Stratford:Cooperstown::England:US

1) See the title. Understandably, Stratford is devoted to its most famous son, as Cooperstown is devoted to its sport. Beyond memorials for Shakespeare’s birthplace and tomb, allusions to Shakespeare abound. The boats in the canal are named for Shakespeare’s best heroines, for example. A café is entitled “The Food of Love,” after Twelfth Night’s famous first line. My favorite is “Iago’s Jewellers.” Because the association you, as a shopkeeper, want to have with your product is pure, unmitigated evil.

2) Here’s what testifies to Shakespeare’s greatness, beyond the usual metrics of masterpieces and turns of wit made. When we went to Shakespeare’s grave, we passed through a graveyard. Many of the gravestones were worn down by time and invaded by green moss. None were famous; none would have been seen if not for Shakespeare. His grave is inside the church, an indication of his fame. His grave is also the only one there is a charge to see. It was minimal, and we paid it. Ahead of us in line were a pair of Brazilians whose attire was more appropriate for clubs, runaways or groupies (I approved). We stood around and looked at the grave.

One of the hot Brazilians said, “I can’t believe he came up with the Tempest.” And that was that for Shakespeare’s grave. But think about this: first, beyond the Brazilians, there were people of all different races around—he really is universal—and second, Shakespeare probably wrote three plays a year! Fucking jackass with his fucking talent. His worst stuff’s better than my best. It’s too unfair.

3) After we hung around Stratford for a while, we went to the main event of the day, the Royal Shakespeare Company’s performance of Twelfth Night. It was mediocre. There were some strange choices. John Lithgow was in the play. He was not mediocre; his choices were not unconventional.

The play has a character who cross-dresses throughout the play; she’s supposed to be a woman. In the RSC performance, she was played by a dude. Similarly, two of the male characters were performed by women. Why? Because the play’s got a lot of cross-dressing anyway! I shouldn’t be so flip; the decision was potentially good but ruined by either the actors or the directors. Viola was played as a schmuck and utterly unattractive and yet somehow manages to attract several characters who testify to her competence. The female men were over-the-top caricatures.

But John Lithgow and the Fool were funny and redeemed much.

4) I can only conclude that England loves its tradition. England drives on the left side and no one else does; it uses the ‘pint’ measurement for beer and metric measurement with everything else; it clutches to the pound. And most amusingly, the coins are differently sized: the penny is the smallest, but the nickel smaller than that; the ten-pence piece is about the size of a quarter, but the twenty-pence piece smaller than the ten; the two-pence piece is gigantic, larger than all other coins, even the fifty. The one-pound piece, although it’s thick, is about the size of a twenty-pence piece. It makes no sense beyond that’s how we do it here in England. And I guess I’ve got to go along with it.
5) I saw a bus today with this advertisement: it featured a pretty-looking cartoon woman with green hair with the accompanying text, “Cinderella, this coach will take you to London, and it won’t turn into a pumpkin at night.” So does that mean that the residents of Oxford are abused, neglected stepchildren? Who abuses them? And if Oxford, a city with a pulse, is abused and neglected, what does that make even lamer cities? Dead with the heart stopped?

6) There are beautiful swans in the canal at Stratford. They do not swim so much as glide, and their white feathers are unsullied.