And then I get gutpunched by the pointless viciousness of the family politics, and the sheer stupid unfairness of the cost to R&J.
Very, very true. Especially Juliet's father coming down on her like a sack of oranges.
It helps that I've recently(ish) seen a couple good performances of Juliet. For a while, it seemed that she was being played as a modern 13-year-old, with that kind of sheltering, instead of as a girl who could reasonably be expected to start bearing children ASAP. That can't happen - Juliet needs to be a little more wordly to be believable, which is why I liked Claire Danes' performance.
Not to interrupt the Shakespeare fest, but...
PIIEEEEEE!!!
I am eating pumpkin pie. With whipped cream. At work. Work rocks.
Pie would cure my headache. I'm sure of it. Must find pie.
When come back, bring pie.
Oh, also --
So yeah. If you want to talk about gut-wrenching unrequited love or ugly ladies of the night with a bad case of the clap at your wedding, Shakespeare's sonnets are for you! Otherwise, not so much.
I feel like an uneducated hick for liking the sonnets.
I feel like an uneducated hick for liking the sonnets.
Why? They're chock-full of awesome language, burning passion, and they're travel-sized (as compared to The Rape Of Lucrece) - what's not to like?
I feel like an uneducated hick for not having read the sonnets. And reading maybe five of the plays, all told. I'm not counting the ones I used Cliffs Notes for.
what's not to like?
....but.... didn't Jen say they were about ugly ladies of the night with a bad case of clap? Or lame-ass unrequited love?
It's just...there are some sonnets that I think are utterly lovely, and I had thought they were about (requited) love, but now I feel like a dunce.
It's just...there are some sonnets that I think are utterly lovely,
Then enjoy them. There's a lot of bitter, but there's some perfectly lovely moments, too. My favorite is:
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thy self away, art present still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight.
You can make the argument that he's pining, but it's a perfectly wonderful example of the melancholy of separation. I think.
