John Dunning's novel The Holland Suggestions contains a Shakespeare reference. Dunning writes: "I felt a stupid flush of teenage jealousy that was annoying and at the same time intriguing. No woman had roused that green-eyed monster in me in more than fifteen years" (p. 109). That's a reference to Iago's speech from Act III Scene iii of Othello, "O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!/It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock/The meat it feeds on."
The Holland Suggestions was originally published in 1975. The copy I read was the Pocket Books edition from 1997, which includes a new introduction by the author.
Mostly Shakespeare
This blog started out as Michael Doherty's Personal Library, containing reviews of books that normally don't get reviewed: basically adult and cult books. It was all just a bit of fun, you understand. But when I embarked on a three-year Shakespeare study, Shakespeare basically took over, which is a good thing.
Thursday, May 8, 2025
Shakespeare References in Irish Girls About Town
Irish Girls About Town is a collection of short stories written by various female Irish authors. A few of the stories contain Shakespeare references, and interestingly all of those references are to Hamlet. The first reference appears in the story "Soulmates," written by Marian Keyes. Keyes writes, "The times people said, 'Don't you think Georgia and Joel are just too devoted? Methinks they do protest too much,' became fewer and fewer" (p. 14). That refers to Gertrude's line, regarding one of the players, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." The next two references appear in a story titled "Girls' Weekend," written by Marisa Mackle. Mackle writes, "So I know it might sound like I'm being a bit of a prick, but I'm just being cruel to be kind" (p. 329). Hamlet says to Gertrude, "I must be cruel only to be kind/This bad begins, and worse remains behind." A little later in "Girls' Weekend," another character says, "Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, do you know what I mean?" (p. 331). The final Shakespeare reference of the book comes in the story titled "The Union Man," written by Tina Reilly. Reilly writes, "Hoisted by my own petard" and then a few lines later, "Blown apart by my own petard" (p. 356). Hamlet, in that same scene with Queen Gertrude, says, "Let it work,/For 'tis the sport to have the enginer/Hoist with his own petard."
Irish Girls About Town was published in 2002.
Monday, May 5, 2025
Tasty Little Rabbit (Moving Arts 2025 Production) Theatre Review
The political climate of the 1930s has been very much on the minds of anyone who has been paying even the slightest bit of attention to current events, particularly in this country. Who would have thought fascism would come to the United States and be completely embraced by one of its two major political parties? But here it is. Tasty Little Rabbit, a fascinating new play written by Tom Jacobson, takes us out of this country and this time, its action set in Sicily in 1936 (the time of Mussolini), and in 1897. Based on a true story, this play deals with fascism and the suppression of artistic expression, focusing on the actual case of the seizure and destruction of the negatives of photographer Wilhelm Von Gloeden, as well as the creation of some of those very photos in 1897. The play stars Robert Mammana as Wilhelm Von Gloeden, Massi Pregoni as Pancrazio Buciuni (the subject of many of his photos), and Rob Nagle as Sebastian Melmoth, a writer who is visiting Von Gloeden. Robert Mammana and Rob Nagle also play different characters in the 1936 scenes, Mammana as Podesta Cesare Acrosso, and Nagle as fascist official Francesco Maffiotti. The current production at Moving Arts is the play's world premiere, and it is directed by George Bamber.
This might come as a surprise, given the subject, but there is a good deal of humor in this play. And we are clued in to that fact during what has become a routine announcement before performances, that photography and recording are prohibited. Here we are told they are "strictly prohibited and punishable by death" by "order of the podesta." And as the play begins, the podesta (Robert Mammana) directly addresses the audience, telling us, "Individuality is a myth." He says it with such authority. It's an interesting way to set things in motion, for the very first line gets us thinking about free will and power over our own lives. What really does cause us to make each decision we make? For most of us, the idea of individuality being a myth is frightening, and something within us instinctively braces against the idea, and so against the character giving it voice. The set, by the way, includes two screens, which are used to great effect throughout the performance. When the audience enters, one of the screens shows a bay, helping to place us in the scene. But during the opening speech, different photos are shown, photos of statues of Rome. And soon we come to the question of pornography, a central question of the play. What constitutes pornography? Who should be the judge of that? And what should be done with images deemed pornographic?
Pancrazio Buciuni (Massi Pregoni) is under investigation, for he has come into ownership of the photographs in question, photographs in which he himself is often the subject, as well as the entire photography business, and he has taken some pictures of his own too. The photographs are now considered pornography by the fascist regime, depicting, as many of them do, nude men in classical poses. When he admits that there is one time he did something of which he is ashamed, the investigation focuses on that time, and the action shifts to December 1897, when he was eighteen. His relationship with the photographer becomes clear, especially through the interactions with a visiting writer who is interested in getting some photographs of his own. That writer, Sebastian Melmoth (Rob Nagle, who was excellent as Toby in a recent production of Twelfth Night), takes great pleasure in helping to pose the young Pancrazio, and perhaps even more pleasure in educating the young man regarding mythology and history. There is a good deal of joy to his character, to his actions, but with a greater, deeper misery that we begin to sense underneath, as well as a longing. And when he says that he once was beloved, we can't help but think of Sir Andrew's line from Twelfth Night. Von Gloeden tells Pancrazio that their guest is very famous, and we in the audience begin to guess his true identity early on.
There is an intriguing love triangle among the characters, and there is a question of how much of a say Pancrazio has regarding his own actions, not because individuality is indeed a myth, but in part because he feels he owes much to Von Gloeden. There is also clearly an economic element to his position. He does, however, stand up for himself at times, and it is one of those times that gives the play its title, with Pancrazio saying, "You are offering me to him like a tasty little rabbit." Interestingly, Pancrazio breaks from the action occasionally to address the audience directly, and in those moments we can't help but feel that we are part of the inquisition into the photographs and his possible guilt not just in possessing them, but in his part in creating them, that we are in a position of judgment. And it places us in both time periods simultaneously. The action, by the way, moves with ease between the two time periods, and it is never confusing where and when we are, and which characters are being portrayed. These transitions are done quickly, with minimal changes in costume, so the whole thing has a very fluid feel, to the point where it almost doesn't matter what year we are in. There is the sense of a great continuum, a conversation that bridges the decades, not just between 1897 and 1936, but between then and our time.
The play touches on the fact that social norms and mores change over time. Sebastian says at one point, "Today's blasphemy is tomorrow's orthodoxy." It's a funny line, and true. There is the unfortunate implication that for some people, many people perhaps, the change from blasphemy doesn't come soon enough. It comes out in the dialogue that Sebastian spent time in prison for his sexual orientation. What's interesting is that long before the end of the play, the question of what constitutes pornography ceases to concern us. For it is the characters that we care about now, and their personal stakes in the issue rather than the issue itself. And we find our allegiance shifting throughout the performance, from character to character. This is in part because of the excellent, riveting performances by all three actors. And though Rob Nagel might seem a tad older than the forty-three years of the writer he plays, he gives such a delightful and nuanced performance that it doesn't matter. In fact, one of the most powerful and moving moments of the play is on his delivery of the line "Why? Why did you let go?" This play also has moments of touching beauty.
Toward the end, Pancrazio, facing out to the audience, says, "Government officials cannot judge art." And so we have become the government officials, we have become the judges, whether we wish it or not. And by then, we likely have no desire to act as judge, and would distrust anyone that does.
Tasty Little Rabbit runs through June 6, 2025. See the theatre's website for the complete schedule. The play is approximately ninety minutes, and runs straight through without intermission. Moving Arts is located at 3191 Casitas Ave. in Los Angeles. There is a free parking lot next to the theatre.
This might come as a surprise, given the subject, but there is a good deal of humor in this play. And we are clued in to that fact during what has become a routine announcement before performances, that photography and recording are prohibited. Here we are told they are "strictly prohibited and punishable by death" by "order of the podesta." And as the play begins, the podesta (Robert Mammana) directly addresses the audience, telling us, "Individuality is a myth." He says it with such authority. It's an interesting way to set things in motion, for the very first line gets us thinking about free will and power over our own lives. What really does cause us to make each decision we make? For most of us, the idea of individuality being a myth is frightening, and something within us instinctively braces against the idea, and so against the character giving it voice. The set, by the way, includes two screens, which are used to great effect throughout the performance. When the audience enters, one of the screens shows a bay, helping to place us in the scene. But during the opening speech, different photos are shown, photos of statues of Rome. And soon we come to the question of pornography, a central question of the play. What constitutes pornography? Who should be the judge of that? And what should be done with images deemed pornographic?
Pancrazio Buciuni (Massi Pregoni) is under investigation, for he has come into ownership of the photographs in question, photographs in which he himself is often the subject, as well as the entire photography business, and he has taken some pictures of his own too. The photographs are now considered pornography by the fascist regime, depicting, as many of them do, nude men in classical poses. When he admits that there is one time he did something of which he is ashamed, the investigation focuses on that time, and the action shifts to December 1897, when he was eighteen. His relationship with the photographer becomes clear, especially through the interactions with a visiting writer who is interested in getting some photographs of his own. That writer, Sebastian Melmoth (Rob Nagle, who was excellent as Toby in a recent production of Twelfth Night), takes great pleasure in helping to pose the young Pancrazio, and perhaps even more pleasure in educating the young man regarding mythology and history. There is a good deal of joy to his character, to his actions, but with a greater, deeper misery that we begin to sense underneath, as well as a longing. And when he says that he once was beloved, we can't help but think of Sir Andrew's line from Twelfth Night. Von Gloeden tells Pancrazio that their guest is very famous, and we in the audience begin to guess his true identity early on.
There is an intriguing love triangle among the characters, and there is a question of how much of a say Pancrazio has regarding his own actions, not because individuality is indeed a myth, but in part because he feels he owes much to Von Gloeden. There is also clearly an economic element to his position. He does, however, stand up for himself at times, and it is one of those times that gives the play its title, with Pancrazio saying, "You are offering me to him like a tasty little rabbit." Interestingly, Pancrazio breaks from the action occasionally to address the audience directly, and in those moments we can't help but feel that we are part of the inquisition into the photographs and his possible guilt not just in possessing them, but in his part in creating them, that we are in a position of judgment. And it places us in both time periods simultaneously. The action, by the way, moves with ease between the two time periods, and it is never confusing where and when we are, and which characters are being portrayed. These transitions are done quickly, with minimal changes in costume, so the whole thing has a very fluid feel, to the point where it almost doesn't matter what year we are in. There is the sense of a great continuum, a conversation that bridges the decades, not just between 1897 and 1936, but between then and our time.
The play touches on the fact that social norms and mores change over time. Sebastian says at one point, "Today's blasphemy is tomorrow's orthodoxy." It's a funny line, and true. There is the unfortunate implication that for some people, many people perhaps, the change from blasphemy doesn't come soon enough. It comes out in the dialogue that Sebastian spent time in prison for his sexual orientation. What's interesting is that long before the end of the play, the question of what constitutes pornography ceases to concern us. For it is the characters that we care about now, and their personal stakes in the issue rather than the issue itself. And we find our allegiance shifting throughout the performance, from character to character. This is in part because of the excellent, riveting performances by all three actors. And though Rob Nagel might seem a tad older than the forty-three years of the writer he plays, he gives such a delightful and nuanced performance that it doesn't matter. In fact, one of the most powerful and moving moments of the play is on his delivery of the line "Why? Why did you let go?" This play also has moments of touching beauty.
Toward the end, Pancrazio, facing out to the audience, says, "Government officials cannot judge art." And so we have become the government officials, we have become the judges, whether we wish it or not. And by then, we likely have no desire to act as judge, and would distrust anyone that does.
Tasty Little Rabbit runs through June 6, 2025. See the theatre's website for the complete schedule. The play is approximately ninety minutes, and runs straight through without intermission. Moving Arts is located at 3191 Casitas Ave. in Los Angeles. There is a free parking lot next to the theatre.
Saturday, April 26, 2025
Shakespeare References in Death In Venice And Seven Other Stories
Thomas Mann's Death In Venice And Seven Other Stories contains several Shakespeare references. Most of them occur in the story "Tonio Kröger," and all of the references within that story are to Hamlet. Mann writes: "That is Horatio's answer, dear Lisabeta. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so'" (p. 101). There the character is quoting one of Horatio's lines from Act V scene i. Next Mann writes: "Such was the case of Hamlet the Dane, that typical literary man. He knew what it meant to be called to knowledge without being born to it. To see things clear, if even through your tears, to recognize, notice, observe - and have to put it all down with a smile, at the very moment when hands are clinging, and lips meeting, and the human gaze is blinded with feeling - it is infamous, Lisabeta, it is indecent, outrageous" (p. 102). Mann then writes, "but don't you find, Lisabeta, that I have quite a Hamlet-like flow of oratory today" (p. 106). And then: "I want to stand on the terrace at Kronberg, where the ghost appeared to Hamlet, bringing despair and death to that poor, noble-souled youth" (p. 107). Two other stories contain references to Shakespeare. In "A Man And His Dog," Mann writes, "The name of the street where I was walking was Shakespeare Street" (p. 252). And in Felix Krull, Mann writes, "But when they were over and I resumed my dull and ordinary dress, how stale, flat and unprofitable seemed all the world by contrast, in what deep dejection did I spend the rest of the evening" (p. 376). Yes, another Hamlet reference. In Hamlet's first soliloquy, he says, "How stale, flat and unprofitable/Seem to me all the uses of this world."
Death In Venice And Seven Other Stories was published in 1930, 1931 and 1936. The edition I read was published, I believe, in 1963.
Death In Venice And Seven Other Stories was published in 1930, 1931 and 1936. The edition I read was published, I believe, in 1963.
Friday, April 25, 2025
Shakespeare Reference in The Crucible
Arthur Miller's The Crucible contains a reference to Hamlet, which comes in the notes at the beginning of Act One. Miller writes, "The times, to their eyes, must have been out of joint, and to the common folk must have seemed as insoluble and complicated as do ours today" (p. 4). The phrase "time is out of joint" is spoken by Hamlet at the end of Act I Scene v. He says, "And still your fingers on your lips, I pray./The time is out of joint. O cursed spite/That ever I was born to set it right!"
My copy of The Crucible was the special book club edition, the Bantam Book edition, printed in 1981.
My copy of The Crucible was the special book club edition, the Bantam Book edition, printed in 1981.
Monday, April 21, 2025
Corktown '39 (Rogue Machine's 2025 Production) Theatre Review
The Rogue Machine Theatre (located within the Matrix Theatre) is currently hosting the world premiere of Corktown '39, a powerful and often funny play that centers on a family of Irish immigrants and their involvement in the struggle for an independent Ireland. It takes place in an Irish section of Philadelphia in the days just before World War II, a time that has been on the minds of many people in this country lately, as certain parallels are too striking and frightening to ignore (those parallels were not lost on the audience at Sunday's performance). The play is part political thriller, part family drama, and it deals with questions of authority in both realms. It was written by John Fazakerley, who also wrote Corktown '57, which premiered a decade ago. This new play is a prequel to that one, though you don't need to have seen that play to enjoy and appreciate this one. One of the major draws, at least for me, is the participation of Peter Van Norden, who plays Joe McGarrity, a character we hear a lot about before meeting. Peter Van Norden in 2022 gave the best Polonius I've ever seen in any medium. He is an extraordinary talent, though, truly, the entire cast of this production is excellent, with a particularly riveting performance given by Ann Noble as Kate. Another draw is the subject matter itself.
Almost the entire play (with the exception of one brief scene) takes place within the parlor of the home of Mike Keating (Ron Bottitta, known to television viewers for his roles in Lost, Suspense and Criminal Minds). The set (designed by Mark Mendelson) has a fairly warm feel to it, with wood, carpets and thick drapes, and a chaise lounge at its center. A large radio set is upstage center. There is a welcoming vibe to this home, though the stage left section is where certain business is conducted, adding a different element. And we soon learn that this home is actually mostly about business, that business being the aid to fellow Irish people, done through a variety of means. "No need to thank me," Mike says to someone on the phone early in the play. "We look after our own." Looking after one's own people is something that initially sounds commendable, laudable; but as the play goes on, and we learn that looking after one's own might mean putting other innocent people in danger, our thoughts are not so clear on the subject. The family is going to be hosting the head of the IRA and a man brought in to carry out an assassination plot.
There is a lot of humor, particularly in the opening scene, as when we learn that Mike's daughter Kate is dating a cousin, Tim Flynn (Thomas Vincent Kelly, known for his work on 24 as well as appearances on JAG and The Closer), and Mike worries what will happen if she gets pregnant. We have enough idiots in the family already, he reminds her. But beneath the humor, something very serious is unfolding. The fact that there is such humor makes the whole thing all the more real, and perhaps the more sinister. The radio set does play a part in the performance, and as a recording of "God Bless America" comes on, we see Mike strapping on a pistol before the lights fade out, a striking image. When the action resumes, the radio is broadcasting an unsettling speech. Martin Connor (Jeff Lorch), the man hired for a job he is as yet unaware of, asks Mike's son Frank (Tommy McCabe) how they let people spew such fascist garbage on the radio. "Welcome to America," Frank replies. That is a line that received an audible reaction from the audience. A segment of this country did support Hitler and the Nazis in the 1930s, just as a segment of the country now embraces the fascism of Trump and his gang of rat bastards. This play is based on a true story, and the history of it is fascinating (such as the fact that the Irish largely supported the fascists in Spain, and were possibly supporting Hitler as well). But how it applies to our current situation is also part of what intrigues the audience.
Tim Flynn is a rather joyful character that the audience immediately likes and identifies with. He provides a voice of reason, a voice of caution, a voice of humanity, and we can't help but wonder if there is such a voice in the current administration of this country. It is through this character that the main question of the play is posed, which is how far can you go in the name of a good and just cause before you too become a villain. JD Cullum (who had parts on Grey's Anatomy and Bones, and who gave a really good performance as Caliban in 2023) plays Sean Russell, the IRA leader who is one of the faces of power in this story. And he uses his position even to try to force himself on Kate, at which point all sympathy the audience had for him disintegrates. Frank steps in to defend his sister, and Mike is clearly torn, which is fascinating. We want to like him, we want for him to stand up for his own daughter. And when he doesn't, we know that he is capable of dark deeds. Or at least that he will stand by while they are committed, which is almost just as bad. The other face of power, though we learn a waning power, is Joe McGarrity, a man who has become more reasonable in recent days. "When you find out you're dying, you rethink your positions," he says at one point. We can't help but wonder if that's what it takes, again applying the tale of this play to the nation's current situation. But he is also naive, offering the opinion that the courts in Germany will sort things out, something we hear uttered a lot in this country now. Are we too being naive?
The person caught in the middle of everything is Martin, who is at first prepared to go through with the plot, but who begins to have doubts. Kate too, as she becomes romantically involved with Martin, has to question a position she's never questioned before. And, even more difficult for her, has to question her father. This play is fascinating and frightening, with a powerful conclusion you won't likely forget. And the phenomenal cast makes this a production you won't want to miss.
Corktown '39 is directed by Steven Robman, who has a long list of credits both in the theatre and on television. The performance is approximately an hour and forty-five minutes and plays without intermission. The play runs through May 25, 2025. Visit the theatre's website for the complete schedule. The Matrix Theatre is located at 7657 Melrose Ave. in Los Angeles, California. There is no parking lot, but there is a good amount of street parking.
Almost the entire play (with the exception of one brief scene) takes place within the parlor of the home of Mike Keating (Ron Bottitta, known to television viewers for his roles in Lost, Suspense and Criminal Minds). The set (designed by Mark Mendelson) has a fairly warm feel to it, with wood, carpets and thick drapes, and a chaise lounge at its center. A large radio set is upstage center. There is a welcoming vibe to this home, though the stage left section is where certain business is conducted, adding a different element. And we soon learn that this home is actually mostly about business, that business being the aid to fellow Irish people, done through a variety of means. "No need to thank me," Mike says to someone on the phone early in the play. "We look after our own." Looking after one's own people is something that initially sounds commendable, laudable; but as the play goes on, and we learn that looking after one's own might mean putting other innocent people in danger, our thoughts are not so clear on the subject. The family is going to be hosting the head of the IRA and a man brought in to carry out an assassination plot.
There is a lot of humor, particularly in the opening scene, as when we learn that Mike's daughter Kate is dating a cousin, Tim Flynn (Thomas Vincent Kelly, known for his work on 24 as well as appearances on JAG and The Closer), and Mike worries what will happen if she gets pregnant. We have enough idiots in the family already, he reminds her. But beneath the humor, something very serious is unfolding. The fact that there is such humor makes the whole thing all the more real, and perhaps the more sinister. The radio set does play a part in the performance, and as a recording of "God Bless America" comes on, we see Mike strapping on a pistol before the lights fade out, a striking image. When the action resumes, the radio is broadcasting an unsettling speech. Martin Connor (Jeff Lorch), the man hired for a job he is as yet unaware of, asks Mike's son Frank (Tommy McCabe) how they let people spew such fascist garbage on the radio. "Welcome to America," Frank replies. That is a line that received an audible reaction from the audience. A segment of this country did support Hitler and the Nazis in the 1930s, just as a segment of the country now embraces the fascism of Trump and his gang of rat bastards. This play is based on a true story, and the history of it is fascinating (such as the fact that the Irish largely supported the fascists in Spain, and were possibly supporting Hitler as well). But how it applies to our current situation is also part of what intrigues the audience.
Tim Flynn is a rather joyful character that the audience immediately likes and identifies with. He provides a voice of reason, a voice of caution, a voice of humanity, and we can't help but wonder if there is such a voice in the current administration of this country. It is through this character that the main question of the play is posed, which is how far can you go in the name of a good and just cause before you too become a villain. JD Cullum (who had parts on Grey's Anatomy and Bones, and who gave a really good performance as Caliban in 2023) plays Sean Russell, the IRA leader who is one of the faces of power in this story. And he uses his position even to try to force himself on Kate, at which point all sympathy the audience had for him disintegrates. Frank steps in to defend his sister, and Mike is clearly torn, which is fascinating. We want to like him, we want for him to stand up for his own daughter. And when he doesn't, we know that he is capable of dark deeds. Or at least that he will stand by while they are committed, which is almost just as bad. The other face of power, though we learn a waning power, is Joe McGarrity, a man who has become more reasonable in recent days. "When you find out you're dying, you rethink your positions," he says at one point. We can't help but wonder if that's what it takes, again applying the tale of this play to the nation's current situation. But he is also naive, offering the opinion that the courts in Germany will sort things out, something we hear uttered a lot in this country now. Are we too being naive?
The person caught in the middle of everything is Martin, who is at first prepared to go through with the plot, but who begins to have doubts. Kate too, as she becomes romantically involved with Martin, has to question a position she's never questioned before. And, even more difficult for her, has to question her father. This play is fascinating and frightening, with a powerful conclusion you won't likely forget. And the phenomenal cast makes this a production you won't want to miss.
Corktown '39 is directed by Steven Robman, who has a long list of credits both in the theatre and on television. The performance is approximately an hour and forty-five minutes and plays without intermission. The play runs through May 25, 2025. Visit the theatre's website for the complete schedule. The Matrix Theatre is located at 7657 Melrose Ave. in Los Angeles, California. There is no parking lot, but there is a good amount of street parking.
Sunday, March 2, 2025
Shakespeare References in Mrs. Pargeter’s Pound Of Flesh
Simon Brett’s mystery novel Mrs. Pargeter’s Pound Of Flesh contains a few Shakespeare references. The first, obviously, is in the very title of the book, which is a reference to The Merchant Of Venice, and specifically to Shylock’s bond. That title is what drew me to the book in the first place. The first reference within the book’s pages, however, is not to Merchant, but to Hamlet. Simon Brett writes: “But Mrs. Pargeter had interrupted him firmly, insisting she always would pay for everything. ‘Neither a lender nor a borrower be,’ she had said, quoting another of the late Mr. Pargeter’s regular sayings (though he may perhaps have borrowed that one from someone else)” (p. 76). Yes, indeed he did. The line is part of the advice that Polonius gives to Laertes.in the play’s first act. It isn’t until near the end of the book that Simon Brett refers to The Merchant Of Venice, writing “Shylock was not more pertinacious in his demands than she in her determination to settle scores with Julian Embridge” (p. 197). And then: “His betrayal of the late Mr. Pargeter was avenged. Mrs. Pargeter had her pound of flesh” (p. 204).
Mrs. Pargater’s Pound Of Flesh was published in 1992. My copy was the hardcover edition.
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