Post-London Hamlet.

Opening Dinner @ Clarchens Ballhaus

Say "Käse!"

(+ unrelated & adorable pictures of the gang in BERLIN!) 

'Words, words, words…'

After studying SHAKESPEARE in LONDON, I know that “the text knows best.” 

Find the truth in the language—Shakespeare gave it to you! The text is always right. 

I learned the importance of honoring the way his words are composed: Is the text written in verse or prose? Does it rhyme? 

Shakespeare’s brilliance is in the details. When I analyze the details, I uncover the depth and complexity of the characters he created. I am given a delicious creative gift through an expansive understanding of Shakespeare’s text within its intended form. 

 . . . But what if language is taken away from me? 

This past Wednesday we went to see Thomas Ostermeier’s production of Hamlet at the Schaubühne Theater in Berlin. The show runs 2:45 straight—no intermission. 

How will I handle this experience? Of course, I know that I know the story. I’m a metacognitive viewer. But I knew that I had to gear up to pay rapt attention. In preparation, I peed 3 times before entering the theater. The words would be there. English surtitles were to be projected on a board above the actors. Ultimately, I would find that I was to get my language back (if not in spoken but at least in written form) but I would lose my bathroom privileges. 

Immediately I’m knocked off guard. The show begins with Hamlet speaking the “to be or not to be” speech into a video camera—the image is projected onto the stage. We’re in the midst of a funeral of the late king, Hamlet’s father. The floor is covered in dirt. Lots of dirt. Rain is provided by a garden hose held by one of the actors. The gravedigger struggles to get the coffin into the grave. “F” words, “”P” words and lots of “C” words were added betwixt the genius of Shakespeare.

I am feeling uneasy. I feel violated. I spent an entire year analyzing the text. I trained my voice to support Shakespeare’s words. The text knows best. . . I must honor the text! But nothing is sacred and Shakespeare’s words are not treated with delicacy and care. The text is augmented, screa, and mocked with no apologies. 

London-trained Allegra is disconcerted. This is not our Shakespeare. But. . . why. . . am. . . I. . . so compelled to keep watching? Why do I care about these characters, these actors, when they are “disobeying” their brilliant playwright? The actors in Ostermeier’s production may flip-off the words of Shakespeare, but neither the director nor the actors have discarded the heart and meaning beneath it. This Hamlet presents a true, deep understanding of the show—of the text.

Lars Eidinger’s portrayal of the title character is not precious with Shakespeare’s words, but his performance is informed by them. They are in his bones, ingrained in his soul. I don’t see an actor watching himself—there is not a moment when I am distracted by emoted emotions. The story is alive and propels the action forward in a continuous, aggressive motion. Hamlet is doing only what is necessary: even if that means wearing a fat suit, eating dirt, free-style rapping, and making a porno with his best pal, Horatio. I believed it. I am compelled to think. I am deeply moved. 

If the story is told with heart and presented with sincerity—the artists celebrate the truth of humanity. They are honoring the spirit of the play and sharing it with others. That’s Art.

Matt Crane enjoys long
 walks along the Spree 

Having a blast at the Maerkisches Museum