Certain people's posts have brought back memories from long long ago.
When I was in elementary school, each year the gifted classes would put on a Shakespearean play. They were generally adapted by the gifted teacher's professor father so that they were a bit more kid friendly. The language was still the same. He even managed to keep the iambic pentameter. He just made the plays a bit shorter.
Every year the sixth graders got the main roles. Each year I looked forward to getting a major part. After years of being small parts, a page, a tree, a soldier, I was ready. Finally I was a sixth grader. I knew I could do any role in any play, at least with a little practice. When Mrs. Summer* told us that we were going to be doing Romeo and Juliet I knew what role I wanted. I would be Juliet and, of course, my secret crush would be Romeo. But, alas, it wasn't to be. My secret crush was most definitely Romeo. Did I get to be Juliet? No. Did I get to be Lady Capulet? No. Lady Montague? No.
I got to be the Nurse.
They blackened my teeth, stuffed me with pillows, and taught me how to waddle.
That alone could have made it the saddest Romeo and Juliet ever (at least for me), but, it gets sadder. Granted, it is one of Shakespeare's tragedies, which, in definition, is sad and, well tragic. But there's tragedy and then there's tragedy.
If you are familiar with the play, you might remember the events of the last scene. I should perhaps warn of upcoming spoilers, but I think that most people reading this blog have also read the play. After Romeo and Juliet have been dispatched through various methods of suicide, the Friar tells all to the Prince. His speech details the whole story, cues the parents to come on stage, and brings peace to all as everyone comes on stage and realizes that their hatred and bitterness have killed their children. So, we end with an ancient grudge becoming a new peace. Or at least we should.
In our version, the Friar forgot half of our lines. Capulet never got his cue. Montague never received his. We ended Romeo, Juliet, Paris dead. Prince and Friar on stage, fumbling for sense and then lights out.
No peace. No restoration. No happy-ish ending.
The end.
2 comments:
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The nurse is a big role though. And if you mess up, well, you're supposed to be funny.
I saw an incredible documentary late one night on PBS about an elmentary teacher in the 60s whose classes put on Shakespeare and Sophocles and Shaw with a lot of style and verve every couple months.
Anyway.
I really wasn't too upset about being the nurse--I got great reviews--but I think that it's hilarious that out of anyone I could have been, I got to be the nurse. I also laughed and laughed after the play, because there really was no end to it. Just the friar and the prince on stage, trying to figure out what to do.
I heard about this guy called Ralph (Rafe?) Espisomething who still puts on plays with his kids each year. Our teacher was just amazing! She retired a bit early--I think that the school system got to her--but she really was magical.
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