I used to take pride in this sort of thing. I could listen to someone’s secrets for hours and never reveal my own. Not to them, not to anyone.
But at a certain point, I realized that keeping my own secrets secret was hurting me more than protecting me. If I chose well, I could reveal myself to a friend and feel a profound relief, sure, on one hand, at having burst the bubble of silence – but also a real connection with someone, a mutual sense of knowing and sharing. It was a risk to share but that risk offered reward I hadn’t even been able to imagine. I risk more often than I horde now. I have learned how to reveal in safe places.
Believe what?
I’d start with art. That’s my favorite thing to believe.
Love is a good one, too. Also, equality.
Pleasure. Ease. Kindness.
These are good to believe.
Do not believe it.
It feels laughable now but I was once fully convinced by the magical thinking of things like The Secret. I believed FULLY in the “leap and the net will appear” philosophy. But then I leapt and leapt and leapt and no net appeared and I ended up pretty bruised and broken up. There is value, sure, in optimism. It feels better, for one, than bruised pessimism. But…the whole hog, full force, throwing one’s self off of cliffs? It’s not a good idea. Be careful.
Tell us where ‘tis, that we may take it thence And bear it to the chapel.
They’re really outing themselves now. They’re not even trying to pretend that they’re there as Hamlet’s friends. This line makes it crystal clear where their alliance lies.
1) They know about the dead body. And they’re coming after Hamlet for it.
2) They have the job of carrying the dead body to the chapel. This is not work you give your step-son’s friends. This is work you give to your cronies. Plain and simple. What’s that line about how a good friend will help you move but the best friends will help you move a body?
Compounded it with dust, where to ‘tis kin.
And in the super cheesy pop culture version of Hamlet, this is where the music swells and we hear Kansas singing, “Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind.”
And Hamlet turns up the volume on it every time Rosencrantz tries to talk so Rosencrantz has to shout over epic acoustic guitar.
What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
I’ve done some work with a program in which students use Shakespeare as found text. They’re constantly searching for lines that could apply to their new (invented) circumstances. Most recently, I had a group creating a kidnapping scene and another creating a Black Lives Matter protest show. It is not easy to fold one thing into the other.
I feel like this line would be a great one for one of those sorts of dramatic devised scenes. I can imagine a group just developing a whole new scene with only this line as a prompt. It would be a different way to start – but a very interesting one.
O, here they come.
It’s amazing how quickly we acclimate to technology and create new forms. I tried to post a gif in a blog post last night – and failed – but I was struck by how quickly gifs found their way into the culture. When JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter, the moving photographs in that world were pure fantasy. Now…we see moving photographs all the time. In gif form. They may not be in picture frames yet but I bet that’s coming.
Anyway, I was thinking about all this because I had several gif ideas in response to this line. Instead of thinking words – I thought…Gif.
A gif of the beginning of The Monkees Theme song with “Here we come” written across the bottom.
A series of gifs of troops rising over a hill in just about every war movie (with a hill) ever made.
A gif of King Arthur galloping over a hill clomping his coconuts together in Monty Python’s Holy Grail.
A series of gifs of kids flooding into schools or out of schools – anything with hordes of kids moving from one place to another.
In the future, there will be gif artists. There probably already are.
And due to the way gifs tend to capture moments of pop culture, it’s possible that already people are writing their film or TV scenes with the future gifs in mind.
It is the era of the Gif now.
Who calls on Hamlet?
And suddenly Hamlet starts behaving like a king. This language has a king’s distance
A king’s formality
A king’s tendency to speak of himself in the third person.
It’s interesting timing.
But soft, what noise?
It’s funny. A lot of guys who play Hamlet played Romeo earlier in their careers. I wonder if any of them get to this line and suddenly feel tempted to say, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” instead of “noise.”
Probably not. But this, “But soft, what…” is a lot less famous than that other one is.
It’s also a moment alone – just like Romeo.
It’s a “shut up” to himself.
Lord Hamlet!
Why Lord Hamlet? Why not Prince Hamlet? I understand “my Lord Hamlet;” It’s sort of a generic way of addressing royalty. When it’s possessive it feels different than when it’s an address – a title. It feels like a title – but “lord” is not his title, “Prince” is.