The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

Artistic Director and Co-Founder of TURN TO FLESH PRODUCTIONS. | Author of "Nachtstürm Castle," "Niamh and the Hermit." | Playwright: "Cupid and Psyche," "Math for Actors." | Classical director and educator.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

In an earth-shattering decision

I have decided not to go to see the Nora Theatre's presentation of The Secret Love Life of Ophelia. I had originally been planning on coughing up the buckaroos to see this production - to see if it would enlighten me at all for the next time I did Hamlet, or to reflect at all upon what I have already done. But from reading numerous reviews of this production and other productions of the play, I've realized that no amount of money could induce me to listen to soft-porn in bastardized Elizabethan blank verse. Especially with such a sophomoric plot as TSLLOO (silly acronym!) seems to have. I think the good folk at Disney could come up with a more clever rendition of Ophelia! Boooooooooo revisionist Shakespeare! But yay for keeping money in my pocket? *hrumphs off into the sunset*

Ophelia:Is that a play about us?!?!
Hamlet:Don't bother me. I'm sleeping.

Mood: Tickey
Music: The always soothing, always amusing Crimson Pirates
A good review is:'s great review.

And a great quote: "...Ophelia, is rather whimsical and does a decent job with the material she has been given, though there is nothing special about her performance. Her character's thoughts and actions get redundant and much of the play is spent waiting for her to go through with the suicide." From Tufts Daily.

ARG! Another great quote: "One of the great things about great texts is their silences, the questions they leave unanswered, allowing generation after generation to fill in the gaps with their own interpretations. That’s possibly one of the reasons Shakespeare’s Hamlet has held such fascination for theatre practitioners down the ages." From DNA India about a Noh Drama version.

Thought on the above: Which is exactly my problem with most of the play today. One might say they're prosaic. They're not poetic. They're stuffed full of words, signifying nothing. They're gross and base and common and mucky. They raise questions, but they possess no real human ambiguity. They are not sublime. In silence is our thoughtfulness.


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