Hi, all,
I had a busy day on April 23rd, the day we traditionally celebrate as Shakespeare's birthday, and I found myself thinking about our Winedale family a lot throughout. In these dark times, I thought it might be nice to hear about it.
I started my day teaching from Ian McEwan's What We Can Know, a (post-)post-apocalyptic novel that, at its heart, is about the role literature and literature professors can play after the world has collapsed. There are many allusions to Shakespeare in the novel and if you've not read it, I highly recommend you do. Yesterday, we focused on the novel's depiction of future college students' lack of interest in history and whether they saw themselves in these students—most said that in high school they found rote memorization boring but in college they were becoming more interested in history as a conversation and contested subject. A hopeful note!
Next, I hosted a Shakespeare Sonnet Festival by the lake on our campus. Many students came out to read and discuss Shakespeare's sonnets on the grass by the lake. The day was beautiful, sunny and warm. If you're familiar with the weather in the Midwest, you know April (but also May) is the cruelest month, so these truly spring days must be cherished. I broke the ice by reading
sonnet 98; I noted that I'm happily married to a wife that was nearby, so the spring day was actually a spring day for me, but that I had spent many wintery Aprils in my earlier life.
After, my Shakespeare course met to watch the Joel Coen film adaptation of Macbeth (with Denzel Washington and Francis McDormand). We read Macbeth a couple weeks ago and next week they'll be performing short dialogs from the play. The students really like the two lead performances, the creative choice with Kathryn Hunter as the witch(es), and what I called Coen's creation of a "Super Ross" whose motives seemed to transcended the world of the play.
After a quick breather and snack bar, I went in to rehearsal for the English Players, a student group I direct that I have re-oriented around Winedale's learning through performance practices. We'll be putting on two scenes from The Tempest (a play I selected because we'll be taking students in the fall to the Stratford Festival in Ontario and it will be one of the performances they'll see). Last night we were playing with 3.2, the scene in which the drunken clowns brag about how much they can drink, plot the murder of Prospero, and rhapsodize about the isle being full of noises. We had good fun trying out different versions of Stephano's beating on Trinculo and thinking about how they advanced the story the story in different ways. Right now, she's flicking Trinculo on the nose in the belief that this is very intimidating. I remembered warmly David Ziegler's inimitable and drunken Borachio not wanting any colors colored in our 2015 reunion Much Ado.
I then had just enough time to walk-jog over to an auditorium in the student union where I was hosting a movie night. I was showing students the documentary,
Grand Theft Hamlet, which follows two British actors during lockdown in 2021 attempting to put on a production of Hamlet in Grand Theft Auto Online. It's a funny and surprisingly touching look into two actors seeking to continue their art and find human connection during a time of isolation. An ensemble builds up around them in an inspiring way. The students loved it (plus the $200 worth of pizza and soda I supplied; I'd have included a keg of Shiner if the college would have let me; as an adjunct, I have my own version of the Sword of Damocles I must be ever-mindful of).
Finally (and this may have been my favorite part of the day), I walked back across campus to the arts building for a staged reading of Macbeth. A student in my Shakespeare course told a friend with whom he shares strong Scottish lineage that we were reading Macbeth and they decided to do a reading of the play, just the two of them. Word of mouth spread, however, and this spontaneous event blossomed into fourteen students and two professors, homemade costumes, wooden swords, sound cues including a screeching owl, and a couple kilts. They improvised and improved all of this themselves in a truly ensemble spirit (with two Peter Quinces to guide the overall process). The pure spirit of play in the room would have been immediately recognizable for all of you. It was vivifying. I had no idea this was happening until my student told me about it a week or so ago; it was truly student created and led, I was merely a contingent factor.
On my hour-long drive home last night, I was tearing up from the complex mix of emotions and exhaustion. This last event affected me the most. Thoughts swirled of the production of Twelfth Night my Winedale classmates and I put on after our 2003 summer and of James Loehlin attending our Midsummer the same day he'd had back surgery; of Doc and the first students originating Winedale in the same spirit of play and exploration and how the practical origins of the circle created a lasting ritual; of my children asleep at home with my wife who is also a Shakespearean and how I'm about the same age my dearly-departed father was when he came out to Winedale in 2003 and finally understood the life I'd chosen (Doc, he was a Vietnam vet and the bootcamp structure helped with that a lot!); and of just the simple joy I could see in the students' faces as they experienced Macbeth for the first time last night.
As I write this, my daughter, Viola, is engaging her imagination with Play-Doh, creating something she is calling a "boody puppy," while our real puppy, Sebastian, dances about her feet.
In these frightening days, some of the kids are alright. Thought you'd like to know.
Taking pains to be vigitant,
Casey
