I,
Claudius Poisonously Good Drama
by
Kristin Battestella
Everybody
– and I mean everybody – who's anybody makes an appearance in the
1976 BBC saga I, Claudius. Based
upon the books by Robert Graves, these super-sized twelve episodes
pack in plenty of history, ruthlessness, scandal, and irony,
remaining delightfully cutthroat and timeless television.
The
senile emperor Claudius (Derek Jacobi) writes his autobiography and
reflects on his turbulent fore-house with grandfather Augustus (Brian
Blessed) and grandmother Livia (Siân
Phillips). Heads certainly roll as Claudius recalls the degenerate
reigns and decadent times of Tiberius (George Baker) and his
successor Caligula (John Hurt). Poison and ambition lead to
unceremonious ends for most of his kin, not to mention prefects
Sejanus (Patrick Stewart) and Macro (John Rhys-Davies) as well as
Messalina (Sheila White) – Claudius' own much too raunchy wife.
Despite a rocky start to his leadership as young Claudius plays the
fool to stay alive, his peaceful reign will yet meet with more fiery
relations to come.
I,
Claudius debuts with “A
Touch of Murder” as the late in life and paranoid Claudius fears
spies in Rome. This writing his memoirs narrative frame gives the
presentation a stage-like telling rather than showing slow to start
design. However, fine performances and strong delivery anchor this
slim television structure despite numerous names, quick exposition,
and head hopping inner monologues. The audience must pay attention to
the talkative scene chewing for who is who as men and women gossip at
the gym or the bath. The orchestrated deaths or arranged marriages
sometimes play like a soap opera, but the action picks up in 24 B.C.
with Roman feasts and testy political talk waxing on a return to the
republic versus striving for the dynastic. Everyone watches all they
say and do or brown noses for the senate and against rival heirs,
complete with poisonous – er medicinal plans for the sickly. Be it
a cameo appearance, historical brevity, time transitions, or
nefarious intervention, I, Claudius packs
a lot of people into this pleasing ninety minute start, which aired
as a two-part opening with a second half titled “Family Affairs”
for the thirteen episode PBS airings. More mysteriously late
successors, horoscopes, omens, and prophecies accent “Waiting
in the Wings.” Where will the unfortunate young Claudius fit in to
such schemes with his troubles? His grandparents grumble no one would
marry Claudius while they secretly mastermind a network of lovers and
spies to dispose of anyone in the way. Banishments, unheard pleas,
threats – whatever it takes to get one more person gone. Some may
find the melodrama hokey at times, but I, Claudius spices
up the betrayals with juicy tit for tat, quiet personal moments, and
guilty revelations alongside bemusing but not vulgar adultery and
saucy affairs. While it's tough to tell who is going to be important
or last more than one episode with wrong-sayers being tossed off
cliffs and suspicious boating accidents, these budget friendly
offscreen demises add to the scandals in “What Shall We Do About
Claudius?” Deliciously unlikable complaints about Claudius the
twitching idiot fainting at the gladiator games pick up the action
alongside shrewd manipulations, fatal whispers
in the ear, and reinforcements ready to literally stab commanders in
the back. On I, Claudius, one
hurried soldier's pointing to the decimated map and reporting
massacred German legions, false intelligence, and military fallout in
Gaul builds more suspense than if we had seen some now dated
battlefield spectacle.
Time
also moves fast on I, Claudius
with five years later bickering, travels to Corsica, and
confrontations between father and son peppering “Poison Is
Queen.” Unsuspecting Claudius inadvertently usurps ascension plans
while scrumptiously tricked vestal virgins could sway the fate of
Rome. There's nothing wrong with two women in a tiny little
conspiracy, using someone else's imperial seal, or breaking a few
vows for the cause, right? Deathbed premonitions and celestial signs
add humorous doubts, too. Does that one hundred mean you'll die in a
hundred weeks – or is it months? Maybe you'll live to be one
hundred instead! Tender moments, unfortunately, are few and far
between on I, Claudius. The
elderly grasp for late amends and dignified departures, and watching
the face of the dying while the ruthless confess makes for an
excellent finale with award winning performances. The suspicions of
witchcraft and toxic tampering continue in “Some Justice”
with senate trials, missing witnesses, and incriminating letters to
match the creepy effigies, eerie omens, and falling on sword
disgraces. Poison professionals complain about not being able to
practice more while the court of public opinion, superstitious
victims, and a little belladonna help dispose of emperors. Cowards,
scapegoats, which “little shit” coughcaligulacough is setting the
house on fire – I, Claudius has
a sardonic perspective countering the empires hanging in the balance.
Another stunning finale leads to more entertaining, drinking, and
treason ten years later in “Queen of Heaven,” where ladies
must comply to beastly behaviors as the nudity, kinky dialogue,
astrologers, weeping mothers, and suicides mount. It's surprising
such foul language and sensitive topics were so dramatically filmed
in this seventies television adolescence, but republican ideals,
commitments to decency, and the proper Roman lifestyle have given way
to impeachment, public arrests, amoral affairs, and the drugging of
one's husband, as you do. Crowded marketplace scenes add to the
shocks, however, no sweeping music or fancy editing is needed for
meaty dinner conversations or handy rundowns on who was who, who
killed them, and why. I, Claudius brilliantly
serves Rome's epicness via small, disposable, flawed little
people full of their own self-importance.
Narrating
bookends catch up on the many sins of the father and mother coming
back to haunt one and all in “Reign of Terror.” To some, family
members are nothing but pawns – which makes them everything to
others. Shackles, whippings, exile, or worse punishments are doled
out as Claudius must use his literary work to reveal traitors who put
ambition over integrity. Those speaking out against the emperor are
coerced into signing confessions with torture and no trials. It's
tough keeping up appearances when you can't wait for one emperor to
croak so you can have your turn – leading to superb assassination
attempts and ruthless downfalls sparing no one. Caligula has become
emperor for “Zeus, By Jove!” and his unstable, diva ways show.
Comas, metamorphosis, gods in disguise as mere mortals – I,
Claudius adds more humor this
episode to alleviate the prior head rolling while Claudius must
grovel at the demented divinity to save his own neck. There's some
nudity, naughty shenanigans, and incestuous drama, however I,
Claudius provides more heady in
warped soliloquies or wild analogies – the sun burst a
shooting star into her womb and all that. Rome goes from bad to
worse, and powerful offscreen suicides contrast the subsequently
censored worst with class and grace. Brothels are set up in the
palace for “Hail Who?” and reluctant doorman Claudius struggles
to tame the scantily clad orgies, carousing boobies, and gay romps in
all definitions of the term. Rebel rousing, mutinous armies, and
conspiracies are everywhere thanks to the emperor's mischief –
although Caligula's interpretive drag dance and lingering depravity
are somewhat slow compared to earlier, more heavy hitting episodes.
Fortunately, screams and sound effects make a terrifying impression,
giving I, Claudius another
deadly fine topper.
"Fool's
Luck” adds more dangerous times as Claudius finds himself in the
unlikely and precarious position of Emperor Elect. Friends and foes
come out of the woodwork, wondering if the so-called hard of hearing
half-wit will be any more fit to leadership than his relatives.
Meddling wives and selfish aides are all around, leading to precious
little trust, affairs, turning weaknesses into smart politics, and a
few slaps in the face for good measure. Greedy builders, swindling
businessmen, assassination threats, and lingering seeds of
republicanism add more trouble alongside crocodile tears and history
coming dangerously close to repeating itself. This is a bit of a
reset episode for I, Claudius with
less scandal, new players, and not a lot of cast left, however
Claudius' rocky start takes a turn for the worse in “A God in
Colchester” thanks to his infamous wife's embarrassing sex
challenge. Though probably tame today, the nudity, on the back races,
and prostitute guilds provide raunchy toppers and pillow talk to
match. I, Claudius has witty
conversations and juicy double entendres amid serious drama,
execution plots, and talk of the Jewish Messiah.
Unfortunately, old friends are long dead and there's no one to help
against scandals or usurp attempts. The dramatic head choppings
aren't enough for young Nero, either, who can't wait for Claudius to
kick the bucket in “Old King Log.” These last two episodes have
more manipulation than Claudius himself as the narrative now meets
his final years. This winding down lags slightly, but creepy mama's
boys, gross relationships, and old prophecies accent Claudius'
surreal end. Old republic hopes, visits from the not so dearly
departed, and conversations with Sibyl make for an excellent end. The
ferrymen have come, the old guard is gone, scrolls are burned, and
books buried – so much for posterity.
At
first, the old age makeup on Best Actor Derek Jacobi (Cadfael,
Vicious) is a bit hokey,
and Claudius talking to himself establishes his wavering, elderly
state of mind better – even if I,
Claudius begins
with his telling of events before he was born. Claudius inserts
himself into the action to comment or transition time jumps and
bookend each hour, however his bumbling, absent minded, more hermit
than emperor is endearing rather than humorous. Sir Derek's voice is
strong, but most pay the young, stuttering, club foot Claudius no
mind except to insult him. Not as stupid as he seems, quiet Claudius
spends his time in the
library – he's swiftly self-taught and able to better his elders
with sardonic conversations. His stammering isn't annoying but
believable and charming, accenting the punchlines when playing the
fool or studying those poisonous family ways. Claudius reads Etruscan
and writes dismissed histories while everyone laughs at his long
engagements and awkward wedding. Fortunately, Claudius himself sees
the humor in his circumstances, and he stands up to Livia – unless
she's inviting him to dinner, that is. His cousins respect his
wisdom, and Claudius give nasty little Caligula a good talking to
about why sisters aren't for marrying, doing his duty even when he's
appalled by what Rome has become. Initially it's a sincere
understanding, but Sheila White's (Oliver!)
Messalina wraps Claudius around her finger with sob stories and
resorts to using her body to get what she wants. Though fooled and in
love, we sympathize with Claudius as he mourns, bitter and ready to
eat the wrong mushrooms. Claudius becomes almost a confessor, an
absolver of sin for those who have gone before, and his only solace
is in hoping that the truth doesn't die with him.
Best
Actress winner Siân
Phillips (Goodbye, Mr.
Chips) has the style,
poise, and slightly severe look needed for the deliciously merciless
grandmother of Claudius, Livia. While she compares herself to
Cleopatra, Livia's power must come through the men her life, and she
intends to see her son succeed just as she only married to be an
emperor's wife. Slick with a dry wit where she says one thing then
does the devious opposite – Livia's gladiator pep talk insists on
no pussyfooting because she wants her money's worth. She disposes of
popular potentials and would be successors, positioning players to
keep the family in line or avoid scandal. Livia is vain, claiming she
was once the most beautiful woman in the world before prophesying her
own divinity. She vows to keep her forked tongue in everyone's
business right through her deathbed, and the amazing makeup designs
match her cruelty toward Claudius as she calls him a twitching
jackass who should have been exposed at birth. She's aware she
deserves hell even if her terrible doings have saved Rome, but Livia
is sincere when she asks Claudius to make her a goddess and forgive
her sins. Despite her deceit, Livia gives a great rundown of her
crimes and regrets, making the audience surprisingly sympathetic at
her end. George Baker (The
Ruth Rendell Mysteries) as
Livia's son Tiberius, by contrast, is impatient and hating his life.
Others go off to fight while he's meddling at home regretting his
arranged marriage, but the depressed and ready to leave Rome Tiberius
becomes tired of others dominating his life. He's angry at waiting
for Augustus to name him heir, and Tiberius soon becomes greedy once
he's in power. Popularity eludes him as he grasps for control with
heavy handed trials, and at times, Tiberius wonders whether he or his
mother really holds the empirical power. He invites important
daughters to his kinky room with erotic art and naked slaves, and the
aged makeup designs echo Tiberius' murderous, insufferable, and
corrupt depravity with pockmarks or worse.
Brian
Blessed's (Z-Cars)
Augustus, meanwhile, is a fast and loud talker – a strong voice
who's used to having what he says goes. He knows his rule is only as
secure as his heir and favors each coming and going successor, but
Augustus is often blind to Livia's doings or his daughter's
indiscretions – making for an angry, embarrassing, and powerful
exposé.
At once comforting and cruel, Augustus wonders if his family is
cursed and admits he doesn't tell Livia everything. He doesn't want
to know what's really happening – later coming to realize he
deserves his fate for looking the other way to the orchestration in
his house. But hello Captain Picard has hair! Patrick Stewart's
Sejanus is slick and seemingly so polite when done up in his
centurion finery, but he isn't afraid to stab someone and enjoys the
subterfuge. Tiberius doesn't see the opportunistic power of his right
hand man – Sejanus has his own spies, uses Livilla, and even
commissions statues and merchandise in his likeness. He tricks
Claudius, using him for marital connections and higher imperial ties.
Sejanus orchestrates himself very well indeed – but his popularity
doesn't go unnoticed when he's willing to romance both mother and
daughter to increase his standing. John Hurt (Alien)
as
Caligula, however, takes the cake in naughty family relations on I,
Claudius. As
a boy, Caligula aides in
the poisoning of his father and claims he was born a god. He shares
erotic scrolls and crafts a charming facade but keeps secrets from
Claudius and at times does show his monstrosities. Caligula gives his
aged great-grandmother Livia one heck of a kiss on the mouth complete
with a major tit grab, but he's much more cruel on her deathbed and
later gleefully pounces at the chance to snag the imperial ring off
Tiberius' dead hand. Caligula's pasty look is albino and unnatural,
matching his sickly delusions of his own glory. He dresses like
Cupid, and his attempt to be like Zeus ends in despicable, bloody
results. John Rhys-Davies (Lord
of the Rings) as Praetorian
prefect Macro spews a lot of crap on Caligula's whim, too.
Fortunately, he's more than happy to undo Sejanus or, you know,
smother one with a pillow as his emperor needs. Like most of the
players on I, Claudius,
Macro will do whatever it
takes to stay at the top.
Of
course, everyone and their grandmother really is in I,
Claudius including
Margaret Tyzack (The
First Churchills) as
Antonia Minor – the reserved daughter of Marc Antony and mother of
Claudius who can't love her son. Antonia grows disgusted by the
behaviors during Tiberius' reign but treads carefully after all the
madness she has witnessed, ultimately apologizing to Claudius for not
being a better mother. Such subdued longevity creates a pleasing
parallel to all the debauchery as seen with Frances White's (May
to December) Julia. The
oft-married, slapped, and passed around daughter of Augustus becomes
bitchy and gluttonous – making a name for herself by gossiping and
getting it on with her son's best friend before Livia takes care of
that. Fiona Walker (The
Asphyx) as Agrippina stands
up to creepy Tiberius' hypocrisy as well, but her ambition for her
children can only go so far and David Robb's (Downton
Abbey) Germanicus runs back
to Augustus with all the details since there isn't a lot of time or
money for I, Claudius to
show his campaigns
outside Rome. Instead of spectacle, more coming and going stars such
as Patricia Quinn (The Rocky
Horror Picture Show), Kevin
McNally (Pirates of the
Caribbean), Ian Ogilvy
(Witchfinder General),
and James Faulkner (Da
Vinci's Demons) pepper I,
Claudius alongside
another Lord of the Rings
alum
Bernard Hill. Numerous
players visit for two, three, or four episodes while other fine
performances spotlight an episode or less. While it's frustrating
when likable people depart, this rotating cast proves that everyone
in I, Claudius'
scope is fair game.
It's
short, dated, and oh so British, yet the slithering snake, opening
tiles, and tense music from composer Wilfred Josephs perfectly set
this cut throat era. Scrolls, togas, robes and reclining amid the oil
lamps, goblets, and fruit add that Roman feeling – along with naked
tribal dances, sheer orgies, and nude bedroom romps, because, of
course. The muted yet colorful designs are probably seventies
cheapness at work, however the quiet palette matches our ruinous,
long time ago, archaeological perspectives. While the obviously
staged outdoor scenes are brighter with senate steps, marketplace
bustle, greenery, and fountains, the gladiator locker room is hokey
with near toy looking swords and shields. On I,
Claudius, we hear tell of a
rhinoceros and clashing sounds of the games but don't see them. Up
close camerawork hides the cut corners affordability, and echoing
speeches, large temples, and hefty statues accent the hedonistic
drama. Lyres or harps and simple pipes create diegetic music, keeping
I, Claudius from
straying into over the top soap opera crescendos. Whether the ladies'
jewelry is cheap or inaccurate, the gradual aging make up, graying
hair, and progressing wrinkles on the surviving cast throughout
series are amazingly well done. Today's vanity would see most stars
unrealistically remain the same age, but these designs set off the
bittersweet, decades spanning performances. The titles of the
episodes are also spoken lines from each hour, but subtitles are a
must for the confusing names, secret conversations, and uneven
volumes on the elderly whispering or booming speeches. Names and
dates onscreen would have been tremendously helpful to those
unfamiliar with the source material, too. I,
Claudius moves
fast – perhaps too fast when we are accustomed to several seasons
of twelve episodes with more Roman folly to tell. While some
people or events are glossed over and historians may find places to
nitpick the liberties taken, I,
Claudius packs major punch
alongside bonuses found on the 35th
anniversary DVD and the 2002 I,
Claudius: A Television Epic retrospective
documentary.
I,
Claudius provides
heaps of Roman mood, flair, and ruthlessness – we'd like to visit
but by choice or poison, not many people linger. Despite dense
material to adapt and a revolving cast door, the middle episodes here
are especially exceptional. I,
Claudius ties
its generational saga together by putting the bang for its buck in
the superb casting. The structure may be so seventies in presentation
and design, however I,
Claudius remains
modern in its cutthroat politicking even if the majority of the
series is little more than people standing around in the same few
sets arguing. We think we know the history of it all and that this
will be a quick, casual weekend viewing, but I,
Claudius excels
in can't look away drama at its finest.
King Lear - Ian McKellan
(Richard III),
Romola Garai (Angel),
Sylvester McCoy (Doctor
Who), and Frances Barber
(Silk)
anchor this 2008 two and half hour PBS television presentation based
on the cast's previous stage performance also directed by Trevor
Nunn. Although such small scale stage design and up close cameras may
seem congested at times, other frames are well done with a deceitful
daughter in the foreground looking over her shoulder at the angry
father questioning which child will prove her love and earn her
inheritance. Colorful gowns, regal red robes, and strategic lighting
invoke a fifteenth century abstract meets anachronistic Cossack look
while frenetic organ music parallels the titular senility. Our seated
king is an indulged old man, fickle, and vain. He's pushing for more
flattery but exiles his favorite over a blunt opinion when such
honesty doesn't glorify him. Rival duchies toe their positions while
everyone wants a piece of the king's power but not his affection, and
several soliloquies almost break the fourth wall as viewers
understand the illegitimate son looking for an angle. Between
brotherly coups and dukes in disguise, our regal dad bounces from
daughter to daughter – neither want him there and we understand
that, too. Lear has no one to blame but himself as he descends from
the gilded seat to dark brawls and jester humor, snapping and
shouting amid angry gesturing and out of control tears. This ornery
old man is surrounded, not with feigned love and regal safety but a
rainy wilderness of fools and madmen. In such squalor, one might even
suspect he is imagining his jester on the moor as his spiral spreads
to the aristocracy with hangings, eyes gouged, and armies
approaching. The barren outdoors stir an overcast purgatory for this
near biblical reform as blind fathers meet lost sons and the women's
costumes likewise darken to match their jealousy and power through
their weak or lusty men. The older dog may learn the error of his
ways, but there is a higher cost for such late education. Where Lear
once reigned from a bright court on high, now the bleak swords and
battle planning happen within the hedge hogs. Is it better to be
crazy and blissfully unaware or do you realize your humility too late
and pay the terrible price? This turmoil could have been prevented,
and as much as we feel the family emotion, the tearful reunions and
brief moments of clarity only lead to more poisons, duels, suicide,
and executions. Without subtitles or name tags for all the dukedoms,
the intrigue may be confusing if you don't know who is who. Time away
from the eponymous circumspection lags a little and this is too long
for a younger classroom. However, this play isn't meant to be Bard
for the youthful audience either. One has to be in the mood for such
depressing, but this is a well played take on the enduring tragedy.
Richard III – Annette Bening
(American Beauty),
Robert Downey Jr (Iron Man),
Kristin Scott Thomas (The
English Patient), Maggie
Smith (Harry Potter),
Jim Carter (Downton Abbey),
and
Dominic West (Centurion)
join
Ian McKellan (Mr. Holmes) for
this 1995 fascist re-imagining of The Bard amid ticker tapes,
radios, typewriters, telegraphs, tanks, and gas masks. Though
recognizably thirties with swanky cars, cigarettes, jazz, and Art
Deco glamour; there's an anachronistic surreal to the fedoras, furs,
and noir silhouettes – as if the Imperial and aristocratic ways of
footmen and tiaras continued into the jet set unchecked by The Great
War or Abdication. This is still old speaketh, but the opening is
silent before Richard takes over the microphone with his expected
soliloquy – zooms on his mouth indicate double talk and duplicitous
plots as he prims in the mirror before addressing the camera directly
of his plans. Our disfigured Duke of Gloucester is suave with his
thin mustache and decorated uniform but slightly unkempt, gassed, and
mad when not putting on his crocodile tears. While the Nazi parallels
are obvious, they are more Western gone SS The
Man in the High Castle what
ifs then actual German motifs. Richard's a Wolsey ear to the ground
sowing seeds at Tower of London bunkers or with rooftop pigeons
instead of on castle parapets, but the new dressage doesn't overtake
the still stage-like one on one tension as each scene lays a piece of
the brother against brother plot. Hired killers provide gangster
style executions in the bloody bathtub and cracked spectacles in
brown anonymous packages as proof of the deed done. The hangings grow
darker alongside Richard's dictator glee despite opposing board room
committees in their It Can't
Happen Here disbelief.
Dressing room preparations and laughter after the ruse works join
public cheers over the boar's head laurel/fascist pigs logo –
seeing the red gloved right hand but not knowing what the pocketed
sinistre
left is doing. Richard talks to us while he's watching the film reel
of his coronation, seemingly letting the viewer in on the vanity. We
don't like him but there's no getting off this armored train whether
it goes too far or not. Tap to the king's tune and things are grand,
but misstep and.... Fortunately, Richard also has to lie in the bed
he made – with night sweats, regrets, and just do. Given our
current administration and political climate, I'm probably looking at
this differently then I would have two years ago. However, such
reassessment proves how provocative Shakespeare still is even
outfitted with machine guns, power stations, airplanes, and horses
not there when you need them. Although the sound is uneven between
soft voices and loud effects, this deserves several viewings for the
visual symbolism and layered subtext – a complex parable within a
tale of Billy quotes, the period piece commentary, and the pressure
cooker of it all then and now. This weighted interpretation may be
confusing for those new to the play, perhaps keeping the more
medieval clear Olivier version as the introduction piece, but there's
nothing wrong with this picture save a surprisingly elusive video
release.
The Shakespeare Conspiracy Presented by Sir Derek Jacobi – Is
the 17th Earl of Oxford Edward de Vere the true author of
Shakespeare's works? Sir Derek narrates and appears on location to
address the questionable Shakespeare facts – experts interviewed
even pronounce the names of Willm Shakspere, gent wanted for tax
evasion who left no mention of manuscripts in his will, and the famed
ever living poet differently. Beyond basic records and tourism perks
for Stratford-upon-Avon, the evidence doesn't seem to favor the
former's leap from country business and acting on stage to the
latter's literary glory. From the
original tomb depiction of a bag of grain and the subsequent quill
poised monument to the breakdown of the name William Shakespeare as a
“poet playwright” pseudonym with a debatable hyphen, the case
against The Bard is stacked with similarly named relatives,
posthumous poetry references, and physical oddities in known
Shakespeare portraits. Who had the scholarly and courtly
characteristics needed to write such plays but had to hide behind the
Elizabethan taboo of nobles not being able to write under their own
names for the low end theater? Did de Vere with his aristocratic
background meet the criteria to write Shakespeare as we know him?
Dramatic play examples, early film footage postulating the Oxford
theory, and references to the 1920 book Shakespeare
Identified punctuate de Vere's
biography, his surviving documents, and the mirroring of his
turbulent life in some of Shakespeare's plots. While apparently new
to video and streaming, this hour seems much older with poorly mixed
dialogue drowned out by medieval music. Most of the experts are also
dubbed into English, which is somewhat surprising when considering
why this thoroughly English topic wouldn't go to their own local
authorities first. Likewise the documentary name is generic enough
that Sir Google gives you more information about the authorship
question itself. At times, the rough, one-sided presentation is tough
to follow with a convoluted and windblown focus on academic minutiae
that's not shocking but now readily available information. I'd
like to see Jacobi present his claims anew, but this is a neat place
to start for those interested specifically in the Oxfordian case.
The Shakespeare Enigma – Pseudonym possibilities, persecution
fears, and evidence not adding up anchor this hour long documentary
focusing on Christopher Marlowe as a potential candidate in the
Shakespeare authorship question. Background reenactments and
Stratford-upon-Avon footage add Elizabethan flavor alongside the lack
of Shakespeare documentation and the suspicious death of Marlowe
giving rise to Shakespeare's success. From humble origins, sixteenth
century civil records, and Catholic versus Protestant strife, the
historical information explains the court intrigue of the time –
setting the scene for the sometime actor and apprentice known as
Shakespeare versus the well educated Marlowe excelling in the London
theater scene when not employed in Sir Francis Walsingham's spy
service. The gaps in Shakespeare's life and Marlowe's rebellious,
even treasonous nature provide room for faked death supposition
despite anything concrete to support the cover ups, pardons, and
Italian exile. Did Shakespeare fill the tense court vacuum left by
the late Marlowe with a comedic stage, theater patronages, new acting
troops, and eventual Globe renown? Or was there a hidden
collaboration between the two? The elaborate and somewhat
preposterous subterfuge is presented here in a concise, fun manner
with brief comments on De Vere's candidacy and behind the scenes
moments from the recent film Anonymous. Why is there no
mention of Shakespeare's manuscripts in his will? Have audiences been
bemusingly subjected to the good business that is the big Bard fraud?
Perhaps the more interesting
question is whether who actually wrote what really matters, and
expert interviews punctuate the friendly narration and paired down
possibilities here. While not super academic or technical and
simplistic to the well versed anti-Stratfordian, this presentation
takes what can be a very difficult topic and offers a linear, basic
overview on one angle in the case – making it perfect for classroom
supposition or an introduction to the authorship debate.
