The Bane of the Bard

Poor, poor Will. Shakespeare, that is. He would have committed a highly dramatic and eloquent suicide if he had watched the Royal Shakespeare Company's production of Romeo and Juliet.

But let me start at the beginning.

Saturday last, Shannon, Alex and I journeyed forth to Stratford-Upon-Avon, which is known for being the home of one William Shakespeare. Upon arrival, we found our way from the train station, through the quaint town and down to the River Avon. As I walked through the village I truly felt that I was on the set of Shakespeare In Love...only there was no Bard hottie with a six pack rushing manically around. It appeared that some of the architecture from the 1500s still stands, adding to the antiquated air present in town. After reaching the end of the cobble-stoned street, we intrepid explorers started off onto the muddy path along the Avon. Many pictures were taken, ancient houses with miniscule doors were cooed over and a general sense of excitement pervaded the party. It must be said that Stratford is among the more cozy and homey villages I have visited thus far, and with the budding trees, the infant flowers, and the quaint vistas it seemed a charming locale in which to live. Never fear, dear reader - I promise not to set root there! Well...not yet.

But, I digress. As I was saying, we adventurous lot made our way down the Avon and ended up at the church in which darling Will's bones lie. Apparently the playwrite gave specific instructions against his bones being moved to Westminster Abbey...they were carved in his tombstone and were something to the effect of, "Whomsoever moves my bones shall be cursed." Ok, it was far more eloquent than that, and I do believe it rhymed...but that was the main sentiment expressed. Later, we walked back to town and saw Shakespeare's house, and the school he attended...needless to say there was much uncontained excitement in the form of clasped hands, gasps of delight and prancing in the streets.

And now most loyal reader, we reach the low point, the disaster, the eye-gouging pain if you will. A little background into the Views of Lauren would indicate an impatience for Romeo and Juliet in the first place. Romeo's emo and childish behavior as well as his fickle personality make me hard pressed to take him seriously or become emotionally attached to his well-being. While less annoying than her male counterpart, Juliet is the epitome of a naive teenager. Not only does she decide it would be a good idea to marry a boy a couple hours after making his acquaintance, but she adds to this stupidity by taking a roofie from a priest. Ummm....Juliet....darling? I know teenagers are supposed to make stupid mistakes, but yours are...well...they're fatal, now aren't they?
Despite my cynical views on "the greatest love story ever", I sat down in my seat expecting to see a great performance. My dahlings, it was horrendous. While some of the actors were truly abominable, I believe most of the performers would have done better had the direction been anywhere close to decent. At one point, the director felt it necessary to have the messenger sing his lines to Romeo in an extremely high and out of tune falsetto. Why, you ask? I don't know. I just don't know. After the initial shock wore off, I found it necessary to stuff my fist in my mouth to keep from loudly guffawing. As it was I was forcibly shaking with laughter. Now it wasn't going to do at all that the messenger should sing only once; oh no! He was called upon to do so again during the death scene. I must say that I never before envied Romeo and Juliet their deaths, but at that moment, I was a bit jealous.
Speaking of the deaths, they were so awkward I didn't know whether to cry with mortification or laugh outright. Alas, it did bring tears to my eyes, but for all the wrong reasons. Romeo felt compelled to drink his pint (yes, pint) of poison out of a water bottle that took a great while for him to chug - it rather ruined the intensity of the moment. He then proclaimed, "Thus, with a kiss, I die!" but he didn't kiss Juliet. Apparently the director felt that the need to match words with their indicated action was overrated and unnecessary. A brave choice on his part I must say. Then Juliet, not to be outdone, gave three long, piercing screams that ended with a gurgle as she stabbed herself, and collapsed in a truly Acting 101 fashion.
In conclusion, when a play is three hours long, and you catch yourself looking at your watch every two minutes, you come to realize that it doesn't hold much merit. Poor, dear Will. What did he do to deserve his art being butchered thus?

Tomorrow I am going to get massacred at my violin lesson so if you hear from me no more, it is because I have died a truly gruesome death - most likely by being impaled several times with my bow. If I survive, I'll regale you with my adventures in Edinburgh in my next post.

Anon!
Lauren