Montague, Mercutio, Paris, Romeo and Tybalt. Enter PRINCE ESCALUS and LORD MONTAGUE. Then enter LORD CAPULET and PETRUCHIO. All are visibly upset, save the Prince.

Prince:
Lord Capulet.

Capulet:
My Prince Escalus.

Montague:
Boy.

Petruchio:
Yes, my lord.

Montague:
You were a friend of Tybalt.

Petruchio:
I was, my lord.

Prince:
No more of that, Montague.

Montague:
No, no, I wasn't...that...I wasn't.

Prince:
I'm glad. Who's conducting the service?

Capulet:
Friar John.

Prince:
Ah.

Capulet:
He's not the best, but-

Prince:
Yes I know.

Montague:
I wonder.

Prince:
You wonder what?

Montague:
Why Lawrence chose to leave.

Capulet:
He didn't say. He didn't really have to.

Montague:
He went into the hills.

Prince:
Hermitage?

Capulet:
It's not uncommon.

Montague:
In the friary. Quite a popular change to one's lifestyle.

Capulet:
She's gone too.

Prince:
Good. Where to? Padua? Florence?

Montague:
Athens.

Prince:
Athens? Why in the name of God?

Capulet:
Wanted to get away. Far away.

Montague:
As if she had a choice.

Prince:
Look, would you not? You were no saints in these wars, and are not free from my judgement.

Petruchio:
My masters, if I may be so bold as to speak against you, I've come to mourn my friend, Tybalt, you your children. We should be respectful.

Montague:
That we should.

Capulet:
Ah, I must go. My eulogy.

Prince:
Lord Capulet. Remember this.

Exit CAPULET. PETRUCHIO begins to cry.

End of scene.

Scene 3

Enter BENVOLIO.

Welcome to Verona. Verona in 1562. 1595. Umm...oh never mind, it shouldn't matter either way. The city upholds a solemn vigil. Tybalt, Mercutio, and Paris, are murdered. Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet are dead. Suicide. Lady Montague is also dead. Juliet's Nurse is exiled and Friar Lawrence has retired to a cave, two miles outside the town. Old Capulet, Lord Capulet's cousin, has died at the funeral of the aforementioned dead. I, a friend of the aforementioned Romeo, and the aforementioned Mercutio, am attending the second funeral in four days. But death has yet to leave Verona.

Enter ESCALUS.

Prince:
Who's there?

Benvolio:
Nay, answer me. Stand, and unfold yourself.

Prince:
Prince Escalus, of Verona.

Benvolio:
Apologies, my lord.

Prince:
No need, no need, I see now you are Benvolio, the last son of the house of Montague.

Benvolio:
Need I reminding?

Prince:
Of course not, I'm sorry.

Benvolio:
Aye.

Prince:
Did you know Old Capulet.

Benvolio:
No.

Prince:
But you have to be here.

Benvolio:
Show my face.

Prince:
It's the proper thing.

Benvolio:
A reconciliation isn't easy. It takes time.

Prince:
What's keeping you awake.

Benvolio:
Romeo.

Prince:
Of course.

Benvolio:
I just want to remember him as he was. But...to think that they lay him in the cold ground...

Prince:
All things must die, Benvolio.

Benvolio:
Not so young, surely.

Prince:
No, of course not-

Benvolio:
At fifteen.

Prince:
Look, all I meant was-

Benvolio:
Cut it! (Pause) I'm sorry, that wasn't intented.

Prince:
Don't mention it.

Benvolio:
So why are you awake?

Prince:
I am a prince. Sleep favours the poor.

Benvolio:
Yes, that it does. My lord?

Prince:
Yes?

Benvolio:
Do you think that...Romeo...thinks about us. In heaven.

Prince:
Heaven? Romeo is a murderer of two, and himself!

Benvolio:
He died in a friary, he would have repented.

Prince:
No amount of repentance could save a murderer.

Benvolio:
Foul? He was a good man, he only killed for love.

Prince:
Affectation.

Benvolio:
Affect- who are you? Have you no heart? Finds charity in you no sharper spur?

Prince:
I hope you will not reject the good book for affection and...mere sentiment.

Benvolio:
Goodnight, Escalus.


Prince:
You will-

Benvolio:
Goodnight.

Exit BENVOLIO.

Prince:
Quietude. The city feels empty. No tumult, no strife, no factious warring. I should be happy. But it's just...purposeless. This life, is purposeless. And I can't settle, dispel my anger. Everyone else has moved on with their lives, why can't I? Maybe I should leave, get away for a while. But who would rule the city? Capulet I suppose, but I don't trust him yet. No, I'll stay. I'll wait it out. (Pause) For now.

End of scene

Scene 4

Enter PETRUCHIO and MONTAGUE.

Petruchio:
My lord. (Goes to exit)

Montague:
Yes,- ah, boy! Boy!

Petruchio:
(Stops) Yes, my lord?

Montague:
I, uh...I'm sorry about the other day, at...you see everything was so fresh-

Petruchio:
My lord, I really wouldn't worry about it.

Montague:
Ah, yes, well...thank you. (Pause) Where are you going?

Petruchio:
Umm...to see Lord Capulet. I received word that I'm needed urgently.

Montague:
Ah. Then I won't keep you.

Exit PETRUCHIO

Oh, my, oh, my...they won't find out, they won't, I...I don't even want to remember. I won't...i can't...shouldn't.

Montague collapses. Flashback. Enter LADY CAPULET, putting make-up on in front of a mirror. Montague's speech is a prerecorded projection. Lady Capulet acts as if he is present.

Montague:
My lady.

Lady:
Oh, my- Montague?

Montague:
None but he.

Lady:
What- how did you gain admittance to my bed-chamber?

Montague:
You are a very beautiful woman, do you know that?

Lady:
My lord!

Montague:
You've failed to answer my question.

Lady:
What?

Montague:
Do you know that you are a very beautiful woman?

Lady:
I must insist that you leave at once, my lord.

Montague:
Sweet lady, I must confess, ever since the death of my dear wife I have felt so alone in this terrible world, this awful world of harsh inconsequence!

Lady:
Ever since? That was three weeks ago!

Montague:
Three weeks are for me a lifetime without my dear wife, I need the soft touch of a woman, so dearly-

Lady:
Do not touch me! leave go of me!

Montague:
No, if the gentle spirit of moving words can no way change you to a milder form, I'll woo you like a solider, at arms' end, and love you against the nature of love - force you.

Lady:
I will not have it, I- Help! What ho, help!

LADY CAPULET throws herself around the room as if she were being thrown. She turns away from the audience, and is stabbed, a knife in her chest when she turns again. She falls to the ground, twitching, not yet dead.

Montague:
I'll force you to yield to my desire!

Her dress is pulled slightly up. End of scene.

Scene 5

MONTAGUE and CAPULET, sitting. PETRUCHIO and PETER, with heads in hands.

Petruchio:
What have you done?

Montague:
I didn't mean it.

Capulet:
She was so beautiful.

Petruchio:
We have to do something. Call the prince.

Montague:
What's the point?

Capulet:
What's the use?

Montague:
What's done is done.

Capulet:
Can't change the past.

Petruchio:
I don't understand why you're just...sitting there! Isn't one of you remotely angry at, or afraid of, the other?

Capulet:
Call the prince then.

Montague:
There's nothing he can do.

Capulet:
Not anymore.

Montague:
Not now.

PETRUCHIO gestures to PETER, who exits.

Petruchio:
I didn't know it would come to this. Is this what happens when you're on your own? You just sit back and let every good thing in your life leave you?

Montague:
Tell me, boy.

Capulet:
Have you seen death?

Montague:
Have you watched someone.

Capulet:
As they die.

Petruchio:
Have I- what? What does it matter?

Montague:
It matters because you'd realise.

Capulet:
That there's no point. To anything.

Montague:
All the fighting.

Capulet:
Everything you've ever worked for doesn't matter.

Petruchio:
You're wrong. I know you're wrong, you're just...sad, still. You'll see.

Enter ESCALUS, followed by PETER close behind.

Escalus:
Good afternoon, gentlemen. (No response). Gentlemen? (Still no response). I shall be listened to! (All jump. The two lords stand.) I have been informed, as to an incident. Whilst I won't go as far as to expound upon the details, since that everyone present is already completely aware of both the circumstances and the implications of the event, I shall let it be known, how sad this event makes me. (ESCALUS looks, however, completely unfazed). If anyone would like to say anything, I would advise them to do so now. (A pause. PETRUCHIO goes to speak, PETER grabs his arm to silence him). Normally, a matter of such severity would be taken to the courts, and you, my lord Montague, would be found, inevitably, guilty. I have, however, made something of an exception, given that you are a gentleman of such standing, and I have reached a judgement. Since I fear the damage potentially to be done if I deliver a harsh verdict may outweigh the consequences of a slight...neglecting of the law, I have decided, just this once, to allow for Montague to remain free, with a warning. After all, Capulet seems quite content to be in the same room as the offender, and as she was his wife...I feel there is no more to be said.

Petruchio:
No more to be said?

Peter:
Petruchio, don't-

Petruchio
What on earth do you mean, no more to be said?

Escalus:
As is typical with most people when they speak, I meant exactly what I said.

Petruchio:
This is an insult. This is an abandonment of justice, of order.

Escalus:
As a mere servant, it may be hard for you to understand, but this is the only decision that can be made, however difficult it may seem.

Petruchio:
Difficult? It's completely immoral. And you two, how can you just sit there, that was your wife! Is no punishment in order for this...this rapist?

Montague:
Nothing to be done.

Capulet:
Nothing to be said.

Escalus:
They aren't wrong, my boy.

Petruchio:
I don't understand, I- I can't...

Montague:
Can't change the past.

Capulet:
Have to move on.

Escalus:
Best course of action.

Petruchio:
Doesn't make sense, doesn't make-
As the quartet are caught in these loops, all to the same effect, PETER eyes the group with frantic concern, but is unable to bring himself to say anything which might bring the others out of their trances.

Blackout

The Government Inspector

As somebody hoping to go into the theatre, I have been lately thinking about the challenges and opportunities of staging a play: namely Nikolai Gogol's 'Government Inspector'. I decided to write a rationale, describing my choices in staging and design in this masterpiece of Russian dramaturgy:

The Government Inspector - design concept

In my production of The Government Inspector by Nikolai Gogol, I would set the play in modern day Russia, in an attempt to demonstrate that despite the overthrowing of the Russian empire and then the Soviet Union, corruption is still the largest issue facing the Russian Federation, the largest nation in the world. Originally staged in the Alexandrinsky theatre in St Petersburg on a proscenium arch stage, I would remain with this stage type, for the reasons that the play was probably written for this type of stage and is therefore better suited to it, and that it would better befit my style of performance, which would be naturalistic.

The set for the room in the mayor's house takes inspiration from the skyscrapers of Moscow, with all three walls being opaque glass, each side having a narrow wall of oak set in the centre, those walls stage left and right having large doors in them, the wall upstage having a large elevator. The frequent ping of the elevator as each new character arrives will remind the audience of the scenes' chaos. Above the elevator upstage is positioned a large portrait of the mayor, who is made up to look much like Vladimir Putin, to further the image of corruption in small towns being a microcosm of the whole state of Russia. The floors are of opaque glass, and centre stage is a large round oak table, around which chairs are placed in a semi-circle upstage, meaning no individual's seat is obscured by a chair downstage. The oak displays the disproportionate wealth of the mayoral office, which will be contrasted in the set for the the inn. For this set, old, stained red wallpaper will be rolled down over the walls, a tattered brown carpet across the floor, the elevator doors will be covered, and a low energy lightbulb will be lowered to seven feet above the bed, to create the illusion of the room being small. The glass table and chairs are removed and replaced with a large double bed, which is lower down on the left side as it is broken, with a plywood side table with peeling white paint. A mirror is positioned above the bed, but at a cheated, downward angle. This way, Osip can perform his opening soliloquy lying back on the bed, introspectively, but the audience can see him via the mirror above. Characters in this scene will enter up stairs from the door stage left.

The play would open in the morning, before dawn, displayed by a dim light to emulate dusk, and all the characters would appear visibly tired, some still putting on suit jackets and ties. This is because the mayor has called an emergency meeting, the night time setting adding to the idea of the government of the town being underhand, dealing with things they do not want the public to be aware of. Twilight will start to dawn as the officials begin to move on their way, culminating in the beginning of dawn as Anna shouts out of the window, displayed by a warm orange light appearing stage left, which continues directly into the next scene, with the sun rising during Osip's soliloquy, meaning that by Khlestakov's entrance, the sun has risen. This will be marked by an intensification of the light, and the orange glow changing to yellow, then to white. As Khlestakov makes his departure in the final act, and the loose ends are being tied up, the sun will start to set, marking the beginning of the evening twilight. This will be achieved via a reversal of the technique used to portray sunrise, except the light will be stage right instead. Dusk falls as the characters learn Khlestakov's true identity and that the real inspector is present, and light returns to the exact level as at the beginning as the final tableau is formed. This darkening is, again, merely a reversal of the dawn lighting sequence.

The tone of my production would be quite dark, in order to make the play didactic in nature. This would not be portrayed through sound, of which there is little, save the ping of the elevator, and a loud, deep, thumping sound as the characters arrange themselves into the final tableau, but through the depiction of all of the characters as fickle. The only departure from a naturalistic style would be the wearing of comedia dell'arte masks when a character is putting on a front, such as when Khlestakov pretends to be the inspector, when the mayor pretends not to know the the thinks Khlestakov is the inspector, or even just when one character lies to another, such as when the individual town officials beseech Khlestakov in act IV. I would change the plot in only one respect: the postmaster being a police spy. This would be made evident through his wearing of a mask throughout the play, and also an inserted dialogue between the officials leaving the mayor's room in act I and Anna and Marya entering, in which he makes a phone call, confirming that the mayor is falsely convinced that the inspector is staying at the inn.

As for costume, the dress would be modern suits for the part of the officials. The mayor would be cast, made up and dressed to look like Vladimir Putin. Aside from the obvious connotation of corruption, this would add to the image of the mayor of being sly and arrogant. This concept would involve a black suit, white shirt and red tie. The superintendent of schools would be dressed in the same suit and die, but with a striped shirt, mainly to differentiate whilst portraying them as similar. This sycophant is positioned always on the right hand side of the mayor and is the obvious successor, adding to the idea that nothing will ever change as the implicit line of succession is made up of the same corrupt officials. The judge wears the same suit, the same shirt as the mayor, and a silver tie. He wears them in an untidy manner, however, shirt untucked, collar up, lapels turned over, tie loose, a button on the shirt undone, and his hair ruffled. He is therefore presented as someone disorganised and, therefore, seemingly incapable of making decisions in court, and explaining his odd, haphazard dealings in bribery and geese keeping. The charities warden would be a woman, which would make her harsh stance on the welfare of patience even more shocking, and she would have blonde, shoulder-length hair, a pure blue coat and dress and a fashionable flowery scarf. The postmaster would wear a white shirt, but a dark blue suit, to ever so slightly differentiate him from the others, and a lilac tie to give him a deceptive friendliness. His hair would be close cropped, making him harder to read as an individual. Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky would be dressed in the same suit, except Bobchinsky's would be jet black, and Dobchinsky's would be bright white, both with their hair slicked back, dark. This would act as a method of parallel characterisation. Anna would wear a very pale pink jacket, have heavy glasses attached round her neck by a cord, and be slightly overweight, her hair dark, shoulder-length and unkempt. She appears as a woman past her prime, attempting to look proper but always seeking to be the most respected figure by all. Marya is a beautiful, tall, blonde young woman, who wears a revealing black dress, and a leopard print coat over the top, and tall black boots. She is quite obviously prettier than her mother, meaning their competing over attractiveness is not really a competition, but Anna deluding herself. Osip is dressed like a butler, with a starched shirt and a stiff detachable collar, with tie, waistcoat and tails. He is, however, in his seventies, and is most of the tasks given to him by Khlestakov are far too strenuous for a man of his age. This shows Khlestakov up as ungentlemanly, allowing such an old man to do work which would be easy for a twenty-three year old such as himself. Gibner the physician would wear, again, a black suit, a white shirt, and a red and blue striped tie, differentiating him slightly from the others, as a German. Despite his position as a doctor, his wearing a suit proves him to be more of a pen pusher, like the rest of the officials. None of them do any actual hands-on work in their sectors, showing them up as bureaucratic, making their corruption all the more distasteful. Svistunov an Dherzimorda the constables would wear standard Russian police dress, thick black coats and ushankas with police badges on the front. Svistunov would carry a whistle round his neck, which he would blow frequently whenever he is ordered to do something. He is of an average size, whereas Dherzimorda is a much larger, more intimidating character, to characterise the police force as brawny. Khlestakov, cast as a twenty-three year old, with long, dark hair and a beard, starts the play wearing a grey striped suit, which, whilst respectable, is clearly a little old. However, upon his reemergence in act three he wears a long, red and blue dressing gown, his hair newly washed, depicting him as a quasi-Jesus figure. This mocks the way in which the officials spend the last two acts seeking redemption, whilst in fact he is only a conman.