As a high school student, I showed a modicum of potential to become a productive member of society. I went into college as an undeclared major, with an array of exciting career options ahead of me. I took classes in a variety of disciplines, with the naive hope of discovering my passions. I took an acting class on a whim, and the professor suggested that I audition for her play. I was ready to do it, until I found that the play was by Shakespeare. Now, I was always taught to stay away from Shakespeare, but the professor was persuasive and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in trying it just that once.

I was cast as Sebastian in Twelfth Night. I memorized my difficult lines by rote and went through the rehearsal process. One night, while I was waiting backstage and listening to the play, a single line caught in my ear and made me smile. “Hey, that’s pretty clever,” I admitted. A bit later, another line stuck in my head. “I see what he’s doing there.” Like popcorn popping, the revelations began to gradually speed up. Each weave of imagery, each implied metaphor, each beat of the iamb was like a jolt of adrenaline to my young brain. I was converted into a card-carrying Shakespeare fan.

I continued with acting as well, and in my junior year I had the opportunity to play Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. That was the experience that first sent me down the rabbit hole. No longer just a casual Shakespeare fan, I had become a full-blown addict. And of course the comedies proved to be merely a gateway drug to the harder stuff. My senior year, I discovered Hamlet, and what should have been a year of personal exploration and maturation was completely lost to that play. I would read it over and over, fascinated by the experience of making new discoveries every time, no matter how many times I had read it. Any thoughts I may have ever had of doing anything else were drowned in that play.

I needed more… Masters degree… Ph.D… My dissertation was on teaching Shakespeare to elementary school students. No longer content to be merely a user, I had become a dealer. A pusher. Could I decrease my own misery by dragging down others with me? I was determined to find out. I started teaching graduate-level Shakespeare courses at NYU – first a beginner, than an advanced class. I was completely out of control. I founded a Shakespeare reading group. I started a Shakespeare-themed blog. I taught for the Folger’s summer Teaching Shakespeare Institute for teachers. Conferences. Lectures. Seminars. Nothing was ever enough. When life threw me a curve ball, I went looking for answers at the bottom of a Riverside Complete Works anthology. I re-read Midsummer, and hit Bottom.

And what has it all gotten me? I am forty years old, and I have never held a full-time job. I support myself by working part-time, training teachers, administrators, school-based data teams, graduate students… anyone, as long as it will pay for that next Caedmon audio production of As You Like It. Had I never discovered Shakespeare, never developed that unquenchable thirst, who knows where I’d be today? But I know where I’ll be tonight. There’s an off-off-Broadway production of Measure for Measure in the West Village. Picture it. I walk the mean streets of Manhattan, desperate for a fix. I turn down a dark alley where I see a non-descript door propped open with a piece of plywood. I slip twenty dollars to a kid with purple hair who hands me a program and waves me in. And I know that, tonight, I will get what I need. And for a junkie, tonight is all that matters.

My name is Bill Heller. And I am a Shakespeare addict.

Can you identify the fifteen plays represented by the taglines below?

1. Bundle up, head on over, and join us as we catch winter by its tale. Hot cocoa will be served.

2. You like it! You really like it!

3. Everybody dies.

4. Come join us at our favorite Bavarian beerhouse as we travel to an austere statehouse, a rowdy whorehouse, and a dank jailhouse.

And then we’re gonna read a play.

5. Revenge is a beach.

6. Witches! Ghosts! Swordplay! Intrigue! Betrayal! Treachery! And the cold-blooded murder of a benefactor! Come join in the fun, as we read the play that dares not speak its name.

7. An afternoon to read. A lifetime to master.

8. We all know what happens when the children of rival families fall in love. But what happens when the rulers of rival countries fall in love?

9. What better way to spend an afternoon than with Rumor, Blunt, Shallow, Silence, Fang, Snare, Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Pistol, Quickly, and Doll?

10. Four hundred years before Seinfeld, there was a show about nothing.

11. We’re gonna party like it’s 1199.

12. Cast of Characters: a nobleman in disguise, an adulterer, a tyrant, an outcast, a wimp, a lackey, a fugitive, a bastard, a fool, two wicked sisters, and an elderly king, slowly losing his grasp on his humanity. Yes, we’re all in there somewhere.

13. And now for something completely different.

14. Bon Appetit!

15. Come join our monthly meeting of conspirators as we sink our daggers into Shakespeare’s classic tale of political intrigue and betrayal in Ancient Rome.

BONUS QUESTION: If readings are typically held on the first Sunday of each month, what play would have been the appropriate choice for January 2008?

Please post whatever you come up with in the comments section.

UPDATE: Correct plays provided by Asher (10) and Jeremy (6).

Enjoy!

The First hailed from Normandy, only to wreck it.
The Second one quarreled with Thomas of Beckett.
The Third one ascended to power at nine.
The Fourth was the first of the Lancaster line.
The Fifth one conducted a martial romance.
He married his queen after seizing her France.
The Sixth lost the War of the Roses, the fool.
The Seventh ignited a new Tudor rule.

But do you recall…
The most infamous Henry of all…

Enjoy!

A witches’ brew. A fiery shrew. A knavish sprite. A portly knight. A maid’s disguise. A Jew’s suprise. A bastard’s plan. Each age of man. A paper crown. A motley clown. A nightmare haunt. This John of Gaunt. A guarded door. A jealous Moor. A castaway. St. Crispin’s Day.

A eulogy. A balcony.

The death of kings.

And other things…

It’s the very best of all the scenes, speeches, and sonnets from Shakespeare, hand-picked and edited by yours truly. Be there … or not to be there.

It’s a word I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, as I’ve been doing a lot of leaning on my own community over the past few weeks. I’ve also been thinking about how new technologies and changes in society affect our idea of community.

Today is Wednesday. Since last Wednesday, I…

• attended a Bris for my cousin’s son.
• ended my 30-day mourning period for my mother.
• participated in a live reading of The Comedy of Errors with a group I found online.
• reconnected via e-mail with a close childhood friend I lost touch with 15 years ago.
• participated in a learning community seminar about 21rst century schools with my work colleagues.
• was called for an aliyah at the Bar Mitzvah of another cousin’s son.
• visited my sister in the hospital and held my 10-hour-old niece.
• conducted a day-long data workshop that helped a school identify a pervasive student learning problem.
• began teaching The Merchant of Venice to an 8th-grade class who will be creating a video project based on the play.
• joined Facebook.
• was invited to present at a conference at the Folger on teaching Shakespeare in the elementary school.
• participated in a webinar, cosponsored by the Folger and PBS, that brought together 176 Shakespeare teachers from across the country.

Traditional community structures such as family, school, religion, and professional networks are supplemented and even augmented (though never replaced) by technology and an increased focus on interconnectivity and collaboration. What I learned this week, though, is that there’s no substitute for being there in person.

Welcome to the world, Elena. You have big shoes to fill.

This feature happens to share its name with the headquarters of Google Inc., located in Mountain View, California. I have no idea what goes on there on Fridays.

I don’t grant your premise, unless you are referring to the historical figure and not the Shakespeare play. In fact, you might say that the play was actually written specifically to appeal to the new king. Witches were a fascination for James, so he’d have been intrigued from the start. Also, James was a direct descendent of both the historical Malcolm and the historical Banquo. Notice that the witches make a prophecy that doesn’t actually come true in the play, which is an odd dramatic convention. They prophecy that Banquo will not be king, but will instead be the father to a line of kings. Later, Macbeth is shown a vision of eight kings along with the ghost of Banquo who points at them for his. The eighth king is meant to be King James, as he is the eighth king in the house of Stewart. The prophecy doesn’t come true in the play; it comes true in the audience.

So far, it’s just Nixon, but the night is young.

You do realize you’re skipping over a whole year, right? No interest in The Tempest with Helen Mirren as Prospero? Not anxiously awaiting the new Hamlet with Screech and the Chocolate Rain guy? Okay. From what I can tell, the Shakespeare film event of 2010 will be King Lear with Anthony Hopkins in the title role and Naomi Watts, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Keira Knightley as his three extremely beautiful daughters. Also, Eddie Murphy – I kid you not – is planning to do a version of Romeo & Juliet. I imagine he will be playing both roles, but that’s pure speculation.

I was amused to see this one because I used the phrase “lambasts Hal” in my first Shakespeare Lipogram, and I chose the verb because it only has the vowel “A” in it. But I wonder if you’re really looking for that scene from Henry IV, Part One, or if you’re actually looking for this scene from Henry IV, Part Two. It’s one of the great scenes from one of Shakespeare’s lesser-known works and was even listed as #38 on my Top 50 scenes in all of Shakespeare.

Hal finds his deathly-ill father asleep, assumes he’s dead, and takes the crown off with him. When he returns, the King’s awake, and lambasts Hal. They reconcile, and Henry gives his son advice for how to be king. The language is… there’s no adjective I could use that you wouldn’t say “Well, yeah, it’s Shakespeare” but the language is particularly rich and evocative in this scene. I did an anagram of a quote from it a while back, but I’m surprised I still haven’t done the most timely quote of them all: “Be it thy course to busy giddy minds/ With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,/ May waste the memory of the former days.” It’s even got a “Q” in it. I’ll have to save that one for a rainy day.

Most definitely. I suggest gathering a group of friends together, dividing up the roles, and reading it out loud. Trust me on this one. That’s how to read Macbeth.

I leave the task of responding to the remaining search terms to my readers:

We’ll be reading All’s Well that Ends Well, which is a play that’s pretty far down the list of plays that I’m familiar with. I think I’ve read it only twice, but both times I had the chance to discuss the play with others: once in a graduate course, and once for a discussion group I was part of. We’ve never done a reading of it, even though my group has been doing monthly readings for over six years now. I have also never seen a production of it, though I may check out the BBC DVD before the reading.

The bottom line is that I’m pretty excited to revisit a play that I remember enjoying very much but don’t necessarily remember why. It didn’t make my Top 25 plays last year, which is not surprising given my limited recollection of the story, but somehow Helena made my list of Top 50 characters, so I guess I’m not completely out to lunch.

One of my favorite scenes (though apparently not one of my Top 50 scenes in Shakespeare) was the scene where Parolles is blindfolded and the soldiers speak in a made-up language to convince him that they are enemy soldiers speaking a foreign language.

Anyway, are there any big All’s Well fans out there? Let’s make some noise. What about this play does it for you? What do we have to look forward to?

Here’s what I had to say last year in response to Cesario, a fellow blogger who suggested that it was the Macbeths:

I’ve heard Harold Bloom express this opinion, and I get the equal partnership aspect, but I find their relationship too dysfunctional and codependent to pay them this compliment. The title “Best Marriage in Shakespeare” is a dubious honor, but I think I’d have to go with Brutus and Portia. They seem like they have a really strong relationship. The fact that it can be torn apart by the assassination is a testament to the earth-shattering significance of that event. We won’t count the marriages at the end of the comedies, because who knows how they’ll fare?

But now, I turn the question over to you.

What’s the best marriage in Shakespeare?

P.S. Cesario is currently annotating the text of Hamlet, scene by scene, on her blog. Check it out.

Fortunately, my friends have a more traditional sense of birthday practice, and surprised me with a proper birthday cake:

Chocolate cake, vanilla cake, friends, and a King Lear reading: who could ask for a better birthday?

The Bard-a-thon runs their readings a little differently than I run mine. They assign roles as they go, scene-by-scene. They don’t necessarily keep the same reader on the same character from scene to scene.

I divide up all of the characters into parts before the reading, and then those parts are chosen randomly by the readers. The readers can trade parts before the reading, but once the reading starts, the readers read the same characters for the length of the play.

Of course, my readings are planned in advance and people come expressively to read a particular play. It sounds like the Bard-a-thon is an open house, with people coming in and out, and even people like me calling in. I guess it makes more sense for them to do it the way they are, since it keeps them flexible.

Anyway, I love what they’re doing and I love them for doing it. Maybe this will start a national trend. There are 50 states, and 52 weeks in the year. You do the math.

I’ve blogged about gay muppets, the Iraq War, and the sexual proclivities of a certain 13th century Mongolian conqueror who shall remain nameless, but now I’m ready to tackle some real controversy. Read on, but please use discretion.

I have a group that meets once a month to do readings of Shakespeare’s plays. This past weekend, we read The Winter’s Tale.

Now, I’ve never been a big fan of The Winter’s Tale. But a lot of serious Shakespeare fans list it among their favorites, which leads me to believe there’s more there than I’m seeing, and perhaps I will like it more when I’ve given it more attention. I don’t know. Events seem to happen haphazardly and without cause. The characters give me no reason to want to wish them well. And I feel kind of cheated that the reunion of the king with his daughter is presented second-hand in an exposition scene, rather than the brilliant dialogue Shakespeare could have chosen to write.

The play is usually classified as a “Romance” which is a lesser-known Shakespearean genre (compared to Comedy, Tragedy, and History) that Shakespeare experimented with late in his career. It is believed that he started with Pericles and Cymbeline (not usually considered among his best works), gradually improved the form in The Winter’s Tale, and finally created The Tempest, which is usually considered to be the finest of his works in the genre. Romances (as they are found in Shakespeare) are generally characterized by fairy tale elements such as long-lost relatives; gods, spirits, and other supernatural elements; and exploring a relationship with nature. Intrestingly enough, the Comedy As You Like It, written much earlier, contains all of these elements, but is never classified as a Romance (though it is sometimes classified, by itself, as a Pastoral). But the Romances Cymbeline and The Winter’s Tale in particular are very closely connected by their treatment of these elements.

Which leads me to my point. I think that Cymbeline is a much better play than The Winter’s Tale, but doesn’t get nearly the respect. Cymbeline has a beautiful fairy-tale quality, better poetic language, more human characters, a logical (albeit far-fetched) structured motivated plot, a clear moral code of values, and a satisfying ending. Imogen is one of the great female roles in Shakespeare, and — I know this is heresy — Hermione is not.

Oh, yeah. I went there.

Most memorable moment of Cymbeline? The funeral dirge:

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Most memorable moment of The Winter’s Tale? A stage direction:

Exit, pursued by a bear.

Look, I don’t hate The Winter’s Tale. I just don’t understand why it holds a special place in the hearts of so many, when Cymbeline doesn’t. The plays are closely connected, so I think it’s fair to compare the two. I wouldn’t try to compare, say, Othello with A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but I can say this:

Cymbeline is a much better play than The Winter’s Tale.

Does anybody have a problem with that?

All visitors to the blog who are familiar with both plays are welcome to debate the issue in the comments section of this post. If a lively discussion ensues (and how could it possibly not?), I will jump in and defend my position.