#I can say 'Oscar Wilde was a good playwright' and 'Oscar Wilde was not a good person' in the same breath that's not a contradiction

[lenbryant]

LONG POST - Cancel Shakespeare? No way!

(NYTimes) Make Shakespeare Dirty Again

Aug. 13, 2023, By Drew Lichtenberg

It seemed, for a moment, that Shakespeare was being canceled. Last week, school district officials in Hillsborough County, Fla., said that they were preparing high school lessons for the new academic year with some of William Shakespeare’s works taught only with excerpts, partly in keeping with Gov. Ron DeSantis’s legislation about what students can or can’t be exposed to.

I’m here to say: Good. Cancel Shakespeare. It’s about time.

Anyone who spends a lot of time reading Shakespeare (or working on his plays, as I have for most of my professional career) understands that he couldn’t have been less interested in puritanical notions of respectability. Given how he’s become an exalted landmark on the high road of culture, it’s easy to forget that there’s always been a secret smugglers’ path to a more salacious and subversive Shakespeare, one well known and beloved by artists and theater people. The Bard has long been a patron saint to rebel poets and social outcasts, queer nonconformists and punk provocateurs.

Yes, Shakespeare is ribald, salacious, even shocking. But to understand his genius — and his indelible legacy on literature — students need to be exposed to the whole of his work, even, perhaps especially, the naughty bits.

The closing lines of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 20, addressed to the poem’s male subject, are among the dirtiest — and hottest — of the 16th century. “But since she pricked thee out for women’s pleasure, / Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure.” A favorite trick of Shakespeare’s was to play with word order, especially when he wanted to disclose something too daring to be said in a more straightforward way, such as the love that dared not speak its name. The untangled meaning here: Your love ultimately belongs to me, sir, even if women (sometimes) enjoy your prick. Or, from the neck up you are as beautiful as a woman, and from the waist down you are all man.

Sex is one thing. The plays are also astoundingly gory. The bloody climax of “King Lear” so horrified the playwright Nahum Tate that he felt compelled to rewrite its ending. Tate’s sanitized version of “King Lear,” premiering in 1681, held the stage until 1838. In the 18th century, Voltaire called “Hamlet” the apparent product of a “drunken savage” who wrote without “the slightest spark of good taste”— which didn’t stop Voltaire, who also recognized Shakespeare’s “genius,” from openly borrowing from the Bard for one of his own plays.

In 1872 in “The Birth of Tragedy,” Friedrich Nietzsche praised this savagery. To him, Shakespeare contained the ne plus ultra of grisly truths. Hamlet, he wrote, “sees everywhere only the horror or absurdity of existence.” Nietzsche being Nietzsche, he considered this a good thing. Art, wrote Nietzsche, transforms “these nauseous thoughts about the horror or absurdity of existence into notions with which one can live.”

In light of Nietzsche’s counterintuitive epiphany, the notion of Shakespeare-the-hipster caught fire. Hamlet, uniquely among male roles in the classical canon, became an aspirational part for female theatrical stars looking to prove their bona fides and upend gender preconceptions: Sarah Bernhardt most famously, but also the great Danish actor Asta Nielsen. Shakespeare’s sonnets were a source of succor to decadent aesthetes such as Oscar Wilde, just as they had been to Charles Baudelaire. The writings and teachings of queer poets such as W.H. Auden and Allen Ginsberg suggests they saw themselves in Shakespeare’s works, as did anti-racist writers from James Baldwin to Lorraine Hansberry and Ann Petry.

Where the avant-garde led, pop culture followed. Shakespeare’s plays have always lent themselves to all manner of interpretations and they found new life in the postwar era, with landmark works like Basil Dearden’s “All Night Long,” a neo-noir film from 1962, which set “Othello” in a British jazz soiree. Franco Zeffirelli’s “Romeo and Juliet” in 1968 plugged into a different cultural zeitgeist, capturing onscreen the summer of love, while Roman Polanski’s film version of “Macbeth” in 1971 feels like an encomium for the dying utopian dreams of the ’60s.

In the transgressive ’90s, Shakespeare was everywhere: taboo, art house, alternative and cool. Gus Van Sant’s “My Own Private Idaho” reimagined Prince Hal and Hotspur as gay grunge gods and Baz Luhrmann’s “Romeo + Juliet” featured Leonardo DiCaprio at the peak of his androgyne allure. Even “Shakespeare in Love,” a relatively middlebrow Oscar winner, presented a vision of the brooding, bearded, sexy Shakespeare, as embodied by Joseph Fiennes.

In many other cultures, the bawdy lowbrow and the poetic highbrow are often personified by separate champions: In France, it’s Rabelais and Racine; in Spain, Cervantes and Calderón. In English literature Shakespeare has always combined both brows into something rich, special and strange. In “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” one of Shakespeare’s most magical and sensual plays, Bottom — a man with the head of a donkey — spends the night in bed next to the fairy queen. He wakes up having had something close to a religious experience. Every play in the canon features something similarly subversive and transcendent — and all of them are essential.

One can no more take out the dirty parts of Shakespeare than one can take out the poetry. It’s all intertwined, so that Shakespeare seems almost purposefully designed to confound those who want to segregate the smutty from the sublime. His work is proof that profundity can live next to, and even be found in, the pornographic, the viscerally violent and the existentially horrifying. So if you’re looking for sex, gore and the unspeakable absurdity of existence in Shakespeare, you will definitely find it. That’s the genius of Shakespeare. And it’s precisely what makes his work worth studying.

Drew Lichtenberg is a lecturer at Yale University and the resident dramaturg at the Shakespeare Theater Company in Washington, D.C.

#shakespeare #refrigerator magnet #nytimes #playwrights #the bard

[fantasy-costco]

Bro dark academia is literally not that deep a bunch of people were like "old books and soft lighting and Oscar Wilde quotes are pretty let's look at those things to make us happy" and now a bunch of people are like that's classism? My man poor people can like argyle and brick buildings we all know that actual academia has major issues it's literally just an aesthetic relax

#Source im fucking poor dude I just like old books #Edit I think people also point out racism and sexism in classic lit as reasons why da is bad and if they don't they should #But like here's the thing #We aren't stupid. We know that writers from a hundred years ago were racist and sexist #Writers now are racist and sexist #We read it critically to learn if we're doing it correctly #Like if you're in to Da enough to be reading the books and shit you should also be reading critically #My favorite playwright is Oscar Wilde #I think the way he uses timing and dialog is excellent I think his humor is hilarious and I think I can try my best to use him to make #Myself a better writer #Was he antisemitic? Yes. He wasn't a nazi or anything but most people then were and he's no exception #NOT AN EXCUSE IT'S STILL BAD #I can say 'Oscar Wilde was a good playwright' and 'Oscar Wilde was not a good person' in the same breath that's not a contradiction #I'm reading critically. I'm understanding the things that were bad. I'm using his work to learn about his time #If we never look at works that aren't perfect art won't exist anymore #And if we don't understand that otherwise good seeming people can be hateful #That people can be complicated #That being gay or an artist or working on women's magazines doesn't stop someone from being antisemitic #Then we develop a black and white view of the world that let's evil take over because it's hiding itself #I got way off topic #Most folks with da blogs don't care this much they just like the brick buildings with gray filters and good for them they're fucking pretty

[lookingglassfx]

My List of Evidence that proves The Curator from The Dark Pictures Anthology is Death.

ALRIGHTY!! It’s time for all the evidence I found in Little Hope that supports the “Curator is Death” theory. And actually, these hints are even less subtle than they were in Man of Medan.

Shoutout to @cynical-sprite and @scandinavian-in-disguise, because you guys are the only ones I’ve seen post about this, and I love talking about this topic!

I’m on mobile, and I’m not sure how to add a “read more” thing. (I’ll figure it out and edit once I do)

SPOILER ALERT FOR LITTLE HOPE

You’ve been warned, Because seriously, if you use any information regarding this theory, you can figure out the ending before it’s revealed.

Ok! Here we go!

1) All of the following quotes.

The quote is in bold, my thoughts are italicized.

“I’m not supposed to interfere, you see. Not...my...place...apparently.” As we’ve seen in Man of Medan, whenever there’s a possibility of a character dying, you can see the Curator in the background. It makes sense. He’s just observing. And just because he can’t interfere, doesn’t mean we can’t.

“The fire? No, there was nothing you could’ve done about that. What’s happened has happened. Or has It?” This line was delivered as if it was an event he remembered witnessing. This was one piece of evidence used in predicting the ending.

“You have a funeral to attend, off you go. Have fun!” “I do enjoy a good funeral” I mean, of course it would make sense for Death to enjoy funerals. 🤷

“Not that there’s anything particularly wrong with death.” *smirks* In my opinion, this just seemed like he was talking about himself. I don’t think it’s solid enough to count as evidence, though.

“Another instrument of death added to the groups collection. Good work!” The wording of this seemed very strange to me. But it was the knife used with one of the witch trial deaths, so that might be why he worded it this way.

“I met him once you know. I meet everybody ‘once’.” You only die once. That’s all I have to say.

“I’ll leave you now with some wise words from a great Irish playwright I once met...in Paris, I believe.” I looked it up. The playwright is Oscar Wilde. He passed away on November 30th, 1900 in Paris France.

“But we will meet again. At least one more time.” This was during his closing monologue. I took it as, no matter if you play the next game or not, you will be meeting him again. Because everyone dies.

2) His reactions to the number of survivors in each cutscene.

If you remember in Man of Medan, the more characters that were still alive, meant the curator has a certain...how should I word it...sassy attitude about it. Like he didn’t want that to happen.

In Little Hope, there was no sassiness in regards to the survivors. He was just nonchalant about them. It felt wrong. (This was another clue to me that the main events of the game were a hallucination or something.)

The only time he gives you attitude is with the best ending: Andrew lives, forgives Megan, everyone else “survives” their doubles, and Vance forgives Andrew. (I’m only 95% sure that these are the correct outcomes to get this ending, I will be double checking this).

Only then do you get the sass and slow sarcastic applause.

3) His response to taking or leaving the gun

There are 2 times you’re given the option to pick up a weapon. But we’re only going to focus on the gun.

While he does react to the knife, his reactions to the gun are MUCH more...dramatic.

If you leave the gun, you get the same sass that you received when the characters were alive in Man of Medan. It then turns to disappointment. Like he was hoping you’d pick it up.

But then you get this quote, if you take the gun:

“That gun might prove to be a lifesaver...don’t you think? Or the exact opposite.”

It’s the last part that worried me. Because not only was he glad you have the gun, he’s smiling at you while he says it. Because he knows it’s going to be the opposite. Or rather, it’s possible it could.

This leads me to my final point

4) The Curators secret appearance in Little Hope.

As stated above, in Man of Medan, he shows up in the background when there’s the possibility a character could die. This fact should also be true in Little Hope, because obviously, this game is filled with so much more death, he should be everywhere, right? No. He wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean he never showed up.

In all my searching, I’ve come to find that he appears ONLY ONCE.

And that’s here:

(Screenshot taken from YouTube, arrow added by me)

Which ending is this?

The bad one. The one that ends with Andrew committing suicide, by blowing his brains out.

This is the reason why the Curator reacted the way he did about if you took the gun or not.

Andrew’s death is the ONLY death that actually happens in Little Hope.

(No, the fire incident does not count.)

One additional note, I’d like to add. Both Dark Picture games so far have had the supernatural buildup and the “it’s all in their head” ending. I’ve seen people say things about being disappointed that there isn’t a supernatural element, like Until Dawn.

What I don’t think people realize, is the fact that there is a supernatural element in the Dark Picture Anthology, and it’s The Curator.

Anyways, that’s all the evidence I have on the curator being death. What do you think? I love to hear feedback and/or talk about the game!

#i totally think the curator is death #the dark pictures little hope #the dark pictures anthology #curator #little hope #man of medan #death #the curator #supermassive games #video games

[evelinawood]

Do you think blogs with cool library photos and Oscar Wilde quotes are just intrinsically better than all the others without these two seemingly unrelated elements? I do but trying to find some connection from one thing to the other is quite maddening. Wilde probably never took a photograph because, well, 19th century cameras were the size of most furniture and they sucked. Originally, they were proof of sorcery but that wore off and they were pretty unremarkable by his time. Okay, that quickly became a rather dull bewilderment. First case of someone ever being flummoxed to sleep. I really would like to read your answer to my question please. Thank you very much.

Holy moly Dreamy… this was a lot to unpack…. I wouldn’t say they are necessarily better… but for me, I love library/books photos and I love quotes so it’s an all around win-win when both are together in a post. And Oscar Wilde is just a fascinating person on his own… and he was a poet/playwright whose works can be found in a library…. so perhaps that’s why those kind of posts hit you just right?

Now go turn your brain off and get a good night’s sleep. I’m sure this puzzle will sort itself out for you by morning… btw thanks for the interesting tidbit on 19th century cameras being seen as some mystical contraption when they were first invented & used 😊

[cristinablackthornkingson]

Shadowhunters Short Story #64 part 2.

Anna grins at her brother and cousins while adjusting Benji in her arms. Their excitement is certainly infectious. 

“Yes you can come in and meet Benji if you be quiet and calm, Ariadne is asleep, she is very tired and finding it very difficult to adjust to being up all hours with Benji.” Anna firmly says, looking directly at Matthew, who is definitely the one who makes the most noise. 

“I will be good Anna, I promise!” Matthew exclaims, still bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. 

“Alright, come in then.” Anna says, holding the door open and letting her brother and cousins in past her. 

“I get to hold him first!” Matthew exclaims, as he and the others settle onto the couch while Anna closes and locks the door.

“No, I get to hold him first, then Daisy, then you, Kit and Tom and Alastair can decide amongst yourselves who gets to hold Benji next!” James says in an informative tone, as though this is a fact, pointing between himself, Cordelia, and the other Merry Thieves. 

“But I am Anna’s favorite cousin, so I should hold him first, besides Kit already held him when he was here earlier with his parents, so he definitely should not get to hold him first.” Thomas calmly says.

“Ha! You wish Tommy, I am Anna’s favorite cousin, right Anna?” Matthew asks in a sure tone, turning his gaze on her, his green eyes glinting with delight. 

“Lucie is my favorite cousin, where is our darling Lu anyway?” Anna asks, surprised that Lucie has not turned up with The Merry Thieves to meet Benji, she loves babies and is always pestering James and Cordelia to give her a niece or nephew, similarly to how she would pester Tessa and Will for a sibling. 

“Anna how very dare you! My beloved Lucie will not be joining us today I am afraid, she is not feeling well.” Matthew explains, going from heart-broken and mortally offended, to completely calm in just minutes. 

“Under the whether or pregnant?” Thomas teases. James’ eyes widen and Matthew quickly holds his hands up, as though surrendering to something. 

“No! Please do not attack me Jamie, I promise Lucie is not pregnant, she really is just sick, with a cold!” Matthew exclaims, remembering the time just a few months ago when Lucie had really thought she was pregnant and James had flown at Matthew in a rage when he found out. No one had ever seen Jamie so angry, especially not with his parabatia. 

“Good Lord boys are dramatic.” Anna says in an amused tone. “Here Cordelia, you may hold Benji first, and I will go put the kettle on. If these hooligans wake my wife, Daisy, you have my full permission to kill them if it will shut them up.” Anna says in a playful tone, lowering the baby into Cordelia’s arms, where he quickly settles. Cordelia grins up at Anna. 

“Yes m’am!” She laughs. She then turns her attention to Benji and strokes his little cheek, bringing her back to when her baby sister Evangeline had been born 5 years ago. “Hello little Benji, you are so adorable!” Benji wraps his hand around Cordelia’s finger and snuggles closely into her.

“He could so easily pass for Ariadne’s biological child, its’ not just his dark hair and skin color that are the same, he has the same nose and mouth shape as her too, how odd!” Matthew notices, leaning against Cordelia and stroking Benji’s tufts of hair. 

“You are seeing things Matthew, he looks nothing like Ari.” Thomas says, straining to get a proper glimpse of the baby. 

“Ari must be so happy to finally be a mother, when she was engaged to Charles I heard her telling mama that she wanted a quick wedding because she wanted to start trying for a baby as soon as they could, of course Charles Buford would have been so lucky as to have someone as lovely as Ariadne have his children, my brother is such a slime-ball, I am glad Ariadne is with Anna now, and not my know-it-all older brother.” Matthew says in an exasperated tone, rolling his eyes at the thought of his smug brother. 

“I really do not understand how Charles is your parents’ child, Henry and Charlotte are so very kind and lovely, as are you Matthew, but Charles is the complete opposite.” Cordelia says in a confused tone.

“Math has a conspiracy theory that Charles was swapped at birth with some other baby, and that his true brother is out there somewhere with some dreadfully stuck up, boring and cowardly family. He has gone so far as to ask Uncle Jem to help him prove that theory and check all the records of baby boys born in The Basilas the same day as Charles.” James says in an amused tone.

“You will not be laughing when Uncle Jem and I prove my theory right and find my real brother, who also likes Oscar Wilde- my dog and the playwright- and has an amazing sense of fashion like me, James Herondale.” Matthew says in a sure tone, just as Anna comes back in, carrying a tray with a teapot and several cups. 

“Aunt Sophie is right Matthew, you do have your mama’s over-active sense of imagination.” Anna says in a light tone, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

“Thank you! I think.” Matthew says, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Anna, I am going to be Benji’s Godfather, aren’t I?” He adds, as Cordelia passes Benji back to Anna. 

“No, but Cordelia we most certainly want you to be his Godmother.” Anna softly says. 

“M-me? A-are you sure?” Cordelia stammers, looking at Anna with wide eyes full of shock but also delight. She had never expected this, and is honored to even be considered as little Benjamin’s Godmother. 

“Absolutely, you are the most sensible one among The Merry Thieves, you and Thomas. We trust you to be a wonderful guide and influence for Benji.” Anna says, reaching over to squeeze her friend’s hand. 

“Excuse you! I am sensible!” Matthew exclaims in an offended tone. 

“As am I!” James chimes in. 

“Matthew, dear Matthew, I do love you so but you are the furthest from sensible a person could be, and I love you for it. And Jamie, my lovely baby cousin, you are quiet sensible, but not as much as Cordelia or Thomas I’m afraid, but don’t take offense boys, it simply means you will be Benji’s fun uncles that get to take him on adventures and teach him things you probably should not, while Cordelia and his Godfather are going to have to do the boring work, like teaching him about religion and helping us make sure he grows up sensible.” Anna explains gently, knowing that both Matthew and James will adore the idea of being the fun uncle, to Benji. 

“Fine, but only if I get to hold him now!” Matthew bargains. 

“Deal, come get him and watch him for me for a few minutes while I check on Ariadne.” Anna says, beckoning her cousin over.

A few minutes later Matthew is happily seated between James and Thomas, cradling little Benji and smiling like he just won all the riches in the world.

“We are going to have so much fun together Benji! I will buy you the most fashionable clothes on the market and all the books your heart could desire, especially poetry and especially Oscar Wilde, and you will love my dog who is also named Oscar Wilde. Oh, now that I come to think of it Benjamin, I wish I had of named Oscar something else, perhaps Dorian, so I could name my first son Oscar.” Matthew says, his tone turning downtrodden when he realizes what a mistake he has made. 

“Lucie would never let you name her son Oscar, she has her children’s names chosen.” James informs Matthew, which surprises him. Lucie has a running list of names on the go at all times, but Matthew thought they were simply for her characters in her stories, or maybe to have in case her parents finally gave into her pleas and had another baby. 

“She does?” Matthew asks. James nods. 

“Abigail Teresa for a girl and Sebastian William for a boy.” 

“But I want my children to have my parents names as middle names! Oh and Lucie is so stubborn she will never change her mind, I may have to brake up with her.” Matthew jokes with a solemn shake of his head.

“Let me hold him now, Fairchild, you have had him long enough.” Alastair declares, holding his arms out for little Benjamin. 

“Fine but only for a few minutes, he was having fun with me!” Matthew says, gently placing the baby in Alastair’s arms. 

“He’s asleep.” Alastair observes, adjusting Benjamin’s blankets around him. 

“Yes well he heard your boring voice and conked right out, you cannot blame the little fellow, I often think of conversations we have had when I have trouble sleeping, and it helps me drift off right away!” Matthew teases, grinning playfully at Alastair, who he is now good friends with. Alastair makes Thomas happy, and what makes Thomas happy, makes the rest of The Merry Thieves happy.

“This little one makes me want a baby.” Thomas quietly says, one arm around Alastair's waist, his chin resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder, the other reaching out to stroke Benji’s cheek. Alastair's eyes widen in shock. He and Thomas had briefly discussed having children, but agreed to wait a few more years at least, until they are older.

“I-I thought we had agreed to wait!” Alastair stammers. Thomas chuckles and kisses his cheek. 

“We did and we will, but this little one just makes me impatient. However I am sure we will be first on call as babysitters, especially seeing as you and Ariadne are such close friends.” Thomas gently says. A few years ago when Charles broke off his engagement to Ariadne, and Alastair broke off his relationship with Charles when he realized Charles would never admit to loving him or commit to him, Ariadne and Alastair found solace and comfort in another, they both knew what is was like to be attracted to the same sex in an un-accepting time, and they both knew how awful Charles could be. They took to meeting up at least once a week and have done so ever since, and now they are the very best of friends.

The Merry Thieves spend the next few hours fussing over their new nephew and bonding with him, while occasionally being scolded by Anna for being too loud and chancing waking Ariadne. 

It is just past 4 in the evening, when Ariadne pads into Benjamin’s nursery, rubbing sleep from her eyes, while Anna sits in the rocking chair, reading to her son.

“Anna, have I been asleep all day?” Ariadne asks in a tired, breathy tone, rubbing at her eyes. 

“Yes love, you clearly needed it. Did you sleep well?” Anna asks, taking her hand and drawing her down onto the ottoman beside the rocking chair. 

“Yes, wonderfully, thank you. How has our boy been?” Ariadne asks, reaching out to stroke Benji’s cheek. 

“Good as gold as usual, he has been fussed over all day. First by my parents and brothers and then The Merry Thieves came around, all apart from Lucie. Matthew adores his role as Benji’s fun uncle, and I asked Cordelia to be Benji’s Godmother.” Anna tells Ariadne, one hand laced through with hers and the other holding Benji.

“Sounds like you had a very busy day, are you not tired?” Ariadne asks in a concerned tone. Anna has not struggled to adjust to their new sleep schedule with Benjamin the way Ariadne has, but she still needs her rest and sleep, no one is invincible. 

“A bit, but as I said before Benjamin is more than worth it.” Anna says in a loving tone, her gaze returning to her son. 

“You should go rest for an hour now, let me take Benji. You rest and Benji and I will make dinner and then wake you when it is ready, we have not had a proper meal since we adopted him, now is as good a time as any to start eating meals again, and it will help us both with our energy.” Ariadne says. 

“Are you sure?” Anna asks, both wanting to lie down and rest for a while, and also wanting to let Ariadne rest as much as possible. Ariadne smiles softly and kisses Anna’s cheek. 

“I am sure love, you need your rest and I want some quality time with my boy.” 

When Anna goes into the bedroom, Ariadne pulls out one of her heavy winter shawls, and fastens it into a sling across her chest, where she can lay Benji so that he can be close to her but she can also have both her hands free. 

As Ariadne moves around the kitchen, preparing dinner for her family, she quietly hums an old Indian lullaby she seems to remember someone (Likely her birth mother) singing to her when she was very small, before she was adopted. At this moment, her heart could not possibly be more full, she gets to wake up next to and live a wonderful life with the love of her life, her amazing Anna, she does not have to hide who she is anymore or bare a man’s touch, her parents are extremely loving, caring and supportive, she has more friends than she ever thought she would, and she has a beautiful and wonderful baby boy, who makes her heart soar with happiness every time she looks at his gorgeous little face.

At one stage, all 3 people in this little family were lost in someway. Anna had been lost in her grapple with her sexuality and gender for years, then she had been lost in her grapple with love and trusting someone with her heart, Ariadne had been lost from a family at a very young age, before she was taken in by The Bridgestocks, and she too was lost in the struggle of being a woman exclusively attracted to women, and little Benji had been lost from his birth family too.

Now, together, the 3 of them are found and a family, the most perfect family one could ask for.

#anna lightwood #Ariadne Bridgestock #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #christopher lightwood #james herondale #Matthew Fairchild #charles fairchild #henry branwell #charlotte fairchild #Cordelia Carstairs #tessa gray #tessa herondale #jem carstairs #james carstairs #will herondale #william herondale #Brother Zachariah #Cecily Herondale #Cecily Lightwood #gabriel lightwood #lucie herondale #sona carstairs #elias carstairs #grace blackthorn #grace cartwright #oscar wilde #dorian gray #the shadowhunter chronicles #the last hours

[ashtray-girl]

Songs that are about Johnny Marr (probably)

THE SMITHS

The Smiths

Hand In Glove → the lyrics are about a deep friendship and Johnny himself said he thinks it’s about his relationship with Morrissey because they were “only hanging out with each other at the time”.

Meat Is Murder

I Want The One I Can’t Have → all about unrequited love. A possible reference in the title to Elizabeth Smart’s novella By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept – “I want the one I want.” Also: “Meet me in the Alley” is a 1972 song by John Mars.

Well I Wonder → a desperate plea by Morrissey for someone to keep him in mind. There are several loans from By Grand Central Station... (which by the way is about a deeply emotional, doomed and unrequited love), namely: “Well I wonder, do you hear me when you sleep?” / “Is it possible he can not hear me when he lies so close, so lightly asleep?” , “My dear, my darling, do you hear me when you sleep?” “This is the fierce last stand of what I am.” This song was never performed live and Johnny said it was because they were afraid they wouldn’t be able to capture its full magic, which makes sense, but I also get the feeling that this song was particularly special to both Morrissey and Johnny, for reasons which went beyond its lyricism and music.

The Queen Is Dead

I Know It’s Over → conceived just a few months after Johnny married his girlfriend Angie while The Smiths were on tour in the US. Morrissey was Johnny’s witness. The lyrics mention a wedding and a failed relationship that “never really began” because “love is natural and real, but not for such as you and I, my love” (where “natural and real” could easily be interpreted as “straight”.)

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side → even though Morrissey said that this was a song about his tormented relationship with the music industry (that being the “thorn” in his side), in my opinion there’s also another interpretation. Just as in Well I Wonder, there are a few loans from By Grand Central Station… namely: “How can they see the love in our eyes and still they don’t believe us?” / “They intercepted our glances because of what was in our eyes.” “And if they don’t believe us now, will they ever believe us?” / “Did they see such flagrant proof and still not believe?”. These are especially relevant because they come from a point in the book in which the author is specifically talking about her love for a married man (poet George Barker) and about how they were attempting to see each other in spite of that, which caused them to get arrested while together in Arizona for “moral turpitude”.

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out → references being driven around in someone’s car. Morrissey and Johnny apparently used to go on long car rides together, Morrissey talked about how he found cars to be “erotic” and there are multiple examples of that in his lyrics (see This Charming Man, That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore etc.). Also, the lyrics are, once again, about unrequited love.

Strangeways Here We Come (the pining here was at its finest imo)

A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours → the title is a reference to a traditional Irish rallying call which Oscar Wilde’s mother, who wrote Irish nationalist prose and poetry, used to urge the Irish to rise up against the British army. “Some eighteen months ago” could be a reference to Oscar Wilde being sentenced to hard labor for soliciting male prostitutes. The lyrics are about the “pain and strain” of being in love despite not wanting to. Also, the way he sings “so phone me, phone me” sounds like he’s saying “f*ck me”. (I thought I was the only one who thought that, but apparently not.)

I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish → the lyrics are about going too far with someone who can’t/doesn’t want to be pushed. Another reference to “eighteen months’ hard labor”. The “Okay Stephen, do that again” at the end is aimed at producer Stephen Street, but Morrissey is also called Steven. Why was that left in the recording? Was it fully intentional? Who wants Stephen to do what again? Maybe the other person mentioned in the song doesn’t actually mind being pushed out of their comfort zone by Morrissey, they just lack the courage to seal the whole deal for whatever reason.

Girlfriend In A Coma → according to the lyrics, Morrissey doesn’t seem to like this woman, yet he feels guilty about it and doesn’t wish her ill. Could this be a reference to Angie Marr, who he sees as an obstacle between him and Johnny, despite having a good opinion of her as a person?

Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This One Before → by now, Morrissey may have realized that he has written an awful lot about being in love with someone who doesn’t reciprocate. Also, his love for this other person must be so obvious by now, he’s said almost everything on the subject and yet he still wants to make clear that: “Nothing’s changed, I still love you, only slightly less than I used to, my love.” By now, his working relationship with Johnny was starting to deteriorate. Another interesting note is: “Oh, who said I’d lied to her because I never? I never!”. While this is grammatically incorrect, it’s also a common way of speaking in most Northern cities, so this reads like a quote that someone may have uttered at some point and this may be why, when called out on it, Morrissey said it was meant to be written that way. It’s worth pointing out how Morrissey liked to correct Johnny’s grammar in interviews and he even mentioned in his Autobiography how Johnny’s way of speaking was “shockingly bad”.

Death At One’s Elbow → the song’s title was taken from the diaries of 60s playwright Joe Orton, beaten to death with a hammer by his lover Kenneth Halliwell. Johnny’s opinion on the song was ambivalent. He stated that: “It was good sometimes to have a track that wasn’t trying to win the war like There Is A Light That Never Goes Out,” he said. "It was almost like, ‘We have the right to be slightly less intense.’ I liked Morrissey’s singing and I liked my own backing vocals” and yet, when asked by Johnny Rogan about it for his book Morrissey & Marr: The Severed Alliance, he sounded much less pleased with it, saying: “Oh God, did we really write that?”.

I Won’t Share You → widely believed by everyone to be about Morrissey’s possessive feelings towards Johnny (who not only didn’t mind, but seemed actually quite pleased about it).

Others

Wonderful Woman → It was originally titled “What Do You See In Him?” and included lyrics such as: “Cheat the Life out of me as you walk hand in hand / And I try, and I try, but I will never understand / What do you see in her?” “That she will plague you / And I will be glad / Yes, she will leave you / And I will be glad.” The final version, albeit quite different, is still about a woman who seems quite unpleasant but to whom the protagonist feels irresistibly drawn to. With the final: “When she calls me I do not walk, I run” there’s an acknowledgment of co-dependence in the relationship but, even though the first person is used, this could have been a way to write from someone else’s point of view. Specifically, the boyfriend of someone with a very domineering personality. (Basically, he’s writing from Johnny’s perspective).

Ask → the lyrics are about being too shy to make a move on someone, yet Morrissey seems to be eager to take on board whatever the other person has in mind. There’s pining and there’s the possibility of a relationship which looks promising but never amounts to anything substantial because the people involved don’t have the courage to take it any further, despite wanting to. 

These Things Take Time → mentions of a relationship which is impeded by the fact that the other person is engaged to someone else (“I’m spellbound, but a woman divides”). Johnny was already with Angie at the time. “And the hills are alive with celibate cries”. Morrissey had been talking to the press about being celibate and not really interested in romantic/sexual relationships, but the fact that the object of his desire was someone he knew he couldn’t have could have been part of the reason why he felt he had to take that stance. Also, it seems like he already felt like this relationship wouldn’t last, with the other person “leaving him behind” in the end.

Is It Really So Strange? → I’m not so sure about this one, but I’m including it because the lyrics are about traveling from North to South and about loving someone in spite of unfavorable circumstances. Also, according to Johnny (from Mozipedia): “Road trips were a big part of the group. We opted to live in Manchester most of the time but were always traveling back and forth to London. It was in cars on the motorway where myself and Morrissey did a lot of our profound talking and thinking and listening. We loved it, because we’d take off at half three in the morning back to Manchester or down to London, just razzing about. That came out in ‘Is It Really So Strange?’”. As a matter of fact, Morrissey included the track on Rank, which he compiled alone a year after the band’s demise, and I feel like every song on that record was put in that particular order for a particular reason (if you look at the tracklist it basically tells the whole story of The Smiths, from start to finish… he even included The Draize Train which he claimed he didn’t like, which is why he refused to put lyrics on it, so I can only assume he did that as a conciliatory gesture towards Johnny).

I Keep Mine Hidden → the last song The Smiths ever recorded, it is, like “I Won’t Share You”, widely believed to be a direct message from Morrissey to Johnny, who was about to leave the band. A plea for understanding, he seems to imply that for Johnny is much easier to lie (about what?) while hiding in plain sight (“But it’s so easy for you, because you let yours flail into public view”), while Morrissey is forced to keep HIS hidden. IT could be his emotions and the fact that he feels the need to repress them because of some trauma in his past (“I’m a twenty-eight digit combination to unlock, with a past where to be touched meant to be mental.”), but IT could also be a relationship. Johnny was married, while at the time Morrissey showed no public signs of being involved with anyone and had yet to relinquish his celibate image, which may have been frustrating if he was actually interested in someone but couldn’t voice it.

MORRISSEY

Viva Hate

Alsatian Cousin → literally the first sentence on the first record Morrissey released post-Smiths is: “Were you and he lovers? And would you say so if you were?”. While the rest of the song is pretty ambiguous is interesting to note that, according to Mozipedia, Johnny was, at the time, the proud owner of two Alsatian dogs.

Angel Angel Down We Go Together → Morrissey himself admitted that this song was about Johnny. He also said it’s the only song he’d written with him in mind, post-Smiths, and that it was about how sorry he felt to see him being taken advantage of by the music industry. While the full truth of this statement may be debatable, it’s still worth noting how the lyrics end with the repeated: “I love you more than life”.

Late Night, Maudlin Street → While Morrissey said that this song was about his isolating childhood during the 70s, I think the lyrics go much deeper than that. Apparently, when Johnny wanted to leave the band, Morrissey took it badly enough for people to start worrying about the fact that he might take his own life. Both Stephen Street and Grant Showbiz admitted to this, with Showbiz even spending the night at Morrissey’s house to keep an eye on him. There’s also a rumor about the fact that Morrissey actually did attempt to kill himself by baking a cake with loads of sleeping pills in it, eating it and then phoning Johnny, admitting that he loved him and asking him to come seeing him before he died, with Johnny calling an ambulance instead. (“I came home late one night, everyone had gone to bed, nobody stays up for you, I had sixteen stitches all around my head / The last bus I missed to Maudlin Street so, he drove me home in the van...”) This would also explain the lyrics: “And I know I took strange pills, but I never meant to hurt you”. If this story was true, then I feel like moving away from Maudlin Street could actually be a metaphor for committing suicide. (“Good-bye house, forever! I never stole a happy hour around here”, “I am moving house, a half-life disappears today / Every hag waves me on, secretly wishing me gone / Well, I will be soon / Oh, I will be soon.”) There are also more loans from Elizabeth Smart’s By Grand Central Station… namely: “They took you away in a police car / Dear Inspector, don’t you know? Don’t you care? Don’t you know about love?”. This part comes from the same chapter which probably inspired part of the lyrics for The Boy With The Thorn In His Side and which is about people putting themselves between a loving couple. Also, according to Mozipedia, during the making of Viva Hate, Morrissey prepared the artwork for the final Smiths single, Last Night I Dreamt… which was originally going to include an inscription on the back sleeve saying: “When I sleep with that picture beside me… I really think it’s you.”, which would explain the lyrics: “When I sleep with that framed picture of you beside my bed / Oh, it’s childish and it’s silly, but I think it’s you in my room, by the bed.” The single’s inner sleeve was also going to feature a lyric from Well I Wonder, “Please keep me in mind”, so these may very well have been messages for Johnny. Worthy of interest are also the parts about love at first sight and seeing each other with no clothes on.

Suedehead → the lyrics are about someone sticking around Morrissey even though they know it hurts him. Suedeheads were a subculture in early 1970’s England that split off from the skinheads and came to popular notice in a book by Richard Allen. Morrissey apparently read the book, but according to Len Brown’s Meetings with Morrissey interviews, the title has little to do with the subject matter of the song: M: I did happen to read the book when it came out and I was quite interested in the whole Richard Allen cult. But really I just like the word ‘suedehead’." LB: “So it’s not even based on an episode from Suedehead?” M: “No, not really.” LB: “And it’s not about anyone in particular?” M: “Yes, it is, but I’d rather not give any addresses and phone numbers at this stage. But the most interesting nugget of information comes once again from Mozipedia, which says it may be worth taking into consideration a recollection from Johnny about a period during the latter half of The Smiths’ career when he decided to ‘get a motorbike and get a suedehead’. ‘That was my mantra for a while. Gotta get a suedehead! Gotta get a suedehead!’ […] ‘I think I may have brought that word into the vernacular, I might be wrong. But that’s what I did, got myself a motorbike and a suedehead haircut. To cloud further autobiographical analysis, Morrissey also said that he has never kept a diary, even though “I make so many records that in a peculiar way that becomes like a personal diary”. And as far as the repeated “It was a good lay” at the end, he said he just made it up (which I personally doubt, but I guess we’ll never know for sure).

Break Up The Family → I feel like the title is a metaphor for The Smiths splitting up. “You say break up the family and let’s begin to live our lives”. It was Johnny who wanted to ‘take a break’ from the band, which Morrissey didn’t approve of, so this may very well be about that particular moment when Johnny told him he’d had enough. There’s yet another reference to being driven home by someone: “Hailstones, driven home in his car- no breaks? I don’t mind.” Which reminds me of There Is A Light… “And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side it’s such a heavenly way to die.”

I Don’t Mind If You Forget Me → when Morrissey started working on Viva Hate, one of the earliest songs he was working on was called I Don’t Want Us To Finish, with Us probably being him and Johnny. It’s said the song was later scrapped, but I feel like it may actually have been turned into this one instead. In the lyrics, Morrissey is trying to convince himself that he doesn’t mind if the person he cares about the most ends up forgetting him, but clearly he does care, otherwise he wouldn’t have written an entire song about it. “The pressure to change, to move on / Was strange and very strong / So this is why I tell you / I really do understand / Bye bye”. I feel like this is another reference to Johnny’s departure, because it was him who wanted a change of direction for the band’s future, while Morrissey seemed to be happy for them to stay as they were.

Treat Me Like A Human Being → this was a demo which was abandoned and later released in 2012 on a Viva Hate reissue, taking the place as track 9 instead of The Ordinary Boys. The lyrics are a plea by Morrissey for someone to acknowledge his feelings and have some compassion for him. The reason I’m including it in this list is because of the lyric: “Leave all your hate behind you”, which could be interpreted as a reference to the fact that, after The Smiths split up, Johnny had started bad-mouthing him in the press. Worthy of interest is also: “Three words could change my life / Yet you treat me like you never care”. I wonder what those three words might be… “Stop being racist”, maybe?

Oh Well, I’ll Never Learn → Suedehead b-side, there’s not much to say about this one but I do find the lyrics “I found a fountain of youth / And I fell in / How could I ever win?” interesting, if anything because they make me think of the fact that Johnny, being four years younger than Morrissey, was the one who put The Smiths together. It’s also been mentioned how energetic he was, fully in contrast with Morrissey’s coy personality, and yet Johnny’s energy would prove infectious, providing him with an unexpected source of drive and creativity and making him feel rejuvenated, much like a fountain of youth. Also, right at the beginning it says: “Looking up at the sign / It said: PLEASE KEEP AWAY / And so in I ran” which can be read in many ways, but would make perfect sense in the context of falling in love with someone you can’t have.

Bona Drag

He Knows I’d Love To See Him → the lyrics are about Morrissey wanting to rekindle his relationship with someone he hasn’t seen for quite some time. Even though he’s never admitted to it, I feel like this has to be about Johnny because of the line: “’Cause when I lived in the arse of the world”. It’s common knowledge that Johnny was the one who first reached out to Morrissey about forming a band by showing up to his house and later, in an interview, he said that Johnny’s initiative probably saved his life. Also, the lyric: “My name still conjures up deadly deeds / And a bad taste in the mouth” could be yet another reference to the fact that The Smiths’ split-up hadn’t been exactly amicable and Johnny was talking badly about him in the press. Still, even though Morrissey makes his feelings known right from the title (he wish he could see him and still wishes him happiness), the final: “He doesn’t know” suggests that the other person is not aware of Morrissey’s magnanimity. Also, in an interview of the same period (1990), he was asked: “If Johnny phoned and asked to work with you again, what would you say?” to which he replied: “It’s no secret I would be on the next bus to his house”. So, it seems like the song might have reflected his actual feelings.

Yes, I Am Blind → the reason I’m including this is because of the lyric: “Yes, I am blind / But I do see / Evil people prosper / Over the likes of you and me, always”. Which reminds me a lot of: “And people who are weaker than you and I / they take what they want from life” from A Rush And A Push… which I think was directed to Johnny as well. Pretty interesting are also the lyrics: “Love’s young dream / I’m the one who shopped you / I’m the one who stopped you / ‘Cause in my sorry ways I love you” and: “Love’s young dream / Are you sorry for what you’re done? / Well, you’re not the only one / And in my sorry ways I love you”. This sounds like ‘Love’s young dream’ was the one who made the first move towards Morrissey but was then pushed away by the man himself, maybe because he realized this person didn’t actually love him as much as he thought. Also, that repeated: “And in my sorry ways I love you” reminds me a lot of that line in Speedway, “In my own strange way / I’ve always been true to you / In my own sick way / I’ll always stay true to you” (more on that later). This is one of those songs that has no explicit references to Johnny or to events surrounding him, but it has such a feeling of longing to it, I can’t help but think it may have been written with him in mind.

Happy Lovers At Last United → Johnny and Angie split up for a brief period back in 1983, just before The Smiths were to go on tour in the USA for the first time, but got back together once the band were back in the UK. This song talks about Morrissey helping a couple of friends reuniting and then feeling sad because he feels like they don’t want him nor need him anymore. Obviously I don’t know why or how Johnny and Angie actually got back together… according to The Severed Alliance, they had split up in the first place because Johnny had gotten closer to an ex of his and it was actually Joe Moss, the band’s first manager and Johnny’s friend, who suggested he and Angie should get married. Morrissey’s role in this whole thing, on the other hand, is never mentioned, so the only thing we can rely on are these lyrics.

Kill Uncle

Tony The Pony → This song is a pretty harsh condemnation of someone who lets himself being repeatedly taken advantage of by anyone and personally, I see it as the flipside of Angel Angel Down We Go Together. The reason being, they both deal with a similar theme, but in two completely different ways. While Angel Angel is sad but compassionate, this one is resentful and dripping with exasperation. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you / Always nagging big brother / He’s only looking out for you”. Being older than Johnny, Morrissey was the one who tried to refrain him from doing stuff he didn’t approve of (like working with anyone who wasn’t him). “Tony the pony / So, that’s what they call you now? / When you’re free outside / So cold and hard and in control / And… there’s a free ride on Tony the pony”. Again, Johnny was the one who left the band, who wanted a change of direction and who, right after The Smiths split up, started playing with loads of different people (Bryan Ferry, Talking Heads, The Pretenders, Bernard Sumner…) and that would make any control freak (such as Morrissey undoubtedly is) very bitter very quickly. He’s basically calling Johnny a (music) slut, who anyone can try and hire for a while. “Oh, why do you always want to stop me / From doing the things in life that make me happy? / And when I’m outside with friends, laughing loudly / Why do you always want to stop me?” and immediately after: “Oh, I would never / I would never”. This reads like a dialogue, with Tony the pony first asking Morrissey why he always has to spoil his fun and Morrissey replying that he would never dream of doing such a thing. Right at the end though, the bitterness comes right through with: “I will never say I told you so / or how I knew that something bad would happen to you / I don’t want to say I told you so / oh, but Tony, I told you so!”. I wish there were more specific references (like… what did happen to Tony that was so bad?), but I feel like my initial point still stands.

The Loop → Sing Your Life b-side, the lyrics are a plea for someone to call him if he needs him. “So one day, when you’re bored / By all means call / Because you can do / But you might not get through”. I find the last line particularly interesting because it reveals that Morrissey’s professed availability has an expire date after all. As for the identity of this plea’s addressee, I’m just gonna quote Mozipedia: “The singer’s short message to an old friend telling them ‘by all means call me’ and inevitably interpreted by Smiths romantics as being directed towards Marr.” Apparently, Morrissey was especially proud of this song, even calling it his favourite at the time.

Your Arsenal

You’re Gonna Need Someone On Your Side → This is another one which I have doubts on (the lyrics are so vague they could be about anyone, really), but Verse 2 is the one I find the most interesting: “Someone kindly told me that you’d wasted eight of nine lives / Oh, give yourself a break before you break down / You’re gonna need someone on your side”. Johnny was known to be a workaholic, even compromising his own health by devoting all of his time to any project he was working on. He also mentioned how alcohol and drugs became a problem for him in the 90s, how he used them to cope with stress, and by this time he was working with Bernard Sumner on Electronic, so my guess is that they were leading quite a hectic lifestyle. Considering him and Morrissey were still not talking to each other, it would make sense for Morrissey to know what he was up to through friends they had in common and if they had told him Johnny was still working himself to the point of exhaustion, it would make sense for him to get worried about him, hence this song, which is about being supportive through concern for someone. The other interesting part is the ending: “And here I am! / Well, you don’t need to look so pleased”. It feels like Morrissey knows the other person wouldn’t necessarily want his support, even though that doesn’t stop him from providing it, hoping the other person might come around eventually.

Tomorrow → The reason I’m including it on this list is this part: “All I ask of you is one thing that you’ll never do / Would you put your arms around me? / I won’t tell anybody.” which, even though the connection is tenuous, reminds me of this bit from by Grand Central Station… “I am lonely. I cannot be a female saint. I want the one I want. He is the one I picked out from the world. I picked him out in cold deliberation. But the passion was not cold. It kindled me. It kindled the world. Love, love, give my heart ease, put your arms round me, give my heart ease. Feel the little bastard.” It could be about Johnny or it could be about someone else entirely. At this point, some time had passed since The Smiths’ demise and who knows what Morrissey had been exactly up to (and with whom)? The one thing I’m quite sure of is that, considering how much he took from it, Morrissey used By Grand Central Station… as a way to express and sublimate his conflicting feelings towards Johnny (I might make a separate, more in-depth analysis on that in the future).

Vauxhall and I (Vauxhall is both an area of London noted for its gay clubs AND a British car manufacturer, so it looks like Morrissey’s car kink is still alive and well).

Billy Budd → from Mozipedia: “Taking its title from the 1960 film Billy Budd, based upon the posthumously published novella of Moby Dick author Herman Melville, Morrissey uses the term as a playful nickname for a long-standing and long-suffering companion. As he describes, their relationship provokes public ridicule and discrimination, so much so that Morrissey comically volunteers to have his legs amputated as a sacrifice for Billy’s freedom. The elusive nature of the lyrics offers few clues as to the identity of ‘Billy Budd’ beyond the mention of ‘12 years on’. Since the song was released in 1994 (though recorded in 1993) the line was interpreted by many as a reference to Johnny Marr whom he ‘took up with’ 12 years earlier in 1982. This theory is somewhat compounded by the outrageously spooky coincidence that in 1888 Melville published a collection of poetry titled John Marr and Other Sailors. The song also includes what appears to be another fleeting citation from one of Morrissey’s favourite sources, Elizabeth Smart’s By Grand Central Station… ([‘they intercepted our glances because of] what was in our eyes’)”. There’s also an audio floating around in which Morrissey changes the lyrics from “but now it’s 12 years on” to “now it’s 15 years on” in 1997, 15 years after he met Johnny. As for the Melville references, I highly recommend you go and read his ‘John Marr’ poem in its entirety, but this is my favourite part: - I yearn as ye. But rafts that strain, Parted, shall they lock again? Twined we were, entwined, then riven, Ever to new embracements driven, Shifting gulf-weed of the main! And how if one here shift no more, Lodged by the flinging surge ashore? Nor less, as now, in eve's decline, Your shadowy fellowship is mine. Ye float around me, form and feature:-- Tattooings, ear-rings, love-locks curled;

  Speedway → from Mozipedia: “The detail that Johnny Marr once worked at a speedway in his teens is enough to satisfy some theorists that the song is a coded address to the ex-Smiths guitarist, ignoring the fact that at the time of recording Morrissey and Marr were on cordial terms”. Personally, I don’t agree with this (partial) dismissal. The fact that they were on good terms at the time doesn’t mean that everything between them had necessarily been solved. I’d like to focus on this part, specifically: “I could have mentioned your name / I could have dragged you in / Guilt by implication, by association / I’ve always been true to you / In my own strange way / I’ve always been true to you / In my own sick way / I’ll always stay true to you”. Let’s go back to Billy Budd for a moment: “I said, Billy Budd / I would happily lose both of my legs / Oh, if it meant you could be free”. Free from what, exactly? From expectations? From life itself? Looks like Johnny/Billy Budd had a secret burden weighing down on him, and now onto Speedway: “I could have mentioned your name” in regards to what? “Guilt by implication, by association” so, the burden Johnny/Billy Budd carried was also shared by Morrissey? And what could be so heinous, so scandalous as to require this eternal silent loyalty? Could it be that the relationship between Johnny and Morrissey went deeper than everyone thought or liked to admit? Could it be that they shared a bond which wasn’t just professional or even friendly, but that bordered instead on all-consuming, romantic obsession? He then says that, in his own “strange way”, he’s always been loyal to him. The way he sings it though, putting quite a bit of emphasis on these two specific words, makes me think he’s hinting to Strangeways Here We Come, which both him and Johnny claimed was their best album and also the last one they recorded together. Talking about the song, he said: “I believe in my loyalty which is as developed as possible.” So at the end, when he goes: “In my own sick way / I’ll always stay true to you” it looks like whatever happens, the secret they share is so big and important it has to stay hidden no matter what. Morrissey is reassuring him that, if it ever gets out, it won’t be because of him. “All of the rumours keeping me grounded / I never said, I never said / That they were completely unfounded.” “And all those lies, written lies, twisted lies / Well, they weren’t lies, they weren’t lies, they weren’t lies.” According to Mozipedia: “It was only a decade later that Morrissey ended all further debate by admitting, somewhat flippantly, that the lyrics were ‘probably’ just his way of winding up his detractors at the time.” We all know that Morrissey has been at the center of many a storm throughout his career, but what’s the oldest one, the one that has been the most recurring, the one most journalists seem to always come back to, in the end? His sexuality. His sexual and romantic relationships (or lack thereof). His self-admitted celibacy, right at the beginning of his career, which immediately set him apart from the rest of his colleagues and sparked instant curiosity. The vagueness, the hints, the lack of evidence. Is he gay? Bisexual? Asexual? Or really just hopeless when it comes to human connection? When they don’t have a definite answer, some people invent it, even if it’s just to make things more interesting. So, there you have it. Journalists creating rumours out of thin air just to sell a few more papers. Journalists who encourage endless speculations on the most private aspects of an individual’s life. His lyrics are dissected, his friendships scrutinised just to find that final puzzle piece, the one which will make everyone go: “Ah, finally, there it is! I knew he was!”. But more often than not, Morrissey ends up beating them at their same game. He muddies the waters, he hides his tracks. Many of the songs which people could argue are about Johnny are released as b-sides. Is this really a coincidence? To me, this song represents closure. It’s Morrissey’s way of saying: ‘Look, I know we’ve been through a lot but, no matter what, I will protect you. I won’t rat you out’. At the time, it looked like Morrissey had finally found love with Jake Walters, his driver, and I think most of this record and the stuff he wrote after is about him. But if Johnny was his first real love, then this sounds like the final vent, the definite acknowledgment of what has been, before leaving the past behind for greener pastures.

You Are The Quarry

Never Played Symphonies → B-side of Irish Blood, English Heart, the lyrics are about Morrissey laying on his metaphorical deathbed and looking at all the people who cared about him, but he’s not able to see them because he’s focused on the Never Played Symphonies of the title, which are the people he didn’t get to be with. “You were one, you meant to be one / And you jumped into my face and laughed / And kissed me on the cheek and then were gone forever… not quite”. This is a bit of a reach, but there’s a gif floating around from an old movie of The Smiths backstage in Sheffield in 1984 where Johnny and Morrissey are looking at the camera, then Johnny leans into Morrissey as if he’s about to kiss him on the cheek, but Morrissey raises his hands and points at him, stopping him. I don’t know for sure if he wrote this whole song with Johnny in mind, but that was the first thing I thought upon reading that line. Also, that final “… not quite” becomes significant if you think about their relationship post-Smiths. They spent years not talking to each other, then they made up and were on good terms for a while, then there was the whole Joyce trial and they grew distant once again. But even if Johnny has been gone from Morrissey’s life for quite some time, he has never really gone, if you know what I mean. And he probably never will be, because their shared history is impossible to ignore. The final part: “You were one, you knew you were one / And you slipped right through my fingers / No not literally but metaphorically / And now you’re all I see as the light fades.” makes me think that whatever happened between them, even if it was physical, was mostly felt on Morrissey’s part (it reminds me of that quote in his Autobiography, “It was probably nothing, but it felt like the world”). The reason I think this is about Johnny is that “you’re all I see as the light fades”, as if to say: the light has finally gone out, and now it’s just you.

World Peace Is None Of Your Business

Forgive Someone → a bonus track on the deluxe edition, it sounds like Morrissey’s been reminiscing on past grievances. “Betray you with a sword / I would slit my own throat first of all, I will”. This reminds me of Speedway’s repeated declarations of eternal loyalty. “The black peat of the hills / When I was still ill”. This has to be a reference to The Smiths’ song Still Ill, even though “the black peat of the hills” also reminds me of These Things Take Time: “… and the hills are alive with celibate cries”. It’s like he’s thinking about his late adolescence, when he was lonely and depressed, before Johnny came to save him. “And then recall if you can / How all this even began / Forgive someone”. This looks like Morrissey is asking Johnny to think about how their legacy came to be and to forgive him for any mistakes he made. “Shorts and supports and faulty shower heads / At track and field we dreamt of our beds / In the bleachers you sit with your legs spread, smiling / ‘Here’s one thing you’ll never have’”. I feel like Morrissey’s past car kink has been replaced by a runner kink, especially considering the fact he later wrote List of the Lost, in which the main characters are track runners. The final, repeated “Our truth will die with me” reminds me once again of Speedway’s ending: “In my own sick way, I’ll always stay true to you”. In conclusion, whatever happened between Johnny and him will remain between the two of them, at least until Morrissey is alive.

#the smiths #morrissey #johnny marr #marrissey #this has been quite a ride my dudes #good luck to anyone who decides to read this

[amelanda]

as we all know loki is a fan of art and literature. so here are some loki x bruce friendship headcanons related to that

while loki admires bruce’s brains (loki thinks everyone is stupid except for bruce), he feels sorry that bruce hasn’t got a phd in literature

bruce admits to him that he loves reading of course but he wasn’t really good at literature in school. essays were a nightmare. how can he explain why did the author use this literature device and not another? but yes, he loves reading for pleasure

you can say that bruce finds interesting stories and ideas in books while loki appreciates the beauty of the language, the aesthetics, the depth of the characters. and loki loves poetry too

but. DRAMA. loki LIVES for drama

while bruce doesn’t really enjoy is that much. he read some plays in school and that’s all. but of course he appreciates important playwrights

so loki decides to introduce bruce to asgardian writers. thor can discuss science with bruce, and loki wants to discuss art with him, can you blame him? at least to show him his favourite books and paintings. and music too. he really is curious what bruce will think of his favourite pieces of art. loki appreciates bruce’s mind enormously but he’s a bit nervous??? just a bit. because bruce doesn’t seem to be a fan of all that

so when bruce tells him that he loved the play loki told him to read, loki is happy. he asks bruce everything about that, what did he like what he didn’t like. then loki brings him another play. and another one. and then a novel. and then poems

loki spends a lot of time in the library now thinking about what bruce might like among all those books. he chooses very carefully

loki brings bruce to asgardian theatre and bruce loves everything about it

when bruce reads thor an asgardian poem in asgardian about love (bruce learns asgardian) thor is happy as never. not only because of the fact that bruce is reading a poem in his language, but also because he knows that it was loki who showed him this poem. who else would. but when he goes to loki to say that he’s touched enormously loki just says ‘whatever’. but inside loki’s happy. he loves this poem too. 

then bruce decides to show earth’s literature to loki in return. loki is a bit confused because midgardian literature? really? is it as beautiful as asgardian? don’t think so

but then he reads shakespeare for the first time and.. oh boy.

oh boy

does he love shakespeare’s plays

bruce is catching on shakespeare too since he wants to talk about him with loki

and after many conversations with loki about shakespeare bruce finally understands why people love him so much. loki points out the beauty bruce never saw in those plays. loki says it’s all because you never really pay attention when you read it for the first time, but when you reread the plays you realise how perfectly they are written, how beautiful is the language

loki saw every version of hamlet by the way

they go to the opera house and loki falls in love with opera

and the ballet. he is smitten by the ballet, they don’t have it on asgard. he is fascinated by it. they visit bolshoi theatre

bruce’s goal now is to show to loki the best theatres on earth

and the thing he loves the most in this whole thing is loki’s reaction. he laughs, he admires, and he cries sometimes and bruce swears on his blood that he’s never gonna tell thor about it

bruce is still not an avid theatre goer inside, but he does this because he loves spending time with loki and he loves seeing loki being excited about art, he can listen to him talking about it all day. especially since loki makes such interesting points bruce would have never thought of. loki is truly happy when he sees a good piece of art and bruce is ready to do everything to make loki happy

do i need to mention how happy is thor about all this? he is so, so happy. at some point he starts to joke around that loki’s gonna steal his husband but loki replies with something like ‘heavens no. he doesn’t like opera that much. your influence by the way’

loki likes to quote lines from his favourite plays. loki would say something very beautiful and eloquent and thor would be like ‘what’ and bruce will just say ‘oscar wilde’

all in all, loki has now someone who can tolerate him being an art nerd. tolerate is not a very good word, because bruce genuinely loves that. he’s grateful to loki that he showed him the beauty of art. now he knows how he’s gonna spend his immortality and he’s very happy he has not only thor but also loki by his side

#loki #bruce banner #there are bits of #thorbruce #lokibruce #bruceloki #what is the tag for them #loki x bruce #bruce x loki #bruce banner headcanon

[abovethetitletheatre]

What is a Play

Extract from The Theory of the Theatre by Clayton Hamilton

   A play is a story devised to be presented by actors on a stage before an    audience.

   This plain statement of fact affords an exceedingly simple definition of    the drama,—a definition so simple indeed as to seem at the first glance    easily obvious and therefore scarcely worthy of expression. But if we    examine the statement thoroughly, phrase by phrase, we shall see that it    sums up within itself the entire theory of the theatre, and that from this    primary axiom we may deduce the whole practical philosophy of dramatic    criticism.

   It is unnecessary to linger long over an explanation of the word "story." A    story is a representation of a series of events linked together by the law    of cause and effect and marching forward toward a predestined    culmination,—each event exhibiting imagined characters performing imagined    acts in an appropriate imagined setting. This definition applies, of    course, to the epic, the ballad, the novel, the short-story, and all other    forms of narrative art, as well as to the drama.

   But the phrase "devised to be presented" distinguishes the drama sharply    from all other forms of narrative. In particular it must be noted that a    play is not a story that is written to be read. By no means must the drama    be considered primarily as a department of literature,—like the epic or    the novel, for example. Rather, from the standpoint of the theatre, should    literature be considered as only one of a multitude of means which the    dramatist must employ to convey his story effectively to the audience. The    great Greek dramatists needed a sense of sculpture as well as a sense of    poetry; and in the contemporary theatre the playwright must manifest the    imagination of the painter as well as the imagination of the man of    letters. The appeal of a play is primarily visual rather than auditory. On    the contemporary stage, characters properly costumed must be exhibited    within a carefully designed and painted setting illuminated with    appropriate effects of light and shadow; and the art of music is often    called upon to render incidental aid to the general impression. The    dramatist, therefore, must be endowed not only with the literary sense, but    also with a clear eye for the graphic and plastic elements of pictorial    effect, a sense of rhythm and of music, and a thorough knowledge of the    art of acting. Since the dramatist must, at the same time and in the same    work, harness and harmonise the methods of so many of the arts, it would be    uncritical to centre studious consideration solely on his dialogue and to    praise him or condemn him on the literary ground alone.

   It is, of course, true that the very greatest plays have always been great    literature as well as great drama. The purely literary element—the final    touch of style in dialogue—is the only sure antidote against the opium of    time. Now that Aeschylus is no longer performed as a playwright, we read    him as a poet. But, on the other hand, we should remember that the main    reason why he is no longer played is that his dramas do not fit the modern    theatre,—an edifice totally different in size and shape and physical    appointments from that in which his pieces were devised to be presented. In    his own day he was not so much read as a poet as applauded in the theatre    as a playwright; and properly to appreciate his dramatic, rather than his    literary, appeal, we must reconstruct in our imagination the conditions of    the theatre in his day. The point is that his plays, though planned    primarily as drama, have since been shifted over, by many generations of    critics and literary students, into the adjacent province of poetry; and    this shift of the critical point of view, which has insured the    immortality of Aeschylus, has been made possible only by the literary    merit of his dialogue. When a play, owing to altered physical conditions,    is tossed out of the theatre, it will find a haven in the closet only if it    be greatly written. From this fact we may derive the practical maxim that    though a skilful playwright need not write greatly in order to secure the    plaudits of his own generation, he must cultivate a literary excellence if    he wishes to be remembered by posterity.

   This much must be admitted concerning the ultimate importance of the    literary element in the drama. But on the other hand it must be granted    that many plays that stand very high as drama do not fall within the range    of literature. A typical example is the famous melodrama by Dennery    entitled The Two Orphans. This play has deservedly held the stage for    nearly a century, and bids fair still to be applauded after the youngest    critic has died. It is undeniably a very good play. It tells a thrilling    story in a series of carefully graded theatric situations. It presents    nearly a dozen acting parts which, though scarcely real as characters, are    yet drawn with sufficient fidelity to fact to allow the performers to    produce a striking illusion of reality during the two hours' traffic of the    stage. It is, to be sure—especially in the standard English    translation—abominably written. One of the two orphans launches    wide-eyed    upon a soliloquy beginning, "Am I mad?... Do I dream?"; and such sentences    as the following obtrude themselves upon the astounded ear,—"If you    persist in persecuting me in this heartless manner, I shall inform the    police." Nothing, surely, could be further from literature. Yet thrill    after thrill is conveyed, by visual means, through situations artfully    contrived; and in the sheer excitement of the moment, the audience is made    incapable of noticing the pompous mediocrity of the lines.

   In general, it should be frankly understood by students of the theatre that    an audience is not capable of hearing whether the dialogue of a play is    well or badly written. Such a critical discrimination would require an    extraordinary nicety of ear, and might easily be led astray, in one    direction or the other, by the reading of the actors. The rhetoric of    Massinger must have sounded like poetry to an Elizabethan audience that had    heard the same performers, the afternoon before, speaking lines of    Shakespeare's. If Mr. Forbes-Robertson is reading a poorly-written part, it    is hard to hear that the lines are, in themselves, not musical. Literary    style is, even for accomplished critics, very difficult to judge in the    theatre. Some years ago, Mrs. Fiske presented in New York an English    adaptation of Paul Heyse's Mary of Magdala. After the first    performance—at which I did not happen to be present—I asked several    cultivated people who had heard the play whether the English version was    written in verse or in prose; and though these people were themselves    actors and men of letters, not one of them could tell me. Yet, as appeared    later, when the play was published, the English dialogue was written in    blank verse by no less a poet than Mr. William Winter. If such an    elementary distinction as that between verse and prose was in this case    inaudible to cultivated ears, how much harder must it be for the average    audience to distinguish between a good phrase and a bad! The fact is that    literary style is, for the most part, wasted on an audience. The average    auditor is moved mainly by the emotional content of a sentence spoken on    the stage, and pays very little attention to the form of words in which the    meaning is set forth. At Hamlet's line, "Absent thee from felicity a    while"—which Matthew Arnold, with impeccable taste, selected as one of his    touchstones of literary style—the thing that really moves the audience in    the theatre is not the perfectness of the phrase but the pathos of Hamlet's ��  plea for his best friend to outlive him and explain his motives to a world    grown harsh.

   That the content rather than the literary turn of dialogue is the thing    that counts most in the theatre will be felt emphatically if we compare    the mere writing of Molière with that of his successor and imitator,    Regnard. Molière is certainly a great writer, in the sense that he    expresses clearly and precisely the thing he has to say; his verse, as well    as his prose, is admirably lucid and eminently speakable. But assuredly, in    the sense in which the word is generally used, Molière is not a poet; and    it may fairly be said that, in the usual connotation of the term, he has no    style. Regnard, on the other hand, is more nearly a poet, and, from the    standpoint of style, writes vastly better verse. He has a lilting fluency    that flowers every now and then into a phrase of golden melody. Yet Molière    is so immeasurably his superior as a playwright that most critics    instinctively set Regnard far below him even as a writer. There can be no    question that M. Rostand writes better verse than Emile Augier; but there    can be no question, also, that Augier is the greater dramatist. Oscar Wilde    probably wrote more clever and witty lines than any other author in the    whole history of English comedy; but no one would think of setting him in    the class with Congreve and Sheridan.

   It is by no means my intention to suggest that great writing is not    desirable in the drama; but the point must be emphasised that it is not a    necessary element in the immediate merit of a play as a play. In fact,    excellent plays have often been presented without the use of any words at    all. Pantomime has, in every age, been recognised as a legitimate    department of the drama. Only a few years ago, Mme. Charlotte Wiehe acted    in New York a one-act play, entitled La Main, which held the attention    enthralled for forty-five minutes during which no word was spoken. The    little piece told a thrilling story with entire clearness and coherence,    and exhibited three characters fully and distinctly drawn; and it secured    this achievement by visual means alone, with no recourse whatever to the    spoken word. Here was a work which by no stretch of terminology could have    been included in the category of literature; and yet it was a very good    play, and as drama was far superior to many a literary masterpiece in    dialogue like Browning's In a Balcony.

   Lest this instance seem too exceptional to be taken as representative, let    us remember that throughout an entire important period in the history of    the stage, it was customary for the actors to improvise the lines that they    spoke before the audience. I refer to the period of the so-called commedia    dell'arte, which flourished all over Italy throughout the sixteenth    century. A synopsis of the play—partly narrative and partly    expository—was posted up behind the scenes. This account of what was to    happen on the stage was known technically as a scenario. The actors    consulted this scenario before they made an entrance, and then in the    acting of the scene spoke whatever words occurred to them. Harlequin made    love to Columbine and quarreled with Pantaloon in new lines every night;    and the drama gained both spontaneity and freshness from the fact that it    was created anew at each performance. Undoubtedly, if an actor scored with    a clever line, he would remember it for use in a subsequent presentation;    and in this way the dialogue of a comedy must have gradually become more or    less fixed and, in a sense, written. But this secondary task of formulating    the dialogue was left to the performers; and the playwright contented    himself with the primary task of planning the plot.

   The case of the commedia dell'arte is, of course, extreme; but it    emphasises the fact that the problem of the dramatist is less a task of    writing than a task of constructing. His primary concern is so to build a    story that it will tell itself to the eye of the audience in a series of    shifting pictures. Any really good play can, to a great extent, be    appreciated even though it be acted in a foreign language. American    students in New York may find in the Yiddish dramas of the Bowery an    emphatic illustration of how closely a piece may be followed by an auditor    who does not understand the words of a single line. The recent    extraordinary development in the art of the moving picture, especially in    France, has taught us that many well-known plays may be presented in    pantomime and reproduced by the kinetoscope, with no essential loss of    intelligibility through the suppression of the dialogue. Sardou, as    represented by the biograph, is no longer a man of letters; but he remains,    scarcely less evidently than in the ordinary theatre, a skilful and    effective playwright. Hamlet, that masterpiece of meditative poetry,    would still be a good play if it were shown in moving pictures. Much, of    course, would be sacrificed through the subversion of its literary element;    but its essential interest as a play would yet remain apparent through    the unassisted power of its visual appeal.

   There can be no question that, however important may be the dialogue of a    drama, the scenario is even more important; and from a full scenario alone,    before a line of dialogue is written, it is possible in most cases to    determine whether a prospective play is inherently good or bad. Most    contemporary dramatists, therefore, postpone the actual writing of their    dialogue until they have worked out their scenario in minute detail. They    begin by separating and grouping their narrative materials into not more    than three or four distinct pigeon-holes of time and place,—thereby    dividing their story roughly into acts. They then plan a stage-setting for    each act, employing whatever accessories may be necessary for the action.    If papers are to be burned, they introduce a fireplace; if somebody is to    throw a pistol through a window, they set the window in a convenient and    emphatic place; they determine how many chairs and tables and settees are    demanded for the narrative; if a piano or a bed is needed, they place it    here or there upon the floor-plan of their stage, according to the    prominence they wish to give it; and when all such points as these have    been determined, they draw a detailed map of the stage-setting for the act.    As their next step, most playwrights, with this map before them, and using    a set of chess-men or other convenient concrete objects to represent their    characters, move the pieces about upon the stage through the successive    scenes, determine in detail where every character is to stand or sit at    nearly every moment, and note down what he is to think and feel and talk    about at the time. Only after the entire play has been planned out thus    minutely does the average playwright turn back to the beginning and    commence to write his dialogue. He completes his primary task of    play-making before he begins his secondary task of play-writing. Many of    our established dramatists,—like the late Clyde Fitch, for example—sell    their plays when the scenario is finished, arrange for the production,    select the actors, and afterwards write the dialogue with the chosen actors    constantly in mind.

   This summary statement of the usual process may seem, perhaps, to cast    excessive emphasis on the constructive phase of the playwright's problem;    and allowance must of course be made for the divergent mental habits of    individual authors. But almost any playwright will tell you that he feels    as if his task were practically finished when he arrives at the point when    he finds himself prepared to begin the writing of his dialogue. This    accounts for the otherwise unaccountable rapidity with which many of the    great plays of the world have been written. Dumas fils retired to the    country and wrote La Dame aux Camélias—a four-act play—in eight    successive days. But he had previously told the same story in a novel; he    knew everything that was to happen in his play; and the mere writing could    be done in a single headlong dash. Voltaire's best tragedy, Zaïre, was    written in three weeks. Victor Hugo composed Marion Delorme between June    1 and June 24, 1829; and when the piece was interdicted by the censor, he    immediately turned to another subject and wrote Hernani in the next three    weeks. The fourth act of Marion Delorme was written in a single day. Here    apparently was a very fever of composition. But again we must remember that    both of these plays had been devised before the author began to write them;    and when he took his pen in hand he had already been working on them in    scenario for probably a year. To write ten acts in Alexandrines, with    feminine rhymes alternating with masculine, was still, to be sure, an    appalling task; but Hugo was a facile and prolific poet, and could write    very quickly after he had determined exactly what it was he had to write.

   It was with all of the foregoing points in mind that, in the opening    sentence of this chapter, I defined a play as a story "devised," rather    than a story "written." We may now consider the significance of the next    phrase of that definition, which states that a play is devised to be    "presented," rather than to be "read."

   The only way in which it is possible to study most of the great plays of    bygone ages is to read the record of their dialogue; and this necessity has    led to the academic fallacy of considering great plays primarily as    compositions to be read. In their own age, however, these very plays which    we now read in the closet were intended primarily to be presented on the    stage. Really to read a play requires a very special and difficult exercise    of visual imagination. It is necessary not only to appreciate the dialogue,    but also to project before the mind's eye a vivid imagined rendition of the    visual aspect of the action. This is the reason why most managers and    stage-directors are unable to judge conclusively the merits and defects of    a new play from reading it in manuscript. One of our most subtle artists    in stage-direction, Mr. Henry Miller, once confessed to the present writer    that he could never decide whether a prospective play was good or bad until    he had seen it rehearsed by actors on a stage. Mr. Augustus Thomas's    unusually successful farce entitled Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots was    considered a failure by its producing managers until the very last    rehearsals, because it depended for its finished effect on many intricate    and rapid intermovements of the actors, which until the last moment were    understood and realised only in the mind of the playwright. The same    author's best and most successful play, The Witching Hour, was declined    by several managers before it was ultimately accepted for production; and    the reason was, presumably, that its extraordinary merits were not manifest    from a mere reading of the lines. If professional producers may go so far    astray in their judgment of the merits of a manuscript, how much harder    must it be for the layman to judge a play solely from a reading of the    dialogue!

   This fact should lead the professors and the students in our colleges to    adopt a very tentative attitude toward judging the dramatic merits of the    plays of other ages. Shakespeare, considered as a poet, is so immeasurably    superior to Dryden, that it is difficult for the college student unfamiliar    with the theatre to realise that the former's Antony    and Cleopatra is,    considered solely as a play, far inferior to the latter's dramatisation of    the same story, entitled All for Love, or The World Well Lost.    Shakespeare's play upon this subject follows closely the chronology of    Plutarch's narrative, and is merely dramatised history; but Dryden's play    is reconstructed with a more practical sense of economy and emphasis, and    deserves to be regarded as historical drama. Cymbeline is, in many    passages, so greatly written that it is hard for the closet-student to    realise that it is a bad play, even when considered from the standpoint of    the Elizabethan theatre,—whereas Othello and Macbeth, for instance,    are great plays, not only of their age but for all time. King Lear is    probably a more sublime poem than Othello; and it is only by seeing the    two pieces performed equally well in the theatre that we can appreciate by    what a wide margin Othello is the better play.

   This practical point has been felt emphatically by the very greatest    dramatists; and this fact offers, of course, an explanation of the    otherwise inexplicable negligence of such authors as Shakespeare and    Molière in the matter of publishing their plays. These supreme playwrights    wanted people to see their pieces in the theatre rather than to read them    in the closet. In his own lifetime, Shakespeare, who was very scrupulous    about the publication of his sonnets and his narrative poems, printed    a    carefully edited text of his plays only when he was forced, in    self-defense, to do so, by the prior appearance of corrupt and pirated    editions; and we owe our present knowledge of several of his dramas merely    to the business acumen of two actors who, seven years after his death,    conceived the practical idea that they might turn an easy penny by printing    and offering for sale the text of several popular plays which the public    had already seen performed. Sardou, who, like most French dramatists, began    by publishing his plays, carefully withheld from print the master-efforts    of his prime; and even such dramatists as habitually print their plays    prefer nearly always to have them seen first and read only afterwards.

   In elucidation of what might otherwise seem perversity on the part of great    dramatic authors like Shakespeare, we must remember that the    master-dramatists have nearly always been men of the theatre rather than    men of letters, and therefore naturally more avid of immediate success with    a contemporary audience than of posthumous success with a posterity of    readers. Shakespeare and Molière were actors and theatre-managers, and    devised their plays primarily for the patrons of the Globe and the Palais    Royal. Ibsen, who is often taken as a type of the literary dramatist,    derived his early training mainly from the profession of the theatre and    hardly at all from the profession of letters. For half a dozen years,    during the formative period of his twenties, he acted as producing manager    of the National Theatre in Bergen, and learned the tricks of his trade from    studying the masterpieces of contemporary drama, mainly of the French    school. In his own work, he began, in such pieces as Lady Inger of    Ostråt, by imitating and applying the formulas of Scribe and the earlier    Sardou; and it was only after many years that he marched forward to a    technique entirely his own. Both Sir Arthur Wing Pinero and Mr. Stephen    Phillips began their theatrical career as actors. On the other hand, men of    letters who have written works primarily to be read have almost never    succeeded as dramatists. In England, during the nineteenth century, the    following great poets all tried their hands at plays—Scott, Southey,    Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Browning, Mrs. Browning,    Matthew Arnold, Swinburne, and Tennyson—and not one of them produced a    work of any considerable value from the standpoint of dramatic criticism.    Tennyson, in Becket, came nearer to the mark than any of the others; and    it is noteworthy that, in this work, he had the advantage of the advice    and, in a sense, collaboration of Sir Henry Irving.

   The familiar phrase "closet-drama" is a contradiction of terms. The species    of literary composition in dialogue that is ordinarily so designated    occupies a thoroughly legitimate position in the realm of literature, but    no position whatsoever in the realm of dramaturgy. Atalanta in Calydon is    a great poem; but from the standpoint of the theory of the theatre, it    cannot be considered as a play. Like the lyric poems of the same author, it    was written to be read; and it was not devised to be presented by actors on    a stage before an audience.

   We may now consider the significance of the three concluding phrases of the    definition of a play which was offered at the outset of the present    chapter. These phrases indicate the immanence of three influences by which    the work of the playwright is constantly conditioned.

   In the first place, by the fact that the dramatist is devising his story    for the use of actors, he is definitely limited both in respect to the kind    of characters he may create and in respect to the means he may employ in    order to delineate them. In actual life we meet characters of two different    classes, which (borrowing a pair of adjectives from the terminology of    physics) we may denominate dynamic characters and static characters. But    when an actor appears upon the stage, he wants to act; and the dramatist is    therefore obliged to confine his attention to dynamic characters, and to    exclude static characters almost entirely from the range of his creation.    The essential trait of all dynamic characters is the preponderance within    them of the element of will; and the persons of a play must therefore be    people with active wills and emphatic intentions. When such people are    brought into juxtaposition, there necessarily results a clash of contending    desires and purposes; and by this fact we are led logically to the    conclusion that the proper subject-matter of the drama is a struggle    between contrasted human wills. The same conclusion, as we shall notice in    the next chapter, may be reached logically by deduction from the natural    demands of an assembled audience; and the subject will be discussed more    fully during the course of our study of The Psychology of Theatre    Audiences. At present it is sufficient for us to note that every great    play that has ever been devised has presented some phase or other of this    single, necessary theme,—a contention of individual human wills. An actor,    moreover, is always more effective in scenes of emotion than in scenes of    cold logic and calm reason; and the dramatist, therefore, is obliged to    select as his leading figures people whose acts are motivated by emotion    rather than by intellect. Aristotle, for example, would make a totally    uninteresting figure if he were presented faithfully upon the stage. Who    could imagine Darwin as the hero of a drama? Othello, on the other hand, is    not at all a reasonable being; from first to last his intellect is    "perplexed in the extreme." His emotions are the motives for his acts; and    in this he may be taken as the type of a dramatic character.

   In the means of delineating the characters he has imagined, the dramatist,    because he is writing for actors, is more narrowly restricted than the    novelist. His people must constantly be doing something, and must therefore    reveal themselves mainly through their acts. They may, of course, also be    delineated through their way of saying things; but in the theatre the    objective action is always more suggestive than the spoken word. We know    Sherlock Holmes, in Mr. William Gillette's admirable melodrama, solely    through the things that we have seen him do; and in this connection we    should remember that in the stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle from which    Mr. Gillette derived his narrative material, Holmes is delineated largely    by a very different method,—the method, namely, of expository comment    written from the point of view of Doctor Watson. A leading actor seldom    wants to sit in his dressing-room while he is being talked about by the    other actors on the stage; and therefore the method of drawing character by    comment, which is so useful for the novelist, is rarely employed by the    playwright except in the waste moments which precede the first entrance of    his leading figure. The Chorus Lady, in Mr. James Forbes's amusing study of    that name, is drawn chiefly through her way of saying things; but though    this method of delineation is sometimes very effective for an act or two,    it can seldom be sustained without a faltering of interest through a    full-grown four-act play. The novelist's expedient of delineating character    through mental analysis is of course denied the dramatist, especially in    this modern age when the soliloquy (for reasons which will be noted in a    subsequent chapter) is usually frowned upon. Sometimes, in the theatre, a    character may be exhibited chiefly through his personal effect upon the    other people on the stage, and thereby indirectly on the people in the    audience. It was in this way, of course, that Manson was delineated in Mr.    Charles Rann Kennedy's The Servant in the House. But the expedient is a    dangerous one for the dramatist to use; because it makes his work    immediately dependent on the actor chosen for the leading role, and may in    many cases render his play impossible of attaining its full effect except    at the hands of a single great performer. In recent years an expedient long    familiar in the novel has been transferred to the service of the    stage,—the expedient, namely, of suggesting the personality of a character    through a visual presentation of his habitual environment. After the    curtain had been raised upon the first act of The Music Master, and the    audience had been given time to look about the room which was    represented    on the stage, the main traits of the leading character had already been    suggested before his first appearance on the scene. The pictures and    knickknacks on his mantelpiece told us, before we ever saw him, what manner    of man he was. But such subtle means as this can, after all, be used only    to reinforce the one standard method of conveying the sense of character in    drama; and this one method, owing to the conditions under which the    playwright does his work, must always be the exhibition of objective acts.

   In all these general ways the work of the dramatist is affected by the fact    that he must devise his story to be presented by actors. The specific    influence exerted over the playwright by the individual performer is a    subject too extensive to be covered by a mere summary consideration in the    present context; and we shall therefore discuss it fully in a later    chapter, entitled The Actor and the Dramatist.

   At present we must pass on to observe that, in the second place, the work    of the dramatist is conditioned by the fact that he must plan his plays to    fit the sort of theatre that stands ready to receive them. A fundamental    and necessary relation has always existed between theatre-building and    theatric art. The best plays of any period have been fashioned in    accordance with the physical conditions of the best theatres of that    period. Therefore, in order fully to appreciate such a play as Oedipus    King, it is necessary to imagine the theatre of Dionysus; and in order to    understand thoroughly the dramaturgy of Shakespeare and Molière, it is    necessary to reconstruct in retrospect the altered inn-yard and the    converted tennis-court for which they planned their plays. It may seriously    be doubted that the works of these earlier masters gain more than they lose    from being produced with the elaborate scenic accessories of the modern    stage; and, on the other hand, a modern play by Ibsen or Pinero would lose    three-fourths of its effect if it were acted in the Elizabethan manner, or    produced without scenery (let us say) in the Roman theatre at Orange.

   Since, in all ages, the size and shape and physical appointments of the    theatre have determined for the playwright the form and structure of his    plays, we may always explain the stock conventions of any period of the    drama by referring to the physical aspect of the theatre in that period.    Let us consider briefly, for purposes of illustration, certain obvious ways    in which the art of the great Greek tragic dramatists was affected by the    nature of the Attic stage. The theatre of Dionysus was an enormous edifice    carved out of a hillside. It was so large that the dramatists were obliged    to deal only with subjects that were traditional,—stories which had long    been familiar to the entire theatre-going public, including the poorer and    less educated spectators who sat farthest from the actors. Since most of    the audience was grouped above the stage and at a considerable distance,    the actors, in order not to appear dwarfed, were obliged to walk on stilted    boots. A performer so accoutred could not move impetuously or enact a scene    of violence; and this practical limitation is sufficient to account for the    measured and majestic movement of Greek tragedy, and the convention that    murders and other violent deeds must always be imagined off the stage and    be merely recounted to the audience by messengers. Facial expression could    not be seen in so large a theatre; and the actors therefore wore masks,    conventionalised to represent the dominant mood of a character during a    scene. This limitation forced the performer to depend for his effect mainly    on his voice; and Greek tragedy was therefore necessarily more lyrical than    later types of drama.

   The few points which we have briefly touched upon are usually explained, by    academic critics, on literary grounds; but it is surely more sane to    explain them on grounds of common sense, in the light of what we know of    the conditions of the Attic stage. Similarly, it would be easy to show how    Terence and Calderon, Shakespeare and Molière, adapted the form of their    plays to the form of their theatres; but enough has already    been said to    indicate the principle which underlies this particular phase of the theory    of the theatre. The successive changes in the physical aspect of the    English theatre during the last three centuries have all tended toward    greater naturalness, intimacy, and subtlety, in the drama itself and in the    physical aids to its presentment. This progress, with its constant    illustration of the interdependence of the drama and the stage, may most    conveniently be studied in historical review; and to such a review we shall    devote a special chapter, entitled Stage Conventions in Modern Times.

   We may now observe that, in the third place, the essential nature of the    drama is affected greatly by the fact that it is destined to be set before    an audience. The dramatist must appeal at once to a heterogeneous multitude    of people; and the full effect of this condition will be investigated in a    special chapter on The Psychology of Theatre Audiences. In an important    sense, the audience is a party to the play, and collaborates with the    actors in the presentation. This fact, which remains often unappreciated by    academic critics, is familiar to everyone who has had any practical    association with the theatre. It is almost never possible, even for trained    dramatic critics, to tell from a final dress-rehearsal in an empty house    which scenes of a new play are fully effective and which are not; and the    reason why, in America, new plays are tried out on the road is not so much    to give the actors practice in their parts, as to determine, from the    effect of the piece upon provincial audiences, whether it is worthy of a    metropolitan presentation. The point is, as we shall notice in the next    chapter, that since a play is devised for a crowd it cannot finally be    judged by individuals.

   The dependence of the dramatist upon his audience may be illustrated by the    history of many important plays, which, though effective in their own age,    have become ineffective for later generations, solely because they were    founded on certain general principles of conduct in which the world has    subsequently ceased to believe. From the point of view of its own period,    The Maid's Tragedy of Beaumont and Fletcher is undoubtedly one of the    very greatest of Elizabethan plays; but it would be ineffective in the    modern theatre, because it presupposes a principle which a contemporary    audience would not accept. It was devised for an audience of aristocrats in    the reign of James I, and the dramatic struggle is founded upon the    doctrine of the divine right of kings. Amintor, in the play, has suffered a    profound personal injury at the hands of his sovereign; but he cannot    avenge this individual disgrace, because he is a subject of the royal    malefactor. The crisis and turning-point of the entire drama is a scene in    which Amintor, with the king at his mercy, lowers his sword with the    words:—

                                                                                But there is    Divinity about you, that strikes dead    My rising passions: as you are my king,    I fall before you, and present my sword    To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will.

   We may imagine the applause of the courtiers of James Stuart, the    Presumptuous; but never since the Cromwellian revolution has that scene    been really effective on the English stage. In order fully to appreciate a    dramatic struggle, an audience must sympathise with the motives that    occasion it.

   It should now be evident, as was suggested at the outset, that all the    leading principles of the theory of the theatre may be deduced logically    from the axiom which was stated in the first sentence of this chapter; and    that axiom should constantly be borne in mind as the basis of all our    subsequent discussions. But in view of several important points which have    already come up for consideration, it may be profitable, before    relinquishing our initial question, to redefine a play more fully in the    following terms:—

   A play is a representation, by actors, on a stage, before an audience, of a    struggle between individual human wills, motivated by emotion rather than    by intellect, and expressed in terms of objective action.

[shakespearesglobeblog]

Was Shakespeare gay? 

February is LGBT History month. On 7 February we opened Edward II, Christopher Marlowe’s portrayal of a homosexual relationship between the King Edward and Piers Gaveston. Running alongside this production is Voices in the Dark: Pride, Then and Now; an exciting exploration of sexuality and gender.

Research Fellow Will Tosh often has discussions with students and visitors about Shakespeare’s sexuality. In this blog, he tackles this question and sheds fresh light on how we might perceive Renaissance sexual identity.

Was Shakespeare gay?

It’s a popular question from students and audience members at public talks. Revealingly, it’s often posed in ways that draw attention to the debate: ‘I’ve been told that Shakespeare was gay – is that true?’ ‘I asked my teacher if Shakespeare was gay and he said no – what do you think?’

The answer’s more complicated than you might think.

It’s not that it’s exactly hard to find a homoerotic sensibility in Shakespeare’s works. Think of the ties of romantic friendship and erotic yearning that bind Antonio and Bassanio in The Merchant of Venice, or Antonio to Sebastian in Twelfth Night. That play is a queer fantasia, to be sure: Olivia loves Viola, thinking she’s ‘Cesario’, and ends up with Sebastian – who looks the same as Viola; Orsino falls in love with ‘Cesario’, not realising he’s a she, and seems absolutely delighted that she stays in her men’s clothing after he’s proposed.

We often read Shakespeare’s Sonnets as an account of the poet’s intense relationships with a beautiful young man and a bewitching ‘dark lady’. Lots of people find the poems simply too passionate, too obsessive, to be anything other than poetic autobiography. Oscar Wilde certainly thought the Sonnets contained a secret, suggesting in his essay-masquerading-as-a-story ‘The Portrait of Mr. W.H.’ that the fair youth was ‘none other than the boy-actor for whom [Shakespeare] created Viola and Imogen, Juliet and Rosalind, Portia and Desdemona, and Cleopatra herself’ (his youthful good looks must have lasted the best part of fifteen years if the same boy created the female lead in Romeo and Juliet in 1594 and Cymbeline’s Imogen in 1609).

Wilde might have veered into fiction with his identification of Shakespeare’s lover, but many readers are still reluctant to discard the notion that the Sonnets offer a glimpse of the ‘real’ Shakespeare. The poet Don Paterson writes in his recent commentary on Shakespeare’s Sonnets that they are literary proof positive of his bisexual or gay identity.

The complexity arises from the language and terminology we use to describe the sexual identity of historic people. For one thing, our modern words for sexual orientation – gay, straight, homosexual, bisexual, heterosexual – are all nineteenth or twentieth-century coinages. Comparable words used in the past – ganymede, catamite, ingle for men, tribade for women – didn’t carry precisely the same meaning.    

Even more complicatedly, scholarship has insisted since the 1980s that sexual orientation is a modern concept. Most historians are of the view that early modern people didn’t think of themselves as gay or straight (not that those words carried their modern meanings in any case). Sexuality wasn’t so much about the gender of one’s object of desire, but about the degree of license, debauchery and sinful abandonment that an individual permitted oneself. Although we can talk about sexual acts in the past, we probably shouldn’t think about people’s sexual identities.

It might sound odd, but this can actually be a liberating way to think about sexuality. I’ve found it enlightening to think about the ways in which same-sex eroticism and queer emotion were woven into early modern society. What we now specify as homosexuality was infused into the culture at large, in customs, practices and social institutions. Widespread same-sex bed-sharing, the high value placed on single-gender friendship, and a generally un-prudish attitude to bodily functions created an environment in which homosexual acts, while technically illegal, went virtually unreported and unpunished.

Disapproval loomed, of course, as well as hostility from the church, but social history research suggests that the more usual response to same-sex intimacy was a worldly shrug, as long as it didn’t frighten the horses (or challenge society’s rigid gender roles).

But I still feel a bit caught out when someone wants to talk about Shakespeare’s sexuality. And I think it’s because ‘Was Shakespeare gay?’ is actually a really apt question. It’s not the ‘wrong’ thing to ask, and I’m beginning to wonder if it really is so anachronistic to think about the sexual orientation of historical people. I’m not sure I’m satisfied any more with our rather convoluted academic discourses about sexual subjectivity. When we queer the whole Renaissance, we obscure genealogy. The LGBTQ woman or man of today who seeks in the past for ancestry instead finds a well-meant dead-end: we are told that one of the things that makes us who we are did not exist four centuries ago.

The words we use to describe emotions, selfhood and sexuality have changed over the centuries, but I’m yet to be convinced that an early modern person with a prevailing sexual interest in their own gender wouldn’t have thought of themselves as distinct from the majority.

For what it’s worth, when I point my literary gaydar at Shakespeare I get a maybe. The dramatist who gave us the playfully queer wooing of Orlando and ‘Ganymede’ in As You Like It also created happy hetero couple Beatrice and Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing. As a sonneteer, he was able to imagine a complex and anguished affair with a young man, as well as an obsessive, even controlling, relationship with a woman. Perhaps it’s more interesting to think about Shakespeare as a writer who knew that his audience and readership was sexually diverse: he was catering to the LGBT market long before such a thing had a name.   

But that’s not to say there weren’t other writers of the time for whom homoerotic subject matter and sexual identity seem to our eyes to overlap. The playwright Christopher Marlowe (whose Edward II is on now at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse) and pastoral poet Richard Barnfield produced works that explored same-sex love in much more candid ways than Shakespeare. And we know for a fact that Shakespeare read these writers. So he may or may not have been gay, but he definitely read gay literature – and that’s a lesson we can all appreciate during LGBT History Month.

Edward II photograhy by Marc Brenner 

#lbgt #edward ii #homosexuality #gay #shakespeare #lgbt history month

[motownfiction]

affirmations for sadie

Sadie, you’re the best! You’re the sweetest, and I love how you always try to help people, even when no one else can see they need it. Keep being you! - Steph

Sadie, you’re amazing. Probably the nicest person I know. You have people’s backs even when they don’t deserve it. And with guys like us I know that’s probably a lot. I’m really glad you’re my friend. Elenore’s lucky you’re her friend too. – Will

Sadie Lou, Sadie Lou, what to say about you? You see straight through to me like I see straight through to you. No hiding & I mean it in the best way. I’ll be your mirror if you’ll be the light on my door to show that I’m home. I love you. - Sam Spade Doyle

Sadie, you are beautiful and wonderful and more than any man deserves. Much less me. I don’t know how long I’ve loved you but I don’t think it matters because now I’m going to love you forever. You hear the world different from anybody else. You love people you don’t even know. And I love you. - Daniel

Sadie – I suppose it behooves the both of us that I’m a good writer. Everything I’m about to write to you is everything I always want to say to you, directly to your face, but I don’t. To say it to your face would be vulnerable, and we both know how poorly I tend to handle that. But if I can write it to you, then it’s even better because I can be as eloquent as I want without having to see your reaction (and determining whether or not you think I’m weird). If I can write to you, then it’s like Oscar Wilde writing to Walt Whitman, only both of us are straight women, and neither of us is a playwright or a poet (as far as I know). Of course, here, I’m rambling to prevent the vulnerability, anyway. Sadie, my dear, you are simply an extraordinary human. Your kindness and compassion have floored me everyday since we were little girls. You assume the best in people – even when I beg you not to; even when it doesn’t work out. You spare no one from your generosity. This retreat is going to be a lot about how to be a good Christian, and by a good Christian, Fischer will mean abstinent. While I’m sure abstinence has its place in someone’s heart, it does not hold a candle to your amazing kindness and care for others – the way you make people feel safe before they even realize they were shaking. You did that for me when I was six, and I know you’ll keep doing it for me until I’m over 100. If there’s a top tier of people out there, you’re in it. I hope you believe me, too. Love, Lucy

#drabble #ch: sadie doyle #ch: steph armstrong #ch: will o'connor #ch: sam doyle #ch: daniel deluca #ch: lucy callaghan #year: 1984 #ship: still the same #dynamic: i'll be your mirror #dynamic: sister christian #religion #series: love will keep us together

[meryllgabionza]

An Exploration through My Inspirations: Influenced by Art in Various Forms (Content#1)

INSPIRE

CREATIVE

OUT-OF-THE-BOX

  These are the three words that I breathe and live by. These are the words that I want my readers (you) to know me by. I want these three adjectives to be attached to who I am as person and as a brand. I want you to read those three words together and think of one name... Meryll. 

Okay, okay I think we need to stop right there. I was starting to sound like Narcissus. Well, let me start by saying, Welcome to my blog! I know this sounds like a “typical” blogger so far but bear with me (I just wanted to do some formalities). First, I want to introduce myself. My name is Meryll Gabionza and I am an art and an artist. Okay, I know what you are thinking. an artist? So, you mean you paint right? or you create art projects? Well... let us just say, I kind of do but I technically do not. I know it is confusing, but I will explain it more for you. I consider myself as an artist because not just because I create art, and I am inspired by art, it is because I believe that art resonates in my blood and in my soul. I want to produce meaningful pieces that are meaningful and truly reflect my views and personality.

Like what you have read in the title of this article, this will be an “Exploration through my Inspirations”. I will walk you through some great works, and artist that greatly influence my life and aspirations. 

LIFE IMITATES ART

Have you ever heard of the saying, Life Imitates Arts?

Well, I first heard this quote from a Lana Del Rey’s song, Gods and Monsters. This quote was inspired from one of the most well-known poet and playwright of his time, Oscar Wilde. It was derived from his essay, The Decay of Lying that was published in 1889 and was included in his essay collection entitled, Intentions.  In the essay, there were two main characters debating about their opinions and theories about art. It reflected Wilde’s own bias between Romanticism over Idealism. One of the characters in the story, his name was Vivian argued that “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life”. He also stated that, “Life holds up a mirror to Arts”, he meant that people create art to mimic the dreams or fantasies they wanted to live by. They envision this “Life” that they create by using art as an inspiration. This piece of statement spoke to my heart in a different way and thinking of it further it is true. We make these visions for ourselves to satisfy a certain goal, or our endless needs.

THE MASTERFUL THEIF OF CINEMA

Let me start this topic by asking question, what is the difference between creating homages from stealing?

Well, Tarantino was asked about this a lot. His movies are littered by “stolen” scenes from different films which he had re-created to match the story and scene for his movie. These scenes are apparent or in better term, ‘in-to-your face’, especially if you are familiar with some of these historical pieces. So, how does one determine if someone is copying or if some one is just creating visual reference from a classic?

I have watched this insightful video created by the media outlet, Business Insider. In the video, they discussed how Tarantino does it so masterfully. In a 1994 interview with Empire Magazine, he quoted that “Great artist steals, they don’t do homages”. This resembles another great artist saying, “Good artists copy, great artist steals”, his goes by the name Pablo Picasso. He also admitted in the same interview that he steals from every single movie ever made.

Source: https://yerimo.gq/post-2e1f25-quentin-tarantino-by-carles-ganya

Tarantino uses this technique called Pastiche, it is where artists mimic or imitate another artist’s work, the artist themselves, or a certain type of movement. The word Pastiche based on the Italian word pasticcio which means to ‘paste’. The purpose of this is give homages to famous and/or controversial works, artists, or movements.  This technique was an important part of the Post-Modernism movement, where Tarantino takes a huge part in. In this movement, they believe that ‘Art are Recycled’. They pay tribute to a certain genre or movement that they are greatly inspired on and stitches it into a new masterpiece.

The usage of these visual references throughout his films became his trademark. All his films are inspired by a particular movie or movement. Tarantino was not taught to make films from a professional setting, he learned everything by binging on a lot of movies. So, there is no denial that he truly understood the source of his materials and pays respect on them a lot.

  GRAFFITIS & CONTROVERSIES – THE ART OF BANKSY

Source: www.streetartbio.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/452188_a3d2a609831a41b8810863483ec4f6e0.jpg

Who is Banksy?

That is the question of a lot of people who have followed or have had seen his works. Well, he is a famous anonymous artist from England. He is a graffiti artist, a filmmaker, and a political activist. He is known for his massive street art pieces painted on the street of Britain. Banksy’s works provokes and sparks a huge interest and controversies by creating taboo subjects that give awareness or trigger people’s beliefs and opinions.

He is known to use stencils to create his artworks, probably it is faster so he can protect his identity (which is an important part of Banksy). He is greatly influenced by a fellow European and street artist, Blek de Rat.

Source: www.thisiscolossal.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/disma-9.jpg

One of his well-known work is an art exhibition built in Somerset, England. It was called ‘Dismaland’, it is a dystopian theme park that mocks the famous theme parks. Instead of being amused, the goal of the pop-up is to ‘be-amuse’ the visitors. The imagery shown in the park are rather depressing and off-putting than the ‘Magical’ moments people feel whenever they are in a traditional theme park.

---

Well, these are just some of the people and works I get my inspirations from. Like you can tell by now, I idolize people who are also greatly influenced by artist who made impacts on their lives. We can use these works to create new pieces that represents you and your idealisms. 

[dailynewswebsite]

Much like Dorian Gray’s portrait, Trump is a reflection of America’s soul

In 'The Image of Dorian Grey,' the protagonist stays youthful whereas a portrait of him ages. (Shutterstock)

As many have famous, United States President Donald Trump embodies the very worst American traits. If one have been to caricature America’s vices, from bombast to narcissism, heartless individualism and poisonous machismo, one would give you somebody who seems very very similar to Trump.

But, by imbuing the president with all of America’s faults, supporters of Joe Biden and the Democratic ticket place an excessive amount of religion in electoral politics. The elimination of Trump won’t erase America’s faults. As a substitute, like Irish playwright Oscar Wilde’s The Image of Dorian Grey, Trump is only a reflection of America’s very soul.

By all means vote and in any other case take part in electoral politics. However don’t shrink back from the painful means of self-examination as a way to uncover efficient methods to heal divisions and deal with injustices in your personal life and circle.

Individually, I’ve been striving to be taught the methods I’ve benefited from the established order and taking some concrete steps to raised perceive and help those that have been unnoticed. There are various issues we will do on a way more common foundation past voting each few years, and far nearer to house. In my very own context as a white settler in Canada, this guide — which explains Canada’s Indian Act and its repercussions — has helped.

First printed in Lippincott’s Month-to-month Journal in 1890, after which a 12 months later in prolonged guide type, The Image of Dorian Grey is Wilde’s tackle the Faustian cut price. In it, the protagonist makes a take care of the satan for short-term acquire adopted by an inevitable downfall.

Dorian’s downfall

In Wilde’s novel, the younger Dorian Grey sits for a portrait painted by his buddy, Basil Hallward. Upon seeing the portray, Grey is struck by its youthful magnificence and vigour, and despairs that, not like the portray, he’ll age and decay. If solely he may stay as youthful because the portray!

Unwittingly, by wishing so, Grey ensures that the portray itself will tackle all of the ravages of age and the distortions of wickedness, whereas Grey himself stays younger and untainted by his actions, regardless of how egocentric and evil.

At first horrified by this case and repulsed by the portray because it grows ever extra sinister, Grey provides himself over to a lifetime of hedonism, leaving many ruined lives in his wake. By the novel’s finish — spoiler alert! — Grey is pushed mad by his ludicrously consequence-free life, and acknowledges that regardless that he has prevented the bodily results of his actions, his soul is as responsible because the portray is repulsive.

Caught in a cycle of injuring others and residing an unfulfilled and meaningless lifetime of base pleasures, Grey turns to the portray as the reason for his lack of ability to vary for the higher.

In the long run, he thrusts a knife via the portray to destroy it and break its maintain over him, however solely manages to kill himself. The portray reverts to its former magnificence because the twisted and newly aged physique of the actual Dorian Grey lies lifeless on the ground.

An artist’s interpretation of a younger Dorian Grey interacting together with his sinister portrait. (Shutterstock)

Trustworthy reflections

In a sure sense, America is lucky to have in Trump a stunning picture of its personal excesses and divisions. Surprising pictures, in any case, have the facility to, effectively, shock. And generally a system wants a shock as a way to appropriate itself.

Canada has lots of the similar vices as America, together with rising inequality, an out-of-touch and cynical political class and its personal demons of historic and systemic racism and exclusion, however it stays simple for a lot of Canadians to say: “Nicely, not less than we stay in Canada!”

And not using a determine like Trump reflecting their sins like Dorian Grey’s hideous portrait, Canadians are more durable to evoke to react towards the injustices and inequalities that encompass them. Trump provides a helpful point of interest.

However such a focus runs the chance of turning into a scapegoat.

Even when they may have been exacerbated over the previous 4 years, America’s most urgent issues — akin to deepening divisions in all the pieces from revenue and wealth to political opinions, horrors going through determined immigrants on the southern border and an absurdly partisan Supreme Court docket — pre-existed Trump and can outlast him.

A reckoning

Electoral politics up up to now, and even the administrations of supposedly “good” presidents, noticed these urgent issues develop in depth, and a Biden presidency will nearly actually do the identical.

Like Dorian Grey, America is due for a reckoning with its personal soul. Eradicating Trump will do no extra good than destroying Grey’s portrait did.

Oscar Wilde used his protagonist to touch upon late 19th-century English excessive society. Though Dorian Grey represents an excessive instance of the hedonism and indolence of the rich aristocracy — a caricature, even — Wilde actually meant for his contemporaries to see themselves within the pages of his novel. Good literature, like all good artwork, ought to trigger us to assume critically about our world and our place in it. The perfect literature has the capability to shock us into a brand new consciousness, and even concrete motion.

Many inventive works have been dropped at bear to touch upon present occasions, akin to Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Story. I counsel that The Image of Dorian Grey ought to remind us, particularly these of us gearing up for an necessary election, that the image itself was by no means the issue.

As a substitute, the image solely revealed the darkness of Grey’s personal soul, simply as Trump lays naked the darkness in America’s soul (and the soul of many different nations moreover).

Matthew A. Sears doesn’t work for, seek the advice of, personal shares in or obtain funding from any firm or organisation that may profit from this text, and has disclosed no related affiliations past their educational appointment.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/much-like-dorian-grays-portrait-trump-is-a-reflection-of-americas-soul/ via https://growthnews.in

#Growth News

[jeselmariesblog]

ASYNCHRONOUS #2

See if you can name the 27 Figures of Speech in the picture. Write your answer on this page by putting an arrow to the object/s. [No need to indicate what type of Figures of Speech they are]

Notes: Most Commonly Used Figure of Speech

Alliteration is the repetition of initial sounds in neighboring words.

Example: Fresh fern fronds from the forest

Allusion is a figure of speech that quickly stimulates different ideas and associations using only a couple of words, thus making an indirect reference.

Example: Describing someone as an “Adonis” makes an allusion to the handsome young shepherd loved by the goddess of love and beauty herself in the Greek myths.

Anaphora is a stylistic device that consists of repeating a sequence of words at the beginning of neighboring clauses to give emphasis.

Example: You are lovely, you are gorgeous, you are pretty, you are glorious, you are, you are, you just are!

Anticlimax refers to a figure of speech in which a word is repeated and whose meaning changes in the second instance.

Examples: He got his dignity, his job, and his company car.

In the car crash, she lost her life, her car, and her cell phone.

Antiphrasis is a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is used to mean the opposite of its normal meaning to create ironic humorous effect.

Example: She is 65 year young.

Antithesis is a figure of speech that refers to the juxtaposition of opposing or contrasting ideas. It involves the bringing out of a contrast in the ideas by an obvious contrast in the words, clauses, or sentences within a parallel grammatical structure.

Example: To many choices, too little time.

Apostrophe is an exclamatory rhetorical figure of speech in which a speaker or writer breaks off and directs speech to an imaginary person or abstract quality or idea.

Example: Oh, moon! You have seen everything!

Assonance is a figure of speech that refers to the repetition of vowel sounds to create internal rhyming within phrases or sentences.

Example: A certain purple curtain, captain. (note: cer in cetain, pur in purple, and cur in curtain. Also tain in certain, curtain, and captain.)

Climax refers to the figure of speech in which words, phrases, or clauses are arranged in order of increasing importance.

Example: Three things will remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Euphemism is a figure of speech used to express a mild, indirect, or vague term to substitute for a harsh, blunt, or offensive term.

Example: saying “passed away” for “died”

Saying “in between jobs” to mean “unemployed”

Epigram refers to a concise, witty, memorable, and sometimes surprising or satirical statement.

Example: Oscar Wilde’s “I can resist everything but temptation,” or “I am not young enough to know everything.”

Epiphora (or epistrophe) is a rhetorical device that consists of repeating a sequence of words at the end of neighboring clauses to give them emphasis.

Example: “…a government of the people, by the people, for the people. (Note: The phrase the people is repeated twice after it was first mentioned.)

Hyperbole is a figure of speech that uses exaggeration to created emphasis or effect; it is not meant to be taken literally.

Example: I told you a million times to clean your room.

Irony is a figure of speech in which there is a contradiction of expectation between what is said and what is really meant. It is characterized by an incongruity, a contrast, between reality and appearance.

Example: The explanation is as clear as mud.

Litotes is a figure of speech consisting of an understatement in which an affirmative is expressed by negating its opposite.

Example: Instead of saying that someone is “ugly” you can say that someone is “not very pretty.”

Instead of saying that the situation is “bad” you can say that it is “not good”.

Merism is a figure of speech by which something is referred to by a conventional phrase that enumerates several of its constituents or traits.

Example: saying “young and old” to refer to the whole population

Saying “flesh and bone” to mean the whole body

Metaphor s a figure of speech that makes an implicit , implied or hidden comparison between two things or objects that are poles apart from each other but have some characteristics common between them.

Example: The planet is my playground. The Lord is my shepherd.

Metonymy is a figure pf speech in which a thing or concept is not called by its own name, but by the name of something intimately associated with the thing or concept.

Examples: Using “Malacaňang” to refer to the president or the government

Saying “a hand” to mean “help”

Oxymoron is a figure of speech that combines incongruous or contradictory terms.

Examples: open secret, virtual reality, sacred profanities

Personification is a figure of speech in which a human characteristics are attributed to an abstract quality, animal, or inanimate object.

Example: Red punctuates and makes bold statements, says something, and means it like an exclamation point!

Simile is a figure of speech directly comparing two unlike things, often introduced the word, like or as.

Examples: A smile as big as the sun. She prays like a mantis.

Synecdoche is a figure of speech in which a part of something is used to represent the whole of something is used to represent part of it.

Examples: Sixty hands voted. (The part “hand” is used to refer to the whole person)

The country supported the president. (The word “country” is used to refer to the people.)

Understatement is a figure of speech used by its writers or speakers to deliberately make a situation seem less important or serious that it really is.

Examples: A nurse to give an injection saying, “It will sting a bit.”

To describe a disappointing experience, a participant may say, “It was …different.”

LITREADITURE!

Look for literary pieces and take note some lines in it that expresses figures of speech listed below. Write your answers on the space provided. (One example for each)

1.ALLUSION: He was called as a Good Samaritan as he helped the people who are needed.

2.ANAPHORA: It rained on his lousy tombstone, and it rained on the grass on his stomach. It rained all over the place.

3.EUPHEMISM:I really need a bit of piece and quite.

4.EPIGRAM: A great people talk about ideas, average people talk about things, and small people talk about wine.

5.LITOTES: William Shakesphere was not a bad playwright at all.

6.METONYMY: White house declaimed, rather than " the President Declare".

7.OXYMORON: The sound of silence comfortable misery beggarly riches sweet sorrow falsely true.

8.MERISM: "Apple of the eye" to mean as a center of attraction.

9.ANTITHESIS: Our government should work for us, not against us. It should help us, not hurt us.

10.IRONY: A blind leading a blind.

Journal Entry #2

What’s the language of the piece?

Read a literary piece (prose or poetry). Review and examine the language used by the author (Tone, Diction, Style and Figures of Speech). Include photographs to add creativity and visuals in your writing. Your answers must not be less than ten sentences.

This Side of Paradise

Tittle

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Author

- The literary piece that the author write is about on how he make peace to himself and to the world. By giving us on what important our self- realization or it convention. Also to infuence us on unconventional mother, to develop most. The diction that they use is a correct choice of a word because they right in a formal words. Also the tone that is used is act like a normal because the chatacter experience a sel- realization and his own selfishness. The figure of speech they used is metaphor and simile, because the word that they used things that is pole a part and a hidden word, also in simile they show on how to compare their self into two things, and comparing to unlike things..

[usnewsaggregator-blog]

Lois Smith’s Life Unfolds On Stage And Screen. In 2017, It’s All Paying Off.

New Post has been published on https://usnewsaggregator.com/arts-culture/lois-smiths-life-unfolds-on-stage-and-screen-in-2017-its-all-paying-off/

Lois Smith’s Life Unfolds On Stage And Screen. In 2017, It’s All Paying Off.

To talk to Lois Smith is to hear her professes, again and again, how “fortunate” and “lucky” she has been, almost as if everything in her career happened by chance.

At 87, Smith is closing the book on what may be the splashiest year of her seven-decade tenure in film and theater. In January, the big-screen adaptation of “Marjorie Prime” premiered at Sundance; Smith’s performance has since sparked Oscar buzz, collecting nominations from the Gotham Awards and the Independent Spirit Awards. Smith originated the role onstage, in Jordan Harrison’s Pulitzer-nominated play about an octogenarian conjuring memories from her life in the company of her late husband, who assumes the form of a computer-programmed hologram. 

The movie “Marjorie Prime” opened in August. Then, Smith appeared in November’s “Lady Bird,” the acclaimed Greta Gerwig film that’s another awards season favorite. For a venerated actress who has consistently worked without achieving widespread fame, Smith’s 2017 has been an improbable treat. It’s one of precious few examples of aging performers earning their due. 

HuffPost sat down with Smith in New York on the afternoon of last month’s Gotham Awards. If she earns an Oscar nomination on Jan. 23, she’ll be among the oldest nominees in the award’s 90-year history. What does she think of all this fuss? She’s grateful, of course, but she could do without it, too.

It seems you’ve had a huge year. Does it feel that way to you?

Oh my gosh, it’s been wild. This past year has been very quiet for me, actually, in a certain way. I was recovering from [her partner, actor David Margulies’] death, which happened a year ago last January. It’s getting into almost two years now.

But the year just before this very year was so busy. The first time I did “Marjorie Prime” was the fall of 2014, and after that, I did a play at [Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago] that Rory Kinnear had written, his first play, and directly back to New York and pretty straight into Annie Baker’s play “John” [at Signature Theatre Company in August 2015]. And right after that was the filming of “Marjorie Prime,” and right after that — I mean, really, hours — into the first rehearsal of “Marjorie Prime” onstage at Playwrights Horizons.

And then it was January of 2016. That year, I turned down all the roles that came for the stage. Nothing I was really into. But I started doing quite a lot of guest shots in episodic series. It’s all been really overwhelming, really it has been.

I’m not working [now]. Well, I’m doing television stuck in among the other things, briefly. I’ve got plays coming up, but not until spring.

Do you prefer to stay in New York?

I do. I love to be at home. I really do.

Was there a point in your career when you became choosier about the roles that required travel?

Well, for quite a while I was a single mother with a growing child, and I thought, I can’t really take long trips, and I also don’t want to. It’s a good excuse.

And then later, there were good times, onstage and on film, of going out of town. I haven’t done a lot of classics, though. I’ve done almost no Shakespeare, I’m sorry to say, but I did get to do some Chekhov and Shaw. Irene Lewis was so great — the first time I worked at the Baltimore Center Stage, when she was the artistic director, I did a modern George Walker play, and she asked me if there’s anything I wanted to do. At that time, I knew I wanted to do “The Cherry Orchard,” and we did a beautiful production. And then I said, “When I was a student, I always thought I’d do Shaw, and I never had.” And she did “Mrs. Warren’s Profession” for me, so that was a treat.

I always say it’s the people or the material, and when the people and the material were very attractive, there’s no reason I couldn’t do the plays.

Is there a Shakespeare role that you’d love to get your hands on?

You know, it’s a little late now for my favorites. There might still be something.

You could kick “Macbeth” up a couple of generations and do an older Lady Macbeth, right?

[Laughs.] We’ll see.

The list of people you’ve worked with is astonishing: John Cassavetes, James Stewart, Helen Hayes, James Dean, Jack Nicholson — all before 1980.

Isn’t that amazing? As it happens, it just happens. You know, James Dean was not an icon. He was a very talented, fascinating young actor doing his first movie. Certainly, some of it has been sort of astonishing, but it’s never like ― gasp! 

I’ve been most greatly fortunate, and sometimes very fortunate to have something drop in my lap, like working with James Stewart on a television show. That was just a funny thing — I don’t know how it happened. Somebody in the big television casting stuff must have noticed that I was one of the young actresses who had started to work. But it was never a big pursuit. I just kept working. I’ve been very fortunate to do that.

Did James Stewart have a big movie-star aura?

No, no. Most people are lovely, really.

“Marjorie Prime” has consumed such a large portion of your life.

It’s been well over four years since I was first handed “Marjorie Prime” to play. I’ve been living with it a long time.

It does seem like your profile has risen in conjunction with this role. Audiences get to discover the same role across stage and screen.

It’s interesting. When you just said stage and screen are coming together, that’s true, really, because I don’t think that’s ever happened before for me, and it doesn’t happen very often that people play something on the stage and get to make a film of it.

Now, when I did it onstage, I did it at the Taper in LA, and at the Playwrights Horizon. These are places where I’ve done regional theater, and the New York scene of theater companies where I have worked for a long time. So that was not a new audience for me. It was wonderful to bring this wonderful play to these audiences, I certainly feel that. And in film, again, I’ve been doing films for 60 years, but this one was really special. It’s special on its own terms.

Some critics have called it the greatest role of your career.

I don’t even know how to think about that. Whenever people ask you something like that, you know — the answer to the what’s-your-favorite question is, “The last one.” Because what are you going to do? It’s very hard. There are many meaningful things for different reasons, and especially once you’ve been at it as long as I have.

What were your first ideas about the play, which addresses concepts of memory and death?

The minute I read it, I was so excited. […] I’ve always found [Marjorie Prime] the most full-of-life character. The play is funnier, and the movie is sadder. It has partly to do with the adaptation and partly to do with the tonality of the two different people who made them. It’s the same story, but of course, there are differences with the movie. The play takes place in one room, and I was mostly sitting in a reclining chair all evening. That’s a big difference, but the character remains very much the same.

When you first saw the movie, were you prepared for that tonal difference?

It took me quite a while to accept the movie entirely as itself because I couldn’t help it. I’d been living with this text for a long time. I’d read the screenplay [by Michael Almereyda], and of course, admired it from the beginning. And I think I increasingly appreciate many things about it.

I think Michael did many wonderful things to make this a movie, because it’s not a simple, obvious thing to do when it’s very contained, with few characters in one place. It’s very verbal, and it’s very thoughtful and provocative — all things I love.

And of course, you do a play and you don’t see yourself. And actually, when you do a film you can see yourself, and that is not always easy, either. Maybe because I’m a stage actress so much, I’m not used to seeing myself act. It’s true I’ve been doing it for a long time, but it is different. It’s not something that happens to you in a play.

And I must say, I think when I first see myself in something, more often than not, it’s difficult. It’s not the most fun, to judge one’s own performance. We often are not very good at it as actors. I know a lot of other actors have that trouble, too. Some have it worse than I do.

Do you ever go back and watch your older work?

Rarely, though once in a while something comes up, like “East of Eden.” Quite a number of years ago now, it had some big anniversary, so there were a lot of events. That was an occasion for seeing it again.

What did you think upon revisiting it?

Oh, I loved it. It’s better if it’s long ago. And also, it’s really interesting — I remember a film I made with Paul Mazursky many years ago, “Next Stop, Greenwich Village.” It was a film that, for some reason — I think it had to do with a piece of music — was never on television, and people didn’t see it. And I hadn’t seen it or thought about it, really. But that must have gotten fixed, because it was on television.

I happened onto it, and in that case, it was like, “Oh my god, how young we all were,” because it was this circle of New York actors. We were so young! Chris Walken is in it, and Jeff Goldblum and Ellen Greene. That was like visiting another time, because it really was of its time.

Acting is maybe the only profession that provides a living yearbook to open, or not, at your choosing.

It’s true, isn’t it? You don’t have to go looking for it sometimes — it just appears.

Do you feel you’re fundamentally a stage actress?

I guess I do. It’s where I started. I was really lucky when I first came to New York and started working. Within the first couple of years, I was working both onstage and in television, of which there was lots then, in the ’50s. I mean, lots. There were plays on television — not series, but every week, plays. Right away, I started to do plays for television and film. That was really lucky, in so many ways.

Do you feel like you’ve managed to accomplish onscreen what you would want to, given that theater and the stage are your bread and butter?

Well, you don’t get much bread and butter in the theater. Really, film and television is where the bread and butter is, in terms of making a living.

But had I been a more famous movie person, I might have had better parts. I think I had some lovely parts. I’m not complaining about them. But I never felt I was a movie star.

When American Cinematheque in LA announced they were going to do a retrospective — three days of double features of films of mine — my immediate response was, “Well, that doesn’t make any sense. I’m not a movie star. Who would come to that?” And after friends and family told me, “No, this is really nice,” I thought, “Oh yeah.” And it was! It was really nice. And now The Quad is going to do something like that in New York. I guess that also gave me the feeling, “Well, yeah! I did some interesting things in movies.”

I’ve always felt, as much as I’ve thought about it ― which, lately, I have thought about it ― I’ve had the kind of fame which I felt was just the right amount. It’s really lovely if people come up to you and say, “Your work really means a lot to me” and “I like your work.” But to be chased around by photographers? That would not be a nice way to live.

So you never had a craving to hit the next level?

To be more and more famous? I guess not. Isn’t that funny? I guess not. I mean, in this business — I’m sure it’s true in many places, but it’s certainly true in our business — you need to be known in order to get more and better work. So, yes, I appreciate that if I worked, and worked well, I’d get better known, and then I’d get more and better work. That was always a true thing, which I did not negate at all.

I wasn’t aware of drawing a line, but what I’m saying makes me think I did, because I didn’t long to be on everybody’s gossip column. That is not something that seemed attractive to me.

Looking back, is there a particular role that let you feel like you’d made it?

I don’t know about that. Every good piece of work really helped. Sometimes I’m not aware of the connections of it all. Just a few years ago, I did a scene on “The Americans.” I think it was about three years ago. It was a wonderful scene. As soon as they sent it to me, I thought, boy, they’re not usually this good, this complete, this well-written.

I was very fortunate: I was busy, but they waited for me. I was shooting “The Nice Guys,” a movie, and that turned out really well. I have a feeling that, because I got a lot of acclaim for it, that made more and more television work come, more and more requests for me to do a guest-star.

Now, I think that’s true, but I can’t be sure, because a lot of things change. For instance, all of a sudden there’s so much television, and certainly in New York. I’m not in a position to say “this caused this,” but that’s what it felt like to me. It made a difference in the employment track right there.

“The Young and Beautiful,” when I did it in New York, I think I won every award I could have won, because it was off-Broadway that year. I think that also elevated my status.

You mentioned knowing that the “Americans” role was acclaimed. How does that get filtered to you? Do you ever Google yourself?

No, I didn’t Google it. First of all, when they actually finished it, before it was shown, I got a telephone call from the two producers. I found that really unusual. They had just seen it and they were really excited. Then, when it came out, a lot of people talked about it, and still do. And then I was nominated for some broadcasters’ award, and there would be little press things saying “should have gotten an Emmy.”

I don’t care, but it’s that kind of thing. Many, many people remember it, and speak of it. It was a particularly good piece. There’s nothing like good work. It’s always the material and the people you work with.

Were you familiar with Greta Gerwig before “Lady Bird” came along?

Oh yes, I saw her as an actress and a writer, and I was enormously impressed with her as an actress, my goodness. But I had not met her until the first day of shooting. Somebody called my agent and asked if I wanted to do it, which I did.

She has such a distinctive voice as a writer. What was she like as a director?

Well, she was absolutely, as she herself described it, creating a safe place. She’s really something. And her first time directing? The major part of my part was shot the second and third day of the shoot, so I was very, very early in the shoot of her first film. I was very impressed. And then it went on and on for weeks while I wasn’t there, because my part’s little and it’s all concentrated. I think she’s really quite astonishing.

Have you played a nun before “Lady Bird”?

No! I haven’t.

Every great actress has to play a nun at least once.

Well, I’m glad I had a chance. Something reminded me of this, maybe the nun. William Wyler was casting “The Nun’s Story” with Audrey Hepburn, and I was pregnant. I remember when we spoke. We were talking about dates, and realizing the date they were proposing was almost immediately after [my due date]. We all just sat and looked at each other, and I thought, well, that would have been fun. I mean, this was in 1957.

And you were offered the role but couldn’t take it because of the timing?

You know, I’m not sure he actually offered it. We met, and I could tell in the room that I was certainly a high candidate for it. But that was that.

See, everything comes full-circle. You didn’t play a nun then, and now you can play one now. She’s an interesting character because she’s so compassionate.

It’s such a great character, to be a teacher. She’s so compassionate and involved and understanding of the kids she’s dealing with, but she’s a grownup.

Often, popular culture presents nuns who go into education as strict and cloistered. It’s interesting to see a California spin on that, if you will. Did you grow up religious at all?

Yes, I grew up Protestant. My family were devout Protestants. When I was little, I went to Sunday school and church all the time.

Here we are on the day of the Gotham Awards. What is it like to be part of the Oscar conversation?

Well, I guess it’s fun. It’s also exhausting. I don’t find award shows the most fun events in the world. I said the other day, “I’m not keen on the contest idea, both in our country and in our profession.”

But it is there, and it’s hard to ignore it. It’s not something that I’ve been panting after in my life. And I feel I’ve had a lot of awards — more in theater than in film. Of course, it’s gratifying to be praised, to be valued. There’s no doubt about it. That’s lovely, it really is. So there’s an element of pleasure.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

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#paying #screen #smith #stage #unfolds

[themoment-before]

Do you have/know any good contemporary 90 seconds or less monologues? Also tips for really performing monologues well? Thank you so much!

I'm sorry, I don't give monologue recommendations! But if this is a monologue for Drood, I'd say that contemporary wouldn't fit the style, and you'd be better off with a piece by a playwright from the time in which Drood is set, such as Oscar Wilde or the like.

My main monologue tip is specificity, which is really the overarching goal. This means knowing where you are, who you're talking to, what you want from them, and what you're doing in the monologue to achieve that. Once you know those answers, break down the text into beats, which can be defined by tonal shifts, switching your tactics, a new subject being brought up, etc. How is each beat distinct, and how can you convey those shifts through your acting? Is it a shift in what you're saying, or maybe a shift in your physicality? Make each shift active--that is, whether it's a physical shift or otherwise, give it a clear motivation that's active rather than passive. You can give yourself key action words for each beat, such as pleading, enticing, consoling, suspecting, etc, to help further define what you're doing. Again, it's all about specificity.

#monologues #audition questions #ahlexlevine

[ashtray-girl]

could you recommend the books/poetry that inspired morrisseys writing?? i’m curious to read some but don’t know where i’d find that information. thank you!

Sure!

First of all, Oscar Wilde. Morrissey repeatedly namechecked him as his favourite author. Personally, I’ve only read “The Portrait of Dorian Gray”, “De Profundis” and “The Uncollected Oscar Wilde”. If you haven’t yet read anything of his, I’d suggest you start with Dorian Gray.

Then of course, Elizabeth Smart. I’ve previously talked about how Morrissey used her novella “By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept” as a source of inspiration for many of his songs. She also wrote a sequel called “The Assumption Of The Rogues & Rascals”, which I didn’t think was as good, but it’s still relatively short and you can easily read it in one sitting once you get used to her somewhat flamboyant writing style. I’ve also got a copy of her diaries, which is called “Necessary Secrets”, but I haven’t read it yet.

Next, we have Shelagh Delaney. In 1986, Morrissey said: “I’ve never made any secret of the fact that at least 50 per cent of my reason for writing can be blamed on Shelagh Delaney.“ The lyrics of This Night Has Opened My Eyes are a retelling of the plot of her play “A Taste of Honey“, with many direct quotes. She’s even on the cover of Louder Than Bombs! Unfortunately, I haven’t read any of her works.

Then we have A. E. Housman, a poet. I’ve talked about his role on Morrissey’s writing here.

No biographers (that I know of) ever mentioned him, and the connection might be tenuous, but I’m gonna include him anyway: W. H. Auden. Specifically, his poem “The Mirror and the Sea”. I’ve explained why here.

Then of course, Hermann Melville. Specifically “Billy Budd”, but also “John Marr and Other Poems”. You can check out his poem “John Marr and Other Sailors” here.

Radclyffe Hall. Specifically, her novel “The Well of Loneliness”, which is one of the best, most heartwrenching LGBT books I’ve ever read. I’m not gonna spoil the plot for you, but I urge you to read it if you have the chance.

Alan Bennett. I’ve wanted to read some of his stuff for years and quite a few people recommended him to me, but I’ve yet to get down to it. The line “That’s what tradition means” in I Started Something… was taken from his play “Forty Years On”, and the title Alsatian Cousin also comes from there, with the original line being: “I was distantly related to the Woolf family through some Alsatian cousins”. Also, and this is the most interesting part imo, his TV play “Me, I’m Afraid of Virginia Woolf”, which is about a subtle gay love story, contains the line “Nature has a language, you see, if only we’d learn to read it”, which was no doubt used by Morrissey as inspo for Ask. (”Nature is a language, can’t you read?”).

John Betjeman, another poet. I haven’t read anything of his, but it’s said that his poem “Slough” was the main source of inspiration for Everyday Is Like Sunday. Funfact: he was bi and a disciple of Oscar Wilde.

Jean Cocteau. French poet, writer, playwright, artist and filmmaker. The cover of This Charming Man was sourced from his film Orphée and the cover of Hatful of Hollow was taken from a special edition of the French newspaper Libération, commemorating the 20th anniversary of his death. I’ve been wanting to read “The White Book” for a while but I can’t find it anywhere, and I feel like it would be very interesting to get even further insight on Morrissey’s psyche.

Pier Paolo Pasolini. Italian writer, poet and filmmaker. I’m ashamed to say I’ve never read anything of his (I did visit his grave tho!). Anyway, Morrissey mentions him in You Have Killed Me and - indirectly - in Life Is A Pigsty, (the title probably coming from his movie Porcile, which is Italian for Pigsty). Definitely check him out if you have the chance, he lived a very interesting albeit tragic life and he’s still seen as an important, pioneering if not controversial figure here in Italy.

Popcorn Venus. This is a 1973 feminist film study by Marjorie Rosen. Morrissey used several films which the text refers to as song titles. Namely, The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, Little Man, What Now?, Angel, Ange, Down We Go [Together]. When talking about the 60s ‘beach-party’ genre (don’t ask me what that is, I literally have no idea), there’s a quote that goes: “How immediately can we be gratified? How soon is ‘now’?”, which Morrissey probably used as inspo for his eponymous song. Rosen also describes Anita Ekberg ‘reeling around the fountain’ in Fellini’s La Dolce Vita.Other possible lyrical sources in the book may include: “Who would subjugate whom? Who would crack the whip?” (Handsome Devil), “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the flame of women’s rage” (These Things Take Time).

From Reverence To Rape. 1974 book by American film critic Molly Haskell.Morrissey borrowed several lines from it, including:“[she] double-crossed him, not once but twice.” (Miserable Lie)“But even then she knew where she had come from and where she belonged” (These Things Take Time)“Samantha Eggar who, as Terence Stamp’s captive, is pinned and mounted like one of his butterflies” (Reel Around The Fountain)“Films like Mr. Skeffington oscillate wildly in mood” (Oscillate Wildly)“Each woman will be half a person” (Half A Person).

Finally… I’ve kept this one for last because I just found out about it as I was writing this and I find it EXTREMELY interesting and revealing:

George Eliot. Born Mary Anne Evans, she chose a male pen name to be taken seriously by the 19th century male-dominated literary establishment.Morrissey quoted from her most famous work, Middlemarch, in How Soon Is Now?, adapting its line: “Born the son of a Middlemarch manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing in particular.”Now, here comes the part I find most interesting… I’m just gonna fully quote it from Mozipedia (which btw is where I found most of the info I collected here):“Eliot spent much of her adult life in a then scandalous relationship with critic and philosopher George Henry Lewes who, technically, was still married to another woman.The vinyl run-out-groove of Morrissey’s 1990 single Piccadilly Palare also contained the cryptic message that ‘George Eliot knew’.”… now, I don’t know about you, but I definitely have my own ideas of what exactly is that George Eliot ‘knew’ and why Morrissey thought it was important to let people know about it, but I digress.

Anyway, there you have it! Hope this was helpful!And let me know if you decide to read any of the books mentioned here!

#morrissey #the smiths #marrissey #answered