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kikiandarrowsfishshelf 's review for:
The Tempest
by William Shakespeare
The Tempest is not one of my favorite Shakespearean plays. It’s lovely, but it has always been like a weird form of cotton candy, almost like cotton candy on acid. This could be because my first encounter with the play was via part of the movie Prospero’s Books, where I couldn’t get pass the boy peeing into the pool. It could be my reaction to Tad Williams’ Caliban’s Hour. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t really make my top ten.
Like Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest takes place over a short span of days, almost a long weekend. Unlike Romeo it is a happy idea, though today’s reader/viewer is confronted by two beings that just don’t sit entirely right to our modern eyes and ears.
The first, of course, is Prospero. Now, I have to admit, I sort like the guy. More on that later. Prospero is naturally upset because his brother stole Milan from him, even though it doesn’t seem like Prospero did much governing. In fact, it just looks like Prospero used the money to build up his library and let his brother do the hard work of governing. (Kinda reminds you of Lear, don’t it?) Now, this doesn’t excuse Antonio kicking old brother out and throwing him and his niece into the big wide sea. Prospero is also a wizard, so we have to raise an eye brow. Maybe he is a nod to Dr. Dee. Additionally, there is Prospero’s treatment of Caliban, who himself is the second character that just doesn’t sit right.
Prospero apparently wrestled control of the paltry island away from Caliban, who had lived there since the death of his mother, who perhaps left the isle to Caliban. Caliban is the suppose to be a “noble savage” type or a showcase of the Elizabethan view of the Native American (First People). I’ve never been entirely convinced of this. Caliban doesn’t seem very noble. In fact, he seems, well, almost cruel. It is true that Prospero treats him as an unworthy slave. Caliban goes from ruling the island to collecting the firewood. If this is true, then we can’t really blame Caliban for cursing Prospero.
Yet, this is only Caliban’s side of the story. Prospero tells us that he treated Caliban as an equal until the point where Caliban tried to rape Miranda. More modern authors have taken this line and used to redeem Caliban, making Miranda into a liar and slut, though the textual story of the play doesn’t bear this out. Miranda herself backs her father and tells us that she never sighed for a man until she saw Ferdinand. Furthermore, when Caliban betrays Prospero, he willingly sets up Miranda to be raped. Caliban does not see Miranda as a person; he sees her as a womb (and at this point, he knows it to be wrong). He may be a savage, but he is not the noble savage. If Shakespeare is using the idea of the noble savage; he is, as always, twisting it as well as commenting on the British relationship to it (Caliban’s lines at the end seem to suggest this). It is possible to feel pity for Caliban, but there is something about him that is unlikable to me. Maybe that is the point, how can a savage be noble is the savage knows nothing about society?
In fairness to Prospero, he keeps his word. He frees Ariel at the end of the play. True, it is the very end of the play, but Prospero, despite the wondrous aid that Ariel could give him, allows the spirit his freedom, keeps his promise. He also treats Ariel as something more than a slave. Furthermore, Prospero does seem like a caring father, despite the fact that he calls his daughter wench. He tests Ferdinand, simply to make sure that the prince is worthy of his daughter, to make sure that prince will value his daughter. It also seems that he has taught his daughter, and while it is unlikely that he has taught her magic, it does seem to be implied that he has taught her more than other young ladies would learn. In the canon of Shakespearean fathers, Prospero doesn’t look that bad.
The Tempest is a sweet play. There is a wonderful de facto marriage masque, there is Ariel (anyone else see Alan Cumming in the part?), there is the magic, there is the wonderful courtly love of Ferdinand and Miranda; yet there is that weird lack of substance to the play.
Like Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest takes place over a short span of days, almost a long weekend. Unlike Romeo it is a happy idea, though today’s reader/viewer is confronted by two beings that just don’t sit entirely right to our modern eyes and ears.
The first, of course, is Prospero. Now, I have to admit, I sort like the guy. More on that later. Prospero is naturally upset because his brother stole Milan from him, even though it doesn’t seem like Prospero did much governing. In fact, it just looks like Prospero used the money to build up his library and let his brother do the hard work of governing. (Kinda reminds you of Lear, don’t it?) Now, this doesn’t excuse Antonio kicking old brother out and throwing him and his niece into the big wide sea. Prospero is also a wizard, so we have to raise an eye brow. Maybe he is a nod to Dr. Dee. Additionally, there is Prospero’s treatment of Caliban, who himself is the second character that just doesn’t sit right.
Prospero apparently wrestled control of the paltry island away from Caliban, who had lived there since the death of his mother, who perhaps left the isle to Caliban. Caliban is the suppose to be a “noble savage” type or a showcase of the Elizabethan view of the Native American (First People). I’ve never been entirely convinced of this. Caliban doesn’t seem very noble. In fact, he seems, well, almost cruel. It is true that Prospero treats him as an unworthy slave. Caliban goes from ruling the island to collecting the firewood. If this is true, then we can’t really blame Caliban for cursing Prospero.
Yet, this is only Caliban’s side of the story. Prospero tells us that he treated Caliban as an equal until the point where Caliban tried to rape Miranda. More modern authors have taken this line and used to redeem Caliban, making Miranda into a liar and slut, though the textual story of the play doesn’t bear this out. Miranda herself backs her father and tells us that she never sighed for a man until she saw Ferdinand. Furthermore, when Caliban betrays Prospero, he willingly sets up Miranda to be raped. Caliban does not see Miranda as a person; he sees her as a womb (and at this point, he knows it to be wrong). He may be a savage, but he is not the noble savage. If Shakespeare is using the idea of the noble savage; he is, as always, twisting it as well as commenting on the British relationship to it (Caliban’s lines at the end seem to suggest this). It is possible to feel pity for Caliban, but there is something about him that is unlikable to me. Maybe that is the point, how can a savage be noble is the savage knows nothing about society?
In fairness to Prospero, he keeps his word. He frees Ariel at the end of the play. True, it is the very end of the play, but Prospero, despite the wondrous aid that Ariel could give him, allows the spirit his freedom, keeps his promise. He also treats Ariel as something more than a slave. Furthermore, Prospero does seem like a caring father, despite the fact that he calls his daughter wench. He tests Ferdinand, simply to make sure that the prince is worthy of his daughter, to make sure that prince will value his daughter. It also seems that he has taught his daughter, and while it is unlikely that he has taught her magic, it does seem to be implied that he has taught her more than other young ladies would learn. In the canon of Shakespearean fathers, Prospero doesn’t look that bad.
The Tempest is a sweet play. There is a wonderful de facto marriage masque, there is Ariel (anyone else see Alan Cumming in the part?), there is the magic, there is the wonderful courtly love of Ferdinand and Miranda; yet there is that weird lack of substance to the play.