Two Macbeths from Orson Welles

Macbeth. Dir. Orson Welles. Perf. Orson Welles, Jeanette Nolan, Dan O’Herlihy, Roddy McDowall, Edgar Barner, and Alan Napier. 1948. DVD. Republic Pictures Home Video, 1992. 

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Back in 2013 (yes, I'm running a bit behind), I was thrilled to see a new DVD release of Orson Welles' Macbeth. The only previous version I knew of was imported from Korea—and it was wonderful (except that I had to turn off the Korean subtitles every time I started it).  But I thought that, perhaps, the new release would have the audio cleaned up a bit and the video restored somewhat.

When the DVD arrived, I found that its run time was 1:47:34; the previous release had a run time of 1:42:38. The new release, I thought, contained a precious four minutes and fifty-eight seconds' worth of material not found on the earlier release! What scene that had been cut had been restored? Or was it a general lengthening—a few speeches here, a few speeches there, but each one adding to the overall texture of the film?

It turns out to be the same film, just run at a slightly-slower speed so that it takes an extra five minutes to watch. I love this film, but it doesn't need to be five minutes slower.

Thus, caveat emptor—especially if the emptor has been primed with this knowledge from Bardfilm.

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Links: The Film at IMDB.

Click below to purchase the film (in either version) from amazon.com
(and to support Bardfilm as you do so).

Book Note: Romeo and Juliet: The War

Work, Max, Stan Lee, and Terry Dougas. Romeo and Juliet: The War. Illus. Skan Srisuwan. Dallas: Viper Press, 2011.

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In 2010, Shakespeare Geek mentioned an upcoming comic release he'd spotted somewhere.

In 2011, he had somehow managed to track down an advance copy, and he offered the world an encouraging review and described the book as looking "like a movie," suggesting that an actual film version of the book would be "pretty awesome."

In 2015, his prediction / suggestion seems to be coming true—a film is in production.

Well, when Shakespeare Geek says something once, I read it. When he says something twice, I ponder it. And when he says something thrice, I actually make sure I investigate what he's talking about.

The book has been officially out since 2011, and I managed to track down a copy. It's not my particular cup of tea, actually, but I see that it might be a way of thinking about the story that could yield some useful food for thought about the play itself—and / or serve as a way of familiarizing an unfamiliar audience with the basic plot, including the tensions between the Montagues and the Capulets.  

I can't outdo Shakespeare Geek, but I can provide something he didn't—a sample of the book. Below are the first dozen pages of the book. I'll leave it to the individual to gauge interest in the book:

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Click below to purchase the book from amazon.com
(and to support Bardfilm as you do so).

Paule Marshall Re-imagines Caliban

Marshall, Paule. "Brazil." Soul Clap Hands and Sing. Washington, D.C: Howard University Press, 1988. 131-77.

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In her 1961 short story "Brazil" (one of four long short stories in the volume Soul Clap Hands and Sing), African-American author Paule Marshall interestingly re-imagines Caliban.

The opening of the story is in the image to the right (click on it to enlarge it). It sets the stage of a nightclub in Brazil and its long-time headlining show: The Great Caliban and the Tiny Miranda.

We soon learn that Miranda is a very tall white woman and Caliban is an extremely diminutive black man.

The story is leisurely in its teasing out the relationships and the setting.  Caliban is set to retire soon—as he's threatened many times before—and the two performers are barely on speaking terms.

As he ponders his retirement, we find Caliban in something of an identity crisis. Everyone calls him "Senhor Caliban" or "Caliban"—even his young wife—and he thinks that he's forgotten who he's meant to be.

We learn this in one of the only direct allusions to Shakespeare in the piece. Some Americans who had been at the nightclub stop him as he walks the streets, hoping he can help them communicate with their taxi driver. After he does so, one of the Americans asks, "Say, aren't you the comedian from the club? What's your name again?" (150) It brings a desire to be known under his old name, "Heitor Baptista Guimares" (151):

The story continues for some time with Heitor / Caliban trying to figure out who he is—is he who he was born or who the public considers him to be? It's a remarkable exploration of the nature of identity.

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Click below to purchase the book from amazon.com
(and to support Bardfilm as you do so).

Rita Dove in Muse of Fire

Muse of Fire. Dir. Dan Poole and Giles Terera. Perf. Dan Poole, Giles Terera, Ian McKellen, Judi Dench, Ralph Fiennes, John Hurt, Ben Kingsley, Michael Gambon, Zoë Wanamaker, Jeremy Irons, and Simon Russell Beale. Muse of Fire Film, Timebomb Pictures, Lion Television, 2013.

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Longtime readers may remember the U.S. premiere of Muse of Fire (for which, q.v.). The film (presented by Bardfilm, if I remember correctly) was very well-received, and it is now
available to rent or to purchase the film from iTunes. The film provides, in an intriguing, compelling manner, an impressive array of voices on Shakespeare.

As my grandmother used to say, I told you that to tell you this: Rita Dove was one of those voices.

In the clip below, she reads part of her poem "Shakespeare Say" (for which, q.v.) and comments on her experiences with Shakespeare.

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Links: The Official Site for Muse of Fire. The Film at IMDB.

Click here to rent or to purchase the film from iTunes

Another Shakespeare Poem by Rita Dove

Dove, Rita. "Blues in Half-Tones, 3/4 Time." American Smooth: Poems. New York: W. W. Norton, 2004. 97-98.

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In this poem, Rita Dove weaves together allusions from King Lear, Hamlet, and Macbeth to make a kind of blues. As with the previous post, I don't have a ton of explication to add to the poem itself—I'll just let the poem speak for itself and hope that you enjoy it as much as I do.

Rita Dove (1952— )

Blues in Half-Tones, 3/4 Time

From nothing comes nothing,
don't you know that by now?
Not a thing for you, sweet thing,
not a wing nor a prayer,
though you got half
by birthright,
itching under the skin.

(There's a typo somewhere.)
Buck 'n' wing,
common prayer—
which way do you run?
The oaken bucket's
all busted
and the water's all gone.

I'm not for sale because I'm free.
(So they say. They say
the play's the thing, too,
but we know that don't play.)
Everyone's a ticket
or a stub, so it might as well
cost you, my dear.

But are you sure you lost it?
Did you check the back seat?
What a bitch. Gee, that sucks.
Well, you know what they say.
What's gone's gone.
No use crying.
(There's a moral somewhere.)

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Click below to purchase the book from amazon.com
(and to support Bardfilm as you do so).

A Shakespeare Poem by Rita Dove

Dove, Rita. "Shakespeare Say." Museum: Poems. Pittsburgh: Carnegie-Mellon University Press, 1983. 33-34.

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I've been wanting to continue in the vein of African-American poets writing with Shakespeare in mind, but end-of-the-semester madness has intervened. Still, I'm determined to call our collective attention to a couple poems by Rita Dove, U.S. Poet Laurate from 1993 to 1995.

"Shakespeare Say" was published ten years before Dove became poet laureate. I don't have too much in the way of explication of the poem, but I enjoy the feel of the poem—I feel some Langston Hughes here, though not in the imagery from German—and I'm very fond of these lines: "Shakespeare say / man must be / careful what he kiss / when he drunk" (41-44). The last few lines of the poem are also pretty magnificent.

Without much ado, here's Rita Dove's "Shakespeare Say."

Rita Dove (1952—     )

Shakespeare Say

He drums the piano wood,
crowing.

Champion Jack in love
and in debt,
in a tan walking suit
with a flag on the pocket,
with a red eye
for women, with a
diamond-studded
ear, with sand
in a mouthful of mush—

poor me
poor me
I keep on drifting
like a ship out
on the sea

That afternoon two students
from the Akademie
showed him the town.
Munich was misbehaving,
whipping
his ass to ice
while his shoes
soaked through. His guides
pointed at a clock
in a blue-tiled house.
And tonight

every song he sings
is written by Shakespeare
and his mother-in-law.
I love you, baby,
but it don’t mean
a goddam thing.
In trouble

with every woman he’s
ever known, all of them
ugly—skinny legs, lie gap
waiting behind the lips
to suck him in.

Going down slow
crooning Shakespeare say
man must be
careful what he kiss
when he drunk,
going down
for the third set
past the stragglers
at the bar,
the bourbon in his hand
some bitch’s cold
wet heart,
the whole joint

stinking on beer;
in love and winning
now, so even the mistakes
sound like jazz,
poor me, moaning
so no one hears:

my home’s in Louisiana,
my voice is wrong
I’m broke and can’t hold
my piss;
my mother told me
there’d be days like this.

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Click below to purchase Museum: Poems from amazon.com
(and to support Bardfilm as you do so).