On Friday night, Joyce and I will head down to the Hanna Theater on Playhouse Square to see Macbeth, a production of the Great Lakes Theater Festival (we're long-time members). I'm not looking forward to it.
Well, in some ways I am. I mean, it's Shakespeare, for pity's sake, and I'm going to get to hear that language again--that unsurpassed language. And, you know, Macbeth is short--one of the Bard's shortest. Only The Tempest, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Comedy of Errors (the shortest) have fewer words. Macbeth has about 17,000; Hamlet, the longest, has over 30,000.
It's also not got any intricate subplot. It's pretty much, you know, the murder of some men, women, and children--and the aftermath. And some witches. And a ghost. What's not to like?
Well, it's just this: I've seen it so many times. Now I know that companies that produce Shakespeare have to think box office--and, oh, Timon of Athens and Cymbeline are not going to draw the crowds that Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet and Macbeth will. As I posted here some time ago, Joyce and I have managed to see all of the Bard's plays onstage--a quest that took quite a few years--and some miles on the Prius. Not many companies do the little-known plays--and those that do mount them only rarely.
So there's some excitement when we get to see one of the ones that's rarely produced. But Romeo? Midsummer? Macbeth? These are done so often that we depart from home less eagerly--though, once we arrive, we are generally glad we made the effort. The Bard can teach, you know? And even when you know what's coming, even when you know the words that are coming, there's something ... oh ... magical about it.
Just think: some guy sitting in a cold, dim room more than 400 years ago, holding a quill, thinking The labour we delight in physics pain--putting those words into Macbeth's mouth, scratching it down ... It's astonishing.
Also astonishing (to me): On Friday night--when Macbeth says those words--I will get gooseflesh.
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