Method Madness

Hamlet is not a very Danish name. Maurits, King or Prince of Denmark, would be more like it.

Anyway with Claudius, Polonius, Ophelia, and Horatio Shakespeare really fucked up his linguistic geography. This is Denmark, old boy! Not Verona!

And a guy named after a tiny village, doesn’t make much sense either.

Might as well have called him Boardwalk. Bo, for short.

Shakespeare borrowed a lot from the Greeks Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides and their treatment of the Oresteia, but Hamlet was no Orestes. Just like in a different context the Wizard’s Dorothy is no Alice in Wonderland, any more than Dan Quayle was John F. Kennedy by Senator Lloyd Bentsen’s stern yardstick.

And I know this is blasphemy but as story lines go Hamlet is a terrible play, neither head nor tail, for a normal spectator at least to follow, or else an endlessly convoluted plot with the dark Danish Prince stricken with grief, going mad, suicidal or simply cunningly paranoid. If not clarity, beauty only in its exquisite language. But even something that is said beautifully must make sense to someone like me.

Here’s the thing as Directors go, it’s dramatically very hard to demonstrate someone apparently normal, slowly going potty. It’s easier to show someone normal conniving his revenge, by faking he’s going potty. But what then is totally incongruous is his doubt about what he should do, commit suicide or not, murder or not, how and when, staging one thing, then the other, with whose help etc etc. For if there’s one thing true in this world or any other, highly motivated and morally ‘just’ counter-conspirators by temperament cannot and will never be pussy-footers or procrastinators. And that’s exactly what Hamlet’s made out to be.

And even Laurence Olivier’s steeply abbreviated cinematic version unable to cut all the fat or for that matter pass any muster. A terrible movie that refuses to fascinate and hypnotise, delivered around a dozen classic one-liners everyone knows by now. But no number of grave diggers, hip friends and ghosts, ooh, aah, woe, the fleet, the fleet…ah yes the completely redundant fleet, making this thing work.

A psychological play avant-la-lettre, dealing with moral and mental illness at the same time? Don’t you believe it, this is theatre for theatricality’s sake, sustained by overly reverent Shakespeare worship.

Growing prematurely bald himself, Hamlet could easily have looked up at the sky, sunk on one knee, stroke an even balder skull, and sigh: Toupée or no Toupée, that is the question! And be just as credible.

1. And what’s this Laurence bit, Larry? It’s Laurent old boy, if you want to go French all the way, and with your Norman Olivier, instead of Oliver. Laurence’s a girl’s name, so be a good sod and from eternity…  change it back to Lawrence, old man. I mean, we did win at Agincourt, didn’t we? And don’t you remember the Hank Cinq you did?  (Henry V)

 

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God Save America

Me and my fellow murderers, psychopaths, hate mongers,

deranged fantasists and obscene attention seekers able to count

on self-fulfilling media coverage, wish to thank the NRA for their

unwavering support, allowing us to live our dreams and defend

ourselves against despicable monsters like fellow students, toddlers,

Catholics, Jews, Blacks, Latinos, or in general people with an accent,

or people who are brighter, work harder, have more success, and all

those others whose face we cannot stand.

 

Because the NRA understands that the gun is our brain, just like it is theirs,

especially the semi-automatic one. And that no regulation will stop us, for as

long as we can just borrow one, except when the oppressor cleverly bans

not the gun, but the bullet. In which case I guarantee you bullet trafficking will

outdo drug trafficking within months.

 

With the NRA’s unconditional support we have averaged the elimination of

30.000 enemies a year, over the past decade. But with help and devotion

there is no reason we cannot vastly improve on this number.

 

So God bless the morally corrupt and certifiably insane, because we have

what it takes.

 

Testimonial signed and agreed on between

 

Anthony Steyning & pals

CASTING

STARLITE TALENT AGENTS CORP.

11000 WHITESHIT BOULEVARD

HORRORWOOD CA

 

CATTLE CALL

 

For a new police/detective CSI type action show, we seek talent that

 

-Must look 22 yrs old and not break up laughing when addressed as Doctor or Chief Pathologist

 

-Must have hair remaining in place come rain, shine, crashed, shot, burned, bombed, near drowned or whatever

 

-Must have characterless, photogenic facial features with the emotional depth of a frying pan

 

– No acting technique required, with the body language of a lumberjack, and please don’t stammer: Stanislavski was a Methodist

 

-Be able to state the understood over and over again, explaining the obvious to a counterpart who plays the apparently stupid expert

 

-Submit your résumé, including photograph and contact details if you think you have what it doesn’t take.

 

-Auditions are planned for early June.

 

-Remember our mission statement: The dumber the better: Good Luck

 

 

DERISORY GIRL

I’ve never been so fucking happy in my life, existence too kind to me.

I went out to celebrate deep into the night. Everyone suspicious of me buying rounds:

who is this nutcase? But I just couldn’t help myself, wanting to share my joy, spreading it.

 

It is not often I get this privilege, the last one when WWII ended, the event of a lifetime,

a kind I and so many others pray for every day.

 

And thanks Media, thanks for breaking the news, for carrying the announcement,

for obeying your selfless inner-voice, distributing not only catastrophic but also glorious news.

 

The only cruelty in all of this is, having to wait 2 full hard years before becoming part of the epiphany.

 

I don’t know what I’m going to do till then, mope, starve, stamp, bang my head against the wall,

but I’ll try and remain courageous, as you must.

 

Barbra, Barbra, bar-bra, I know, modesty your name, but do you really have to wait till 2017

with your autobiography.

 

After all, there’s so very, very little to tell…

 

 

 

TEARS

Most of us get tears in our eyes when we listen to Rachmaninoff.

Putin, the poor, impoverished sop, gets tears in his eyes when a motorcycle gang drives by, with a large Russian flag on board.

Bolero

 

CLAUDE DEBUSSY totally unRAVELled poor MAURICE

 

HOLLYWOOD

Chavez was so anti-American, and to think Simon Bolivar’s brother Sunset became a successful rancher in southern California, where they even named a street after him. 

 

Brain Disease

 

It’s a modern affliction. When the cerebellum protrudes from the asshole and thinks of itself as beautiful. Identical to shamelessness, apparently there’s no cure but others walking away from it.

Monty Python Redux

 

Whereupon these Taliban, Al Qaeda and Isis fun guys were having a party

and spontaneously sang and whistled:

 

 

Things will turn out for the best

Always look on the bright side of…. death

 

 

(Whistle)

 

 

Yes, always look on the bright side of…. death

 

 

Tedumm

Tedumm

Tedumm

 

 

And their audience just died!

 

High Provincialism vs the Universal

 

Breakfast-prayer Conservatives are against Universal Healthcare, because

they are feral individualists incapable of accommodation, with personal rights

to the Gospel.

 

They say Social Care leads to godless Socialism, so that understandably God forbids it

and they must fight it..

 

Talk about circular, pocket book caressing reasoning, that is if one can call it reasoning.