Last night I dreamed that someone invented a new version of chess called Rookmeo and Juliet where two rooks are in love and trying to run away together. To achieve this they have to make it to the other side of the board, but these rooks don't have any visible signs to differenciate them from the rest, just a small mark in their base. Neither of the players knows what rook from the other side is in love with their rook, so they have to play a regular game of chess, fully aware that they might unknowingly kill the lover of their rook. If they kill it, the game keeps going, but their rook betrays them, switches sides and turns into a second queen for the other player. People wrote a ton of essays about the symbolism and metaphors of that version of chess and the creator didn't have the heart to tell them that he simply invented it because he thought Rookmeo was a great pun
oresteia, robert icke // theatre of the oppressed, augusto boal // song of achilles, madeline miller // the book thief, markus zusak // antigone, jean anouilh // revisiting mockingjay ahead of the hunger games prequel, entertainment weekly // romeo and juliet, shakespeare // h of h playbook, anne carson // war of the foxes, richard siken // the road to hell (reprise), hadestown // planet of love, richard siken // they both die at the end, adam silvera
i've been reading julius caesar and i can't take the tent scene seriously at all it's like
brutus: hey maybe you shouldn't take bribes
cassius: oh i'm sorry i didn't realize you HATED ME. how dare you not think i'm a flawless human being?? why don't you just STAB ME THROUGH THE HEART it would probably hurt less
the experience of tragedy in plays specifically because ‘maybe it will end differently this time’ feels possible. This isn’t pre-recorded. This isn’t set down in time and film. This is live, this is now, these people are real and maybe this time when they open the letter it won’t say ‘kill the messenger’. Maybe this time they get to live
fuck all of you. i will be thinking about percy quoting romeo’s “but soft what light through yonder window breaks” to annabeth when she climbed into his room at 4 am until the day i die
watching horatio, the sensible—NOT PASSION’S SLAVE—lose all sensibility as he picks up the cup of poison, knowing suicide will eternally condemn him to hell.
horatio would rather be banished to hell forever than live on earth after hamlet's death.
i've come to realize there are only two kinds of tragedies: preventable and inevitable. preventable tragedies are the kind where everything could have maybe worked out if only. if only romeo had gotten the second letter. if only juliet had woken up earlier. if only creon had changed his mind about antigone sooner. if only orpheus hadn't turned around.
inevitable tragedies are the kind where everything was always going to end terribly. of course macbeth gets deposed, he murdered his way to the throne. of course oedipus goes mad, he married his own mother. of course achilles dies in the war, he had to fulfill the prophecy in order to avenge his lover.
both kinds have their merits. the first is more emotionally impactful, letting the audience cling to hope until the very end, when it's snatched away all at once leaving nothing but a void. the second is more thematically resonant, tracking an inherent fatal flaw in its hero to a natural and understandable conclusion, making it abundantly clear why everything has to happen the way it does.