Just one – you know – one of these foils – not any foil in particular – definitely not this one that I’ve had sharpened into a deadly weapon – that will also, conveniently obscure a little poison hidden in it. You know, just one of these, you know. Like this one, right here.
Author: erainbowd
Come on.
So often in these plays, there seems to be no superfluous language – no sentence that doesn’t pack in meaning or purpose. This one, though – feels almost like it’s here just for rhythm. I doubt there’s a real NEED for the “come on.” Except maybe, maybe – to project an air of enthusiasm about this whole duel – an enthusiasm that, likely, Hamlet does not really feel. So – yes, I’ve talked myself into the importance of this line after all. It’s not just rhythm – it’s a projection of confidence and manufactured enthusiasm.
Give us the foils.
All of a sudden it’s foils?
Laertes’ weapons are rapier and dagger but here we have foils?
What is the sub-narrative here with these weapons?
Is it that Laertes prefers to fight with rapier and dagger but he’s given over to foils for this friendly duel?
I mean, certainly foils are a less threatening weapon. But they’re also less exciting. Is the fight really going to be with broad swords but Hamlet’s making a joke, calling them foils?
There’s a whole story below of weaponry and I’m missing a lot if it. I’d wager most of us are.
And will this brother’s wager frankly play.
How would you play frankly?
Honestly, I guess? No holds barred?
Or, like a fighting game of truth or dare where every time you get a hit, you spill a truth? You confess to a sin or a quality about your opponent that you dislike.
“A hit! A very palpable hit.”
“Okay – I don’t like your haircut!”
I embrace it freely.
Some people try very hard to resist their weirdness. They do everything they can think of to avoid letting anyone see their quirks and oddities. People will go see shows or concerts that they don’t want to see because they think other people will have expected them to see them. They will attempt to shape their bodies into forms that will more closely align them to an imagined norm. They will wear clothes that help them fit in. They will hide their thoughts, their eccentricities.
My weirdness? I embrace it freely. Not without cost, of course. I am not insensitive to the response that my weirdness can generate. But I embrace it anyway.
But till that time, I do receive your offer’d love like love, And I will not wrong it.
See, look at that boys, you can talk about love amongst yourselves! You don’t have to let the patriarchy suppress you! Look at this – Laertes talking about love – talking about Hamlet offering love and him receiving it – even though Hamlet didn’t even say anything about love just now.
I mean, sure, it’s all a bunch of bullshit because Laertes is actually about to kill him so he’s hella gonna wrong it – but talking about love is a step!
And will no reconcilement, Till by some elder masters, of known honor, I have a voice and precedent of peace, To keep my name ungored.
You know what these guys need?
Some legit elder masters.
I’m not sure where they could find some but that might make it a bit less chaotic in Denmark. Like – if there was a coherent system of justice instead of a complicated honor code and revenge killings.
If they had like, a right honorable justice or two, or three, floating around, maybe things wouldn’t go so horribly pear shaped there.
But in my terms of honor, I stand aloof.
I used to be a supportive laugher. I’d laugh to be polite. I’d laugh at any joke that I could tell had been an attempt to be a joke. If you wanted me to laugh – I’d do it – even if it wasn’t funny. Lots of people laugh like this. It’s a kind of socialized politeness that requires that we all pretend to find something funny.
I tend not to do this as much as I used to. I’m not saying I never do it. I do – especially at cocktail parties and networking events.
When a person is in charge of a big organization, all their jokes are funny. Ha! Ha! That’s so funny, sir!
But aside from when I’m trying to suck up to someone – I do it so much less than I used to. I’m much less likely to give a performer a polite laugh, for example. If they don’t earn it, they don’t get it. If it’s not funny, I’m not laughing.
This is mostly down to clown training – where we learn how potent failure is – how giving someone a polite laugh only prolongs their agony. They need to feel the joke die in order to move on from it. To not laugh, or rather to only laugh when they are genuinely funny is a kindness. To not laugh when something fails to be funny is a point of honor.
It is the clown’s honor code. That is why it seems as though I stand aloof sometimes.
I am satisfied in nature, Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most To my revenge.
The use of “motive” is interesting here. I don’t know exactly to whom ”motive” belongs. To nature, it would seem. Nature’s motive SHOULD make him want to revenge himself but instead he is satisfied. It’s an artful qualifification, really. It’s a “yes” but it comes with a large caveat. It comes with – “Uh, sure, I accept your very public request for forgiveness, but I need you to recognize how thin this hair is – that nature is, to my mind, a lot closer to me and the opposite of forgiveness.”
Okay, but watch it.
Okay but you don’t deserve it.
Okay but it’s not natural.
Sir, in this audience, Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, That I have shot mine arrow o’er the house And hurt my brother.
I love this shot my arrow over the house business but I also don’t fully understand it. It has the FEELING of an idiom but it is not known to be one as far as any notes I’ve read indicate.
It’s not terribly logical this shooting an arrow over the house. That may be part of the reason it has an idiomatic flavor.
Like – why would anyone shoot an arrow over the house? Is that something they do in archery practice?
And is he intentionally shooting the arrow over the house or was he aiming at the house and over shot?
I have questions, obviously. I mean – the hurting of his brother is obvious. Hamlet feels he’s hurt him accidentally. He couldn’t see where that arrow was going. He just fired it (over or at the house) and it hit Laertes. Whoops! Sorry man. Didn’t see you back there.
The Hamlet Project 