Showing posts with label William Shakespeare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label William Shakespeare. Show all posts

Friday, May 22, 2026

Hamnet and the Sorrow of Loss

Personal reflections after a film…

Jessie: Losing a son at thirteen… it’s a devastation that never fully settles. Watching Agnes lose Hamnet felt like watching myself from a distance.
Paul: For me it was similar. My son is still alive—forty‑five now—but the boy he was disappeared when he was fifteen. The schizophrenia‑like symptoms took him somewhere I can’t follow.
Jessie: You’ve said before it feels like living with a ghost.
Paul: Thirty years of it. A ghost of a son who once laughed, once argued, once dreamed. The film stirred that ache again, the ache of losing someone who still breathes.
Jessie: That’s a particular kind of sorrow. People don’t always understand that kind of loss.
Paul: They think grief requires a funeral. But grief can be a long corridor with no door at the end. But Shakespeare, his way was to write through it. That struck me. I’ve spent years trying to make sense of my son’s disappearance into illness, trying to understand something from it.
Jessie: The film seemed to suggest a way to hold sorrow without being crushed by it.
Paul: Yes. The ending especially. The way grief became a kind of offering, a way to honour the child rather than drown in the loss.
Jessie: I found myself thinking: maybe devastation can be rearranged. Not erased, but rearranged into something that lets us keep walking.
Paul: That’s what I felt too. That my son’s ghost doesn’t have to haunt me; he can accompany me. Not as absence, but as a presence transformed.
Jessie: And that love doesn’t vanish with the child. It just changes its shape, like water flowing.
Paul: Shakespeare said, “Give sorrow words.”
Jessie: And, “The rest is silence.”  Knowing that silence, too, can be a kind of healing.
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Voice-over
Overtones of Ophelia. Her drowning, being pulled under by loss, was perhaps a metaphor for Hamnet succumbing to a fever. And the film adding themes of parental grief, absence, and giving sorrow shape through art.

Thursday, March 6, 2025

I do humbly wish thee a right merry birthday...

An Elizabethan birthday…

Huzzah, to all those whose day of birth is this. May thy years be many and fortunes fair! Let this day be filled with laughter, and accompanied by cheery songs like Now is the Month of Maying”. Rompish games like charades, goblets raised to the roof, marshmallows toasted to the stars, the path paved with puns as we binge-watch the comedies of life. 
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Voice-over
The madrigal may not be March but May is near enough. And although the King's Singers are modernly attired their origins are close.

Wednesday, July 7, 2021

Rashomon as a Shakespearean set

A black and white photo…

Beatrice: What’s this?

NausicaƤ: Rashomon. The opening scene. Kurosawa’s film. 1950.

Beatrice: I remember now. Pretty bleak. How did it begin? Rain. What rotten weather. Didn’t have to say that. You could see it. 

NausicaƤ: No, the first words by the woodcutter are,”I don’t understand.” And then commoner arrives, seeking shelter, and wants to know what it is that’s not understood. And so the stories are told. The different versions of what happened between the samurai, his wife and the bandit.

Beatrice: What was the function of the gate, Rashomon?

NausicaƤ: It was a stage setting. And well chosen.

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Voice-over

Japan has dramatic weather. Just as the rain lashed Rashomon, every year there are floods. Fewer bandits and lawlessness there may be, but natural disasters still cause havoc and take lives. Like the Atami mudslide.

And at the moment… the rain it raineth every day.

"He that has and a little tiny wit / With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain / Must make content with his fortunes fit, / For the rain it raineth every day.” 

Fool in King Lear. William Shakespeare: Act 2, Scene 3.

Rashomon had a Shakespearean air.

Friday, April 4, 2008

Triumphant

Hamlet e Ophelia si arrestano nel piazza per un gelato.
...
Ophelia: I told you beware the ides of March.

Hamlet: They are not on us yet. Forsooth, I would trade my horse for another, yet the ice cream is good, so let’s tarry awhile here.

Ophelia: A dish fit for the gods. Yet it is neither ice nor cream.

Hamlet: What’s in a name? Chocolate by any other name would taste as sweet, nay?

Ophelia: Tis neither here nor there.

Hamlet: I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it. Yet that man is taking my likeness too oft for his own good, we must to horse before I beat him to a pulp. Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys is jollity for apes and grief for boys.

Ophelia: Good sentences and well pronounced, my lord. On, on, to unpathed waters, to undreamed shores!

[Exeunt]

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Voiceover
Antique dialogue has been experimented with in modern contexts. Results are unpredictable; voices from the past can sound uneasy in the street clatter of industrialized society, but with a little suspension of disbelief, across a busy piazza, these Danish motorcyclists could be speaking Global English (in the Shakespearean sense).

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