Don't remember it all that well - except that I didn't think it was all that good.
Not like Zefferelli's "Romeo and Juliet"!!!!!
R & J was a gorgeous treat . . . my gf at the time (1968?) and i saw it at the Playboy Theater in Chicago. The whole Playboy thing is silly, i know, but the theater was a treat--one of the old-fashioned variety of luxury theater with red crushed velvet sets, and a "bowl" design so that every seat had a good, un-blocked view of the screen. I loved the pagentry of the movie--the story is rather simple-minded, so i had gone to see the cinematic effects, and was not disappointed.
Mercutio in that film was a wonder and delight....as was the Nurse...
Dang, haven't seen that one...must rent, apparently.
I think you may like Juliet.....heeheeee
If yer into 14 year olds . . . i'll bet Donovan has a copy of that one . . .
Michael York as Tybalt was excellent as well (in Zefferelli's R&J).
It seems to me that the dynamics on this thread are too complex and therefore too hot to handle for now. And fun is not to be had here, for me at least, for the present. It seems I should learn that it if doesn't fit, don't force it.....but I have a hard time giving up. Still, I have a lot of work to do anyway for the next week. I think I'll concentrate on that and see you all later. Sorry it didn't work out.
Shakespeare's work is 'postively stuffed with quotations'...
Here's a lovely little review of "The Age of Shakespeare" by Frank Kermode. I thought the bard fans here ought to get a tip on what looks to be a very good book.
http://www.thenation.com/docprint.mhtml?i=20040301&s=eagleton
Thanks blatham sweetie! Very amusing...
As some of you will know, a production of Lear is now running in New York. The following is the first paragraph of a review on the play from the current NYRB.
Quote:"You mean Cordelia dies in the end?" a little girl exclaims in protest in the seat behind me, moments before the lights dim. Her father has been whispering a synopsis, and has thus casually administered the same shock of injustice that so perturbed Samuel Johnson that it was years before he could endure to read King Lear a second time. It is a play that hurts the unwary, and even the wary (we, that is, the grownups who know what to expect) continue to look for ways to feel at home in it. The most immense of plays is also the most constricting, and it would be almost inhuman not to harbor a nagging apprehension at the prospect of undergoing, once again, the process of settling down for a dress rehearsal of one's own disappearance into an abyss that doesn't become any more domesticated with the passage of centuries. If the apparently innocuous opening lines of King Lear?-the politely ribald chitchat as Gloucester introduces Kent to his bastard son Edmund?-are already imbued with a sense of dread, it is because we know this is the last moment when all that follows might have been avoided, when some other entertainment, some comedy or court romance, could have begun: a very short breathing space before the springing of the trap.
