Defrauding Daughters Turning Deviant Wives? Reading Female Agency in The Merchant of Venice

Brabantio’s words “Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:| She has deceived her father, and may thee” ( Othello , 1.3.292–293) warn Othello about the changing nature of female lo yalty and women’s potential for deviancy. Closely examining d aughters caught in the conflict between anxious fathers and husbands-to- be, this article departs from such paranoid male fa ntasy and instead sets out to explore female deviancy in its legal and dramatic implications with reference to Shakespeare ’s The Merchant of Venice . I will argue that Portia’s and Jessica’s struggle to evade male subsidiarity results in their conscio us positioning themselves on the verge of illegality. Besides occa sioning productive exploration of marriage, law and justice within what Morss (2007:183) terms “the dynamics of human desir e and of social institutions,” I argue that female agency, s een as temporary deviancy and/or self-exclusion, reconfigures the ma le domain by affording the inclusion of previous outsiders (Anto nio, Bassanio and Lorenzo) .

Doing Kyd: Essays on The Spanish Tragedy

Doing Kyd reads Thomas Kyd's The Spanish Tragedy, the box-office and print success of its time, as the play that established the revenge genre in England and served as a 'pattern and precedent' for the golden generation of early modern playwrights, from Marlowe and Shakespeare to Middleton, Webster and Ford. Interdisciplinary in approach and accessible in style, this collection is crucial in two respects: firstly, it has a wide spectrum, addressing readers with interests in the play from its early impact as the first sixteenth-century revenge tragedy, to its afterlife in print, on the stage, in screen adaptation and bibliographical studies. Secondly, the collection appears at a time when Kyd and his play are back in the spotlight, through renewed critical interest, several new stage productions between 2009 and 2013, and its firm presence in higher-education curriculum for English and drama.

Pyramus and Thisbe 4 You or a "Wondrous Strange" Tale of Contemporary Romanian Theatre

Like its title, Pyramus and Thisbe 4 You, Alexandru Dabija’s production at the Odeon Theatre, Bucharest, was a tongue-in-cheek invitation to the audience that at once aimed to tease past and recent Romanian endeavours and to tease out the stage potential a Shakespeare play holds today. My examination of the production re-constructs the local cultural contexts the production plays with and against, referring to the Romanian ways of making Shakespeare this production enters into dialogue with. Take 1, an all-female version casting the mature stars of the Odeon, I read against both Elizabethan all-male stage practice and Andrei Serban’s all-female Lear at the Bulandra (2008). Take 2, “an old device” (V.1.50): a teacher-student “devising” session at the Academy of Theatre and Cinema, I read against critics’ “more strange than true” (V.1.2) parlance on “theories of perception and reception” and against hi-tech Shakespeare dominating the Romanian stages in the first decade of the third millennium. Take 3, local political banter on ethnic discrimination, I read as “satire keen and critical” (V.1.54) on both communist censorship and the recent rise of nationalism in Romania. Take 4, a “cold” reading-cum-improvisation performed by the technical crew – this production’s mechanicals – I read as “palpable-gross play” (V.1.376) on both acting and spectating practices. What I argue in this article is that Dabija’s production goes beyond its local context and mores, and proposes a re-assessment of Shakespeare’s cultural currency in (European) Romania and Europe at large by exposing current tyrannies in Shakespeare studies: from translation and adaptation, through directing and acting, to viewing and reviewing.

Shakespeare and the Birmingham Repertory Theatre 1913-1929

It is well known that the Birmingham Repertory Theatre launched the careers of some of the greatest twentieth-century Shakespearian actors including Laurence Olivier and Ralph Richardson. What is not so well known is that the Rep legend was based on a radical commitment to the innovative staging of Shakespeare which dates back to the earliest years of the century. By the 1920s this had initiated a profound shift in Shakespeare performance values which continues to inform modern production. In telling the story of Rep Shakespeare and the directors, designers and actors who contributed to the company's world-wide reputation, this book sets the work of the first purpose-built British repertory theatre in the context of the major aesthetic and organisational changes which were to transform twentieth-century theatre as a whole.

Encountering the Spectre of Painting

When thinking what paintings are, I am continually brought back to my memory of a short sequence in Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo. In the scene, Kim Novak’s Madeleine is seated on a bench in an art gallery. She is apparently transfixed by a painting, Portrait of Carlotta. Alongside James Stewart, we watch her looking intently. Madeleine is pretending to be a ghost. At this stage she does not expect us to believe she is a ghost, but simply to immerse ourselves in the conceit, to delight in the shudder. Madeleine’s back is turned away from us, and as the camera draws near to show that the knot pattern in her hair mirrors the image in the portrait, I imagine Madeleine suppressing a smile. She resolutely shows us her back, though, so her feint is not betrayed. Madeleine’s stillness in this scene makes her appear as an object, a thing in the world, a rock or a pile of logs perhaps. We are not looking at that thing, however, but rather a residual image of something creaturely, a spectre. This after-image is held to the ground both by the gravity suggested by its manifestation and by the fine lie - the camouflage - of pretending to be a ghost. Encountering a painting is like meeting Madeleine. It sits in front of its own picture, gazing at it. Despite being motionless and having its back to us, there is a lurching sensation the painting brings about by pretending to be the ghost of its picture, and, at the same time, never really anticipating your credulity.