Merchant of Venice + Les Miserables

After the BYU rendition of The Merchant of Venice, a bit of a question was raised about the lack of mercy shown by Shylock - he could have had his money back, but his motive turned to revenge. The question was asked, "What happened in his life to make him that way?" No one denied that he had a choice in the mater, but what could have pushed him in that direction? To apply that to a modern setting, what makes a criminal? Is it all his or her choice, or does he or she have external influence from society? This reminded me of a post on my personal blog about one of my favorite parts of Les Miserables.

A man overboard! What matters it? The vessel does not halt. The wind blows. That sombre ship has a path which it is forced to pursue. It passes on. The man disappears, then reappears; he plunges, he rises again to the surface; he calls, he stretches out his arms; he is not heard. The vessel, trembling under the hurricane, is wholly absorbed in its own workings; the passengers and sailors do not even see the drowning man; his miserable head is but a speck amid the immensity of the waves. He gives vent to desperate cries from out of the depths. What a spectre is that retreating sail! He gazes and gazes at it frantically. It retreats, it grows dim, it diminishes in size. He was there but just now, he was one of the crew, he went and came along the deck with the rest, he had his part of breath and of sunlight, he was a living man. Now, what has taken place? He has slipped, he has fallen; all is at an end. He is in the tremendous sea. Under foot he has nothing but what flees and crumbles. The billows, torn and lashed by the wind, encompass him hideously; the tossings of the abyss bear him away; all the tongues of water dash over his head; a populace of waves spits upon him; confused openings half devour him; every time that he sinks, he catches glimpses of precipices filled with night; frightful and unknown vegetations seize him, knot about his feet, draw him to them; he is conscious that he is becoming an abyss, that he forms part of the foam; the waves toss him from one to another; he drinks in the bitterness; the cowardly ocean attacks him furiously, to drown him; the enormity plays with his agony. It seems as though all that water were hate. Nevertheless, he struggles. He tries to defend himself; he tries to sustain himself; he makes an effort; he swims. He, his petty strength all exhausted instantly, combats the inexhaustible. Where, then, is the ship? Yonder. Barely visible in the pale shadows of the horizon. The wind blows in gusts; all the foam overwhelms him. He raises his eyes and beholds only the lividness of the clouds. He witnesses, amid his death-pangs, the immense madness of the sea. He is tortured by this madness; he hears noises strange to man, which seem to come from beyond the limits of the earth, and from one knows not what frightful region beyond. There are birds in the clouds, just as there are angels above human distresses; but what can they do for him? They sing and fly and float, and he, he rattles in the death agony. He feels himself buried in those two infinities, the ocean and the sky, at one and the same time: the one is a tomb; the other is a shroud. Night descends; he has been swimming for hours; his strength is exhausted; that ship, that distant thing in which there were men, has vanished; he is alone in the formidable twilight gulf; he sinks, he stiffens himself, he twists himself; he feels under him the monstrous billows of the invisible; he shouts. There are no more men. Where is God? He shouts. Help! Help! He still shouts on. Nothing on the horizon; nothing in heaven. He implores the expanse, the waves, the seaweed, the reef; they are deaf. He beseeches the tempest; the imperturbable tempest obeys only the infinite. Around him darkness, fog, solitude, the stormy and nonsentient tumult, the undefined curling of those wild waters. In him horror and fatigue. Beneath him the depths. Not a point of support. He thinks of the gloomy adventures of the corpse in the limitless shadow. The bottomless cold paralyzes him. His hands contract convulsively; they close, and grasp nothingness. Winds, clouds, whirlwinds, gusts, useless stars! What is to be done? The desperate man gives up; he is weary, he chooses the alternative of death; he resists not; he lets himself go; he abandons his grip; and then he tosses forevermore in the lugubrious dreary depths of engulfment. Oh, implacable march of human societies! Oh, losses of men and of souls on the way! Ocean into which falls all that the law lets slip! Disastrous absence of help! Oh, moral death! The sea is the inexorable social night into which the penal laws fling their condemned. The sea is the immensity of wretchedness. The soul, going down stream in this gulf, may become a corpse. Who shall resuscitate it?

So perhaps a future criminal has slipped overboard, but is society there to save him? This is perhaps one of the greatest themes in Les Miserables. I'll leave you with a bit of the musical and a chance to think about it? What are your thoughts? What role does society have in the creation of a criminal? Leave your thoughts in the comments.

The Internets

So I would be writing a post about Merchant of Venice What makes a criminal Les Miserables But our Internet is down, and I'm Not typing it all out on my iPhone. So I'll update later.

The Anatomy of a Pump-Up Speech

Have you ever noticed that it feels like every great speech feels the same? Obviously those giving the speeches are under different circumstances and are up against varying tasks, but the anatomy of an inspirational speech remains largely the same. Not only does Shakespeare's St. Crispan's Day speech follow a similar pattern, it has likely served as the mold for many of the other great speeches in history.

A lot of the work has already been done for me by a certain Matthew Belinkie, but following this formula you can have an amazing speech anytime you need one.





Part One: The Flee Clause
No good battle is ever fought by cowards, so they need to be informed that should they not wish to fight, they needn't not. This forces each individual to decide in their mind that they will fight. It just became a personal decision.

Part Two:  Hint of Glory vs. Eternal Regret
Here you are; you have the option to be great forever, or you can look back at this day for the rest of your life and wonder what could have been. No one would ever want to live with those possibilities hanging over their heads.

Part Three: I'm In
Here is where the leader shows leadership. You've trusted him or her thus far, and he or she is determined.

Part Four: While, Yes...
Though this may be difficult, though the odds may be against us


Part Five: This Is It
We have to fight and win; we must fight and win.

Part Six: What That Entails
You will have to work really hard, you will have to fight like no one has ever fought.

Part Seven: But We Will Overcome
We are superior to the task at hand.

Part Eight: Hinting at Victory
Now we throw something in to let you think about how great it will be to win.

Part Nine: ROAR!
You have to FIGHT!

Part Eight: Let's Do It:
We will dominate according to the following very explicit definitions of success

Part Eleven: Because We're Legit
It's all about you, you're awesome.

Part Twelve: The Ultimatum
We win or we die.

Part Thirteen: All Together Now
"Cheer!"

Part Fourteen: Brief Summary; Ultimatum + Victory
We will fight and win or die. We will come off conquerors!

Now, does that hold true in Henry V?


Try it with another favorite speech; post whether or not it followed the same pattern in the comments.

Henry V Playlist

If I were to boil down the most important moments in Henry V into one playlist, this is what it would be.

Henry's youth: Arcade Fire - The Suburbs
In this coming-of-age song, Arcade Fire discuss what it's like to grow up out of a life of "screamin' and runnin' through the yard" to facing life as an adult. They lament the missing frivolities of youth, saying, "Sometimes I can't believe it/ I'm moving past the feeling."

Compelled to fight: Mumford & Sons - Dust Bowl Dance
In this song Mumford and Sons sing about the threat of having their land taken away in Ireland and having the obligation to fight for it and win it back. This is similar to what happened to Henry, except he learned that he was supposed to own France instead of having been kicked out of it; the emotions, however, are very similar.

Going to war: Eels - Prizefighter
Henry feels it is his duty and honor to go to war against the France, but he doesn't fear the other kingdom. England will come off conqueror. The Eels will do the same.

Henry betrayed: Radiohead - The Bends
In this song, written originally by Tom Yorke, the band had been thrust into fame by their previous work. This song was written as the band confronted the newfound fame -- "The bends" is a medical condition caused by coming out of water too quickly. Part of what the narrator is wondering about is, "Who are my real friends?"As a result of the newfound fame, the narrator laments, "We don't have any real friends."

St. Crispian's Day speech: Queen: We Will Rock You
No explanation needed.

The Battle of Agincourt: Muse - Apocalypse Please
While this song wasn't written for a literal war (the album was directed toward today's world leaders), it carries the theme of the importance of one, last, nearly-impossible-to-win battle. The music reflects a similar intensity.

The Tempest: Chosen Quote #1

Greetings all,

First, the Wiki is officially up and ready for editing at here (my apologies for ripping off the name of our professor's blog).

And that moves us to experiment number one. Of all of the beautiful parts of the Tempest, my favorite was the one that follows.

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismayed. Be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air.
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself—
Yea, all which it inherit—shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vexed.
Bear with my weakness. My old brain is troubled.
Be not disturbed with my infirmity.
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose. A turn or two I’ll walk
To still my beating mind.

The writing is beautiful, to be sure, but in my mind what Shakespeare was trying to say here extends even beyond Shakespeare's works. The basic theme, one could say, is, "What happens when all this disappears?" It seems almost to have a bit of an existentialist ring to it. "All of this will dissolve, the actors and the parade we put on will all come to naught," Shakespeare seems to say.

Yet Shakespeare implies that this question as to what reality really is extends past the play itself to what Shakespeare does. The "Great Globe" could be a reference to the Globe Theater where many of Shakespeare's plays were shown. It's almost as if Shakespeare uses a character describing how much a play within a play seems to be temporary to express something about not only the play they're in, but plays in general, and far be it from me to be the English teacher that finds meaning when it's not there, but is this not about life in general?

Scripture seems to hint at this feeling at times.

I conclude this record, declaring that I have written according to the best of my knowledge, by saying that the time passed away with us, and also our blives passed away like as it were unto us a dream (Jacob 7:26)

For now we see through a glass, darkly (1 Corinthians 13:12)

Or to quote slightly less reputable sources...

"Is this real life?"


"Is this the real life, or is this just fantasy?"


This theme is one that is common throughout all sorts of media.

Collaborate, Distill (A Little Experiment)

I have long since been a fan of the Internet comedian Ze Frank. Ze Frank specializes in bringing people together from different backgrounds having them do various projects with each other online. They could be something like "Pain Pack" where he asked people to call a phone number and leave a voicemail explaining why they felt sad or pain. He then released them as mp3s to DJs who remixed them.

The principle is that diversity of experiences and personalities can create something much more beautiful than one person alone would ever be able to do.

Another example is Eric Whitacre's virtual choir (see below).



As 1,000 people listen to the same song and sing along, they can create something incredible.

Being an Advertising major one of the things that interests me the most is what people associate different things with. For example, studies have shown that for Americans to feel that cheese is good it has to be sealed and put in the refrigerator, regardless of what live mozzarella is like in Italy.

I want to know what people think about when they read my favorite quotes from Shakespeare. I'll contact people in my social networks and possibly even people I've ever met to have them record their impressions, thoughts, and feelings when they read pieces of Shakespeare and come to understand what they mean. What are they reminded of? What do they think of? What do they feel? I have created a wiki where people can post their thoughts (link forthcoming), and I will then try to find a way for each different play to put all of those pieces together.

It might fall on its face and require a pivot, but I think it's worth a shot.

Shakespeare... Expectations and Experience

My first experiences with Shakespeare, excepting absurd amounts of SparkNotes in Jr. High and High School (having neither learned to enjoy reading nor to have integrity), were on a train in China.

I moved to China for no particular reason this past summer, and found myself with a lot of time on trains, no Internet connectivity (which consumed 90% of my time normally) and a Kindle in hand. Times that I enjoyed reading were few and far between in my youth, despite the persistent efforts of my mother who happened to be a freelance writer by semi-profession. Even her book about how to raise "first-rate" children had not been of enough interest to me to persuade me to get past the first few pages. Indeed, my mom wrote a book about me and I couldn't be bothered to read it.

My mom had, however, noting my love for lyrics, taken me to Les Miserables every time it came to Salt Lake's Capitol Theatre. Sneakily she began to work in my reading of the classic by Hugo, constantly informing me of her belief that reading did not, in fact, "Suck," as I was prone to say, but insisting that I had just not found the right type of book yet. Much to my chagrin, shortly after returning from my mission, I sat down with the unabridged version of Les Miserables and fell madly in love. My pride assisted me in hiding Les Mis from my mom as if it had been a pornographic magazine, until I eventually found a section that was so amazing I had to share it with her. I now feel as if I understand the emotional turmoil that precedes coming out of the closet.

And now we return to me sitting on a train in China with an electronic version of the complete works of Shakespeare. His writing was brilliant, but it was something much more than that that intrigued me. Like Hugo, Shakespeare has a way of not only making art out of words, but he could convey meaning in doing so. He could take emotion and eternal themes and distill them into a form that I could take with me on the other side of the world. Shakespeare could make you understand, he could make you feel.

My expectations with regard to Shakespeare are to be able to better understand the world around me through his writing, as obscure and/or ambitious as it may seem.