2026 Shakespeare Reading Project: Romeo & Juliet

My progress:
Shakespeare Reading Project
Henry VI, parts 1, 2, 3 and Richard III
Two Gentlemen of Verona
The Taming of the Shrew
Titus Andronicus
The Comedy of Errors
Love’s Labour’s Lost

Romeo & Juliet

The play starts with a sonnet followed by the whole “bite your thumb” confrontation. It’s like the language is reflecting the action on multiple levels. R&J is about the generation gap. Shakespeare would go on to address this again and again. Look at Hamlet. Polonious is the perfect example of an out-of-touch silly old guy, unprepared for the moral and ethical thoughtfulness of the younger generation. It’s also there in King Lear, of course, and the Henry IV plays, where Prince Hal, youthful and irresponsible, pals around with Falstaff, getting a taste of “real” life. As You Like It, too – rigid parents lay down the law and their rebellious daughter puts on men’s clothes and flees into the woods. Midsummer predates As You Like It, but it’s the same deal: Daughter, marry the man you don’t love or you will be put to death. In Romeo & Juliet, we have the square elders and the rambunctious youth. The “form” of life (which Juliet references) vs. the actuality of life. Rules vs. freedom. (also Venus vs. Mars … pretty important to how things play out. And nightingale vs. lark: which is also symbolic of night vs. morning.)

Romeo & Juliet is a tragedy, and it shows the deterioration of the old guard’s rules, their certainty of how the world should operate. In keeping with this, the play starts with sonnet, and sonnets have very specific forms and rules in terms of syllabels, length, rhyme scheme. You can’t just make up your own sonnet rules! Heaven forbid. But: “bite your thumb” nips at the sonnet’s heels, in all its slang and confrontation. The youth live in a world of their own, completely divorced from parental control or even parental awareness (it’s like Rebel Without a Cause: clueless parents, complicated tormented kids dealing with huge issues with no guidance OR role models). The kids – and they really are kids – break free of the conformity imposed on them by their society. They obviously pay a price for this rebellion – I mean, they all die – but the final scene – where the dads, who are much to blame for perpetuating the stupid feud, compete on building golden statues dedicated to their dead children – shows that the parents are still as uncomprehending as ever.

Most of the play happens at night. Day is to be gotten through, preferably as quickly as possible. Remember that plays in Shakespeare’s time were done in the open-air and in the afternoon. There weren’t even candles for footlights as came two centuries later. If you are going to place a play at night, then “night” has to be in the language. You can’t rely on effects. This is why Shakespeare includes language like “O night” to clue the audience in, or, whatever, “Hand me your torch, I can’t fucking see”. Whatever is happening atmospherically has to be spoken out loud. Romeo & Juliet is an extreme example of this (although it doesn’t hold a candle to the shimmering night scenes in A Midsummer Night’s Dream where the whole play takes place at night, and the language is drenched in references to the moon, the silvery light, the dewdrops – the atmosphere is so thick you can SEE it.) Midsummer and R&J were written relatively close together and the plays have a lot in common. The Pyramus and Thisbe play put on by the troupe in the final scene of Midsummer is basically the Romeo & Juliet story.

As one of his most famous – and most performed plays – there’s a danger in taking it for granted. It was really worth it to go back and read it again, to not just assume I remember it. It’s so intense. The whole “star-cross’d” thing is pretty heavily laid out, and I feel like this is something Shakespeare moved away from as he got more sophisticated in plot- and world-building. Where people make bad choices and therefore they “fall”, it’s not that the stars are crossed and tragedy is your fate. Here, events conspire against these two kids from the start. There’s the feud, first of all. And then there are the three totally incompetent “advisers” and confidantes of R&J: Friar Lawrence, Mercutio and the Nurse. Mercutio and the Nurse are scene-stealers but they give bad advice, they are too cynical about love, and don’t really understand the stakes – and the Nurse actually betrays Juliet (Mercutio dies before a betrayal). Friar Lawrence infuriates me because the whole thing could have been avoided if he didn’t run out of the tomb because he “heard something”. After all THAT, you get spooked and aren’t there to tell Juliet what’s going on?

But what we have here is pure undistilled romance, with the most beautiful passionate erotic language Shakespeare ever used up to this point. He really understood first love and first sexual feelings. The play VIBRATES with it. It’s powerful because in a world of rules, Romeo and Juliet choose each other, and they do so at first sight. They’re toast from the moment they lay eyes on each other. The play is a frank acknowledgement of the power of chemistry. Even with all the star-cross’d stuff it’s very human and if not universal then … almost universal. Everyone remembers a high school crush. Where it feels like you’re swooning on a balcony every time he walks by you in the hallway.

It’s also interesting to just keep in mind that on the Elizabethan stage, men – and boys – played all the parts. Essentially, it was drag. Meaning: we perform our gender, whether or not we choose to do so or not. Society tells us how to do that (which we clearly see in R&J). All of it is a performance. Those double entendres about womanhood and maidenhead and all the rest sounds very different when spoken by a 14-year-old boy.

Romeo and Juliet was written (probably) in the 1590s. And it still plays like a bat out of hell. Amazing.

Quotes on the play

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“I wasn’t born an actress, you know. Events made me one.” — Jean Harlow

Today is Jean Harlow’s birthday. Here is a discussion Mitchell and I had about her.

The setup of the conversation (an ongoing series): I throw names of famous people at Mitchell, and ask him to describe each person in only “one word”. Then it goes from there. Enjoy.

Sheila O’Malley: Jean Harlow. One word.

Mitchell Fain: [thinks a bit] Brassy! She had this beautiful almost pudgy face and this …

SOM: Luscious body.

MF: Crazy luscious body. Gowns cut on the bias were created for Jean Harlow’s body or, at least, she made the look popular. She had this gun-moll voice. Every generation has the dumb blonde, or The Blonde, and Harlow was the dumb blonde of that era, but what’s interesting is – whether it’s Jean Harlow or Marilyn Monroe – those dumb blondes are FUNNY.

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SOM: Goldie Hawn.

MF: Goldie Hawn! Every generation has their version of that.

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MF: I think unfortunately Harlow’s reputation has either suffered or … she’s not remembered right. First of all, she died so young, and there’s an atmosphere of scandal about all of it, and that’s unfortunate and unfair. She was so of her era. I would say that that was true of Joan Crawford too. Harlow is so of her era that she ends up being totally contemporary. I recently watched Red Dust, with Harlow and Clark Gable. And Harlow comes across, once again – in the style of acting that we love – and the style that most people (who don’t watch old movies, or don’t understand that these people were inventing screen acting) find dated … but you watch her in Red Dust, and compared to the other actresses of her time, she’s making such – and I say this in a positive way – pedestrian choices. She’s so tough. A tough chick.

SOM: She wasn’t Garbo.

MF: She wasn’t Katharine Hepburn. She didn’t use that mid-Atlantic speech that actors used back then. Harlow didn’t even try. As a result, she comes across as very real. And she’s funny. I guess Dinner at Eight has become her legacy. There’s that moment in Dinner at Eight where Harlow shows up at the snooty party, and says something like, “You know, we’re all going to be replaced by robots or machines some day …” and Marie Dressler says, “You have nothing to worry about, my dear.” And sometimes comments like that make it seem like she’s a whore, but she’s so adorable, you like her anyway. I wonder what Harlow’s goals were.

SOM: She was pretty mother-dominated.

MF: She had a stage mother who was powerfully in her life. One of Marilyn Monroe’s tragic downfalls, unfortunately (but fortunately for us, because her work is strangely depthful) is that she aspired to be a great actress. Unfortunately, it kept her constantly disappointed in what she was doing, which she was better at than anyone. It doesn’t seem that that was Harlow’s deal. Harlow was more like Carole Lombard. She seems to have loved what she did. Did she want to be Katharine Hepburn or Bette Davis? Of course, Harlow was before them, really.

SOM: There was no real model for what she did, you mean?

MF: Who would she have modeled herself after? Norma Shearer?

SOM: Jean Harlow was one of those women under contract to Howard Hughes. He put her in Hell’s Angels, that huge expensive legendary extravaganza. It put her on the map.

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Jean Harlow and Howard Hughes

SOM: And she was such an attention-getter, the hair, the face, the eyebrows, that BODY, but then when she opened her mouth out came this tough-cookie sassy street girl. And it felt real, like it was who she actually was. It was the 1930s when she really arrived, not the elegant (supposedly) 1920s, and even though she wore white silk gowns and had platinum hair, outside the door of the studio lot was a pretty ugly scary world. And you can FEEL that in Harlow’s persona.

MF: The world she has protected herself from. She’s a scrappy survivor.

SOM: Harlow brought with her a breath of the Depression, the dirty city streets, the criminality. There was something about her that wasn’t fully manufactured.

MF: We always want to compare contemporary stars to the old stars. “So-and-so’s the new so-and-so.” And the reality of it is that there is no such thing as the “new so-and-so”. The people who truly succeed, who leave legacies behind are individuals. They are one of a kind. And certainly at the time, Jean Harlow was one of a kind.

MF: In a way, Pretty Woman is an homage to Harlow, too. People seemed to view it as a tribute to Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Roman Holiday.

SOM: That always bugged me. Audrey Hepburn was pure thoroughbred, not like Julia Roberts’ character at all – or Julia Roberts herself, whose persona is pretty down-to-earth.

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MF: Also Breakfast at Tiffany’s was such a watered-down version of Truman Capote’s book. Harlow was “Pretty Woman”, now that I think about it. That’s who she actually was. I could totally see her playing that part.

SOM: Harlow is so good in Red-Headed Woman.

MF: I remember the last time I saw her in something, I thought to myself, “This is a modern woman.” Jean Harlow was a totally modern woman.

SOM: She didn’t wear underwear.

MF: When your dress is cut on the bias, you really can’t wear underwear because everyone could see it. They didn’t have thongs back then. She was a modern woman.

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MF: I mean, think about the other actresses at that time: if you weren’t from New England, how could you relate to a Katharine Hepburn? Hepburn was aspirational but she wasn’t the girl who worked at the factory next to you. After Jean Harlow, Shelley Winters took up those parts but showed the darker side of them in Place in the Sun, Night of the Hunter

SOM: And Big Knife, with Jack Palance and Clifford Odets’ script. Shelley Winters plays the desperate starlet who has casting-couched her way to nowhere. They’re going to kill her to shut her up.

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Shelley Winters in “The Big Knife”

MF: Harlow hinted at that dark side. What I like about Harlow, and what I love about her in Dinner at Eight, is that as much as Marie Dressler wins that moment in Dinner at Eight, Harlow still wins. She wins the war. You don’t dislike her at all, or judge her. She’s adorable. It’s like that moment in Postcards from the Edge when you meet Annette Bening in that one scene with Meryl Streep. Meryl Streep is the star of the movie, but Bening ends up winning that scene.

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MF: Bening’s character is adorable in her whore-dom.

SOM: And she doesn’t give a shit that “endolphins” is not a word.

MF: That’s what it is. Shelley Winters came in in an era when …

SOM: Freud had kicked in.

MF: And so in Shelley Winters’ day, that kind of character had to suffer. What happened to the flapper? Where did she go? She became Jean Harlow. Harlow was like, “I’m going to win.”

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MF: Harlow’s sexuality was so full. It’s the same thing that Mike Nichols explored with Ann-Margret in Carnal Knowledge. Ann-Margret had an almost corpulent sexuality, boobs and hips, and in Carnal Knowledge she could barely get out of bed because of it. I mean, did that character ever leave the bed?

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MF: In Dinner at Eight, I think the first time we see Harlow, she’s in bed in one of those idealized white fluffy silky beds. Her version of sexuality was … she didn’t have to get scruffy like Crawford. She wasn’t a stick figure. She was a thick gal. In a way, on some level she’s a descendant of Mae West. But what’s also interesting is the little-girl-ness of what Harlow does sometimes. I always thought what a shame that Born Yesterday was written too late for her. What if she had been of the age to play that part in Born Yesterday? Not that Judy Holliday wasn’t great.

MF: Harlow had a fiery anger too that always felt very real. In Wife vs. Secretary, where she’s a secretary and everyone thinks she’s having an affair with the boss … but she isn’t. And her righteous indignation about it, the accusations coming at her only because of how she looks … And she’s innocent. She’s really good at it, and you really get it. It’s like what happens with Meghan [Murphy] sometimes. [A mutual friend. A glorious actress/singer, seen in the clip below.]

MF: I see the way girls who aren’t secure in themselves react to Meghan. They don’t take the time to figure out that Meghan’s actually a real girl’s girl. These other girls treat her suspiciously, like she’s going to be a man-eater.

SOM: But it’s their own insecurities.

MF: Right. And Harlow’s persona wasn’t exactly a man-eater either. Yes, she was a sex symbol. Marilyn Monroe was soft and whispery and pliable. Harlow wasn’t at all. Harlow was more like what Leslie Ann Warren does in Victor/Victoria.

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MF: Warren’s performance is more of an homage to Harlow than it is to anyone else. Lying in bed eating bonbons and then throwing them at you when they’re not good enough.

SOM: Harlow seems so much of her era but that’s only because she died in that era. How would she have translated into the more serious socially-conscious 40s or the rigid 50s? By that point she could have played gun-moll matriarchs, for sure, someone like Dillinger’s mother, or something like that.

MF: There were the Mary Astor types who played either someone’s mom or the Bad Girl. Was Jean Harlow a pinup? Did men … Obviously she was a sex symbol because her legacy has lasted. Everyone knows who she was. There’s that line in that horrible song: “Move like Harlow in Monte Carlo … “

SOM: And “Vogue.”

MF:Bette Davis, Harlow Jean…

SOM and MF, chanting in unison:
“Pictures of a beauty queen.
Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire.
Ginger Rogers. Dance on air.”

MF: But what did she represent at the time? On one level, I think people think she represents a pliant Marilyn Monroe thing but that wasn’t her at all. She was a full-faced tough cookie. I see more of Mae West in her, although Mae was a more cartoon-y version of sex. The lineage might go: Mae West to Jean Harlow to Shelley Winters.

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MF: I’d throw Carole Lombard in there too. People always talk about the actors who couldn’t transition from silents into talkie films because they had bad voices or thick accents. And yet Harlow did not have an elegant voice, by any means. I mean, hers were not dulcet tones.

SOM: I think her voice fit with the stories that were being told in the early 30s, the pre-Code stuff, with criminality, and vice, and gangsters. Films rooted in urban life. You needed the type of women who could do that. Women who you could believe were “kept women” and who had come up hard on the streets. Joan Blondell played those kinds of parts, although she could do spunky good sport side-kicks, too.

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Joan Blondell

SOM: Like Midnight Mary, with Loretta Young, who plays a character who was put into juvie, basically, when she was a kid, and then came out into a world of crime and prostitution. Those kinds of gritty films vanished within three years once the Code came down. But Harlow was very much a part of that.

MF: Harlow came at that hard tough material with a really light touch. That might be her biggest gift. Harlow’s ultimate legacy is the urban girl who makes her way into society. That’s Dinner at Eight. She does it half by guile, half by accident, as well as an attitude of: “I just happen to look like this. Sorry. But you know what? I’m not sorry at all.”

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Lead Belly weighs in:

 
 
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.

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“I just love telling stories. That’s what we do and it’s a good business to be in, especially if you know you have talent.” –Jensen Ackles

It’s his birthday today. I’ve written so much about him. My Supernatural re-caps are filled with tributes/explorations to his talent. He has no flaws as an actor. This is so rare. He can do anything. And he is lucky to have found a role where he could express ALL of himself, not just one or two aspects. He could include everything.

I wrote a piece praising his old-school brand of acting – the persona-essence movie star stuff – in all its subtletities and broad strokes. Not everyone can do it.

Jensen Ackles: The Beauty, the Burlesque, the Schtick, and the Erotic-Muse Reality Distortion Field

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“I was going upstream, against the current. I was coming from the North before the North had broken”. — John Montague

It’s his birthday today.

John Montague has great sentimental value to me. He was one of my father’s favorite poets. I remember being at home – some years ago, it had to be pre-covid (sob) – and Mum pulled out dad’s copy of Montague’s collected poems, and the book fell open – naturally – to the poem listed below. Because that was the page my dad turned to so often, the book “remembered.” I almost gasped. Mum has a copy of it taped up over her sink.

Montague, who died in 2016, was one of the most important poets from Northern Ireland in the 20th century. Montague was born in 1929 and hit his stride in middle-age, which happened to coincide with the explosion of violence in Northern Ireland in the late 60s and 70s. Montague was of Ulster Catholic stock (fascinatingly, though, he was born in Brooklyn: in 1933 his family sent the children back to Ireland to live with relatives). By the time the 60s/70s rolled around, Montague was published (stories and poems), but the political upheaval put him in the middle of seismic events. It was no time to be an Ivory Tower poet. In 1970, when Northern Ireland seethed with violence, he read one of his poems outside the Armagh Jail. He went to Yale, attended the Iowa Writer’s Workshop, lived in France for a bit, but mostly he lived in America. But he returned to Ireland in the 60s/70s – he came home in her moment of excruciating trial. Many Irish in exile returned to Ireland during those years – even though it might make more “sense” to stay away so, you know, you don’t get blown up. But I get it. If you live somewhere, you don’t want to be away from it when horrible things happen.

Montague taught at the University of Cork, and it was there that his influence as a poet started to spread … and spread … and spread. An entire generation was inspired by him, not only as a teacher but as a writer. His work is heartbreaking. Like I said, I can’t really speak of him in any way approaching distance, because of how much my father loved him.

His childhood was filled with a series of cultural/familial RUPTURES, and this informed his poetry. He spent his early years playing happily on the streets of Brooklyn. He was then sent away by his parents to live with his maiden aunts in Ireland, who remained in the dilapidated ancestral home in County Tyrone. So his first world suddenly vanished, and overnight he was a farm boy in Ulster. All of this gave him a perspective on childhood and memories that make him unique. The world can be lost at any moment. There is no continuity. Continuity is a lie. Familiarity does not exist, or at least it does not last. His childhood in Ireland was spent around elderly people. He lived in an ancient home falling into disrepair, being cared for by elderly aunts, and all of this made him see the past in a tragic and very specifically Irish way. What has been lost? Can it be regained?

This was my father’s favorite poem. He knew it by heart. It’s the poem the book fell open to naturally.

Like Dolmens Round My Childhood, The Old People

Like dolmens round my childhood, the old people.

Jamie MacCrystal sang to himself,
A broken song without tune, without words;
He tipped me a penny every pension day,
Fed kindly crusts to winter birds.
When he died his cottage was robbed,
Mattress and money box torn and searched.
Only the corpse they didn’t disturb.

Maggie Owens was surrounded by animals,
A mongrel bitch and shivering pups,
Even in her bedroom a she-goat cried.
She was a well of gossip defiled,
Fanged chronicler of a whole countryside:
Reputed a witch, all I could find
Was her lonely need to deride.

The Nialls lived along a mountain lane
Where heather bells bloomed, clumps of foxglove.
All were blind, with Blind Pension and Wireless,
Dead eyes serpent-flicked as one entered
To shelter from a downpour of mountain rain.
Crickets chirped under the rocking hearthstone
Until the muddy sun shone out again.

Mary Moore lived in a crumbling gatehouse,
Famous as Pisa for its leaning gable.
Bag-apron and boots, she tramped the fields
Driving lean cattle from a miry stable.
A by-word for fierceness, she fell asleep
Over love stories, Red Star and Red Circle,
Dreamed of gypsy love rites, by firelight sealed.

Wild Billy Eagleson married a Catholic servant girl
When all his Loyal family passed on:
We danced round him shouting “To Hell with King Billy,”
And dodged from the arc of his flailing blackthorn.
Forsaken by both creeds, he showed little concern
Until the Orange drums banged past in the summer
And bowler and sash aggressively shone.

Curate and doctor trudged to attend them,
Through knee-deep snow, through summer heat,
From main road to lane to broken path,
Gulping the mountain air with painful breath.
Sometimes they were found by neighbours,
Silent keepers of a smokeless hearth,
Suddenly cast in the mould of death.

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Review: EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert (2026)

My review of Baz Luhrmann‘s EPiC (Elvis Presley in Concert) is now up at Ebert . As someone intimately familiar with the two original concert films – the restoration-resurrection knocked me out. Last summer I introduced Elvis: That’s the Way It Is at Jacob Burns Film Center as part of their concert film series – it was sold out – Elvis still packs them in – so the film is really fresh in my mind. If you’re not aware: while making the biopic in 2022, Baz Luhrmann went on a quest to see if he could find the “lost” reels (audio / visual) of Elvis That’s the Way It Is – rumors of their existence have persisted for decades. And he found them. So there’s shit here I legit have not seen before. Luhrmann used Peter Jackson’s state-of-the-art restoration facilities to restore the films, adding in the new footage, and weaving it all together. It’s major. So it was fun to write about it.

Again: here’s my review of Baz Luhrmann’s EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert.

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“What a writer asks of his reader is not so much to like as to listen.” — poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“He suffered excessive popularity; he has now suffered three quarters of a century of critical neglect.” – Michael Schmidt, Lives of the Poets

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on this day in 1807, in Portland, Maine.

He was the first poet to dig into American themes and dialects, making them the focal point of his work. He is our first “local” poet. He was the first American poet to have a bust on display in Poet’s Corner at Westminster Abbey alongside chaps like, you know, Chaucer (an idol of Longfellow’s). Longfellow’s poems still carry a lot of sentimental feeling for Americans – he is still read, although he has suffered a critical decline. While he was alive, though, he was a celebrity. (This is not to say that critics were beloved of him during his lifetime. Audiences adored him but critics … They found him sanctimonious and didactic – which indeed he can be.)

More after the jump.

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“I, along with the critics, have never taken myself very seriously.” — Elizabeth Taylor

It’s her birthday today.

I wrote a big piece on my Substack about National Velvet/A Place in the Sun/Suddenly Last Summer/Cat on a Hot Tin Roof/Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf and General Hospital. Naturally there is more to discuss – her career lasted a lifetime – but these cover what I am trying to express about her skill and powers of imagination. Natural talent takes you only so far. Beauty takes you only so far. Her imagination is connected to her skill.

Elizabeth Taylor: Voluptuary and Imaginary

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“Imagination! Imagination! I put it first years ago, when I was asked what qualities I thought necessary for success on the stage.” –Ellen Terry

“It is only in comedy that people seem to know what I am driving at!”
— Ellen Terry

It’s her birthday.

In 1907, great English actress Ellen Terry (approaching her 50th year onstage) appeared in George Bernard Shaw’s satirical Captain Brassbound’s Conversion. Shaw wrote the part of Lady Cicely Waynflete for her, and he styled the male character, Captain Brassbound, for beloved English actor Henry Irving, who had just died the previous year (and worked with Ellen for decades). At this point, Terry was struggling with her eyesight, and there were no parts written for women of her age in the theatre. The more things change the more they stay the well you know the rest.

More, much more, about one of the biggest stars of the Victorian age, and a real inspiration to me after the jump:

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“I recognize no rights but human rights.” — Angelina Weld Grimké

“The ground upon which you stand is holy ground: never never surrender it.” — Angelina Weld Grimké

Poet/playwright Angelina Weld Grimké, born on this day in 1880, had a powerful familial legacy. Her paternal grandparents were a white slave owner and a mixed-race slave, who lived together and had three sons. Her father was the second Black person to graduate from Harvard. Her parents split up soon after she was born, and at first Angelina lived with her mother (who was white). When Angelina was sent back to live with her father, the mother basically broke contact with her daughter. The mother then committed suicide.

More power in the family tree: her grandfather’s sisters – Sarah and Angelina – were famous abolitionists, even more famous because they came from a slaveholding family in the South, and broke ranks with the family, with their culture, with everything. These women were Angelina Weld Grimké’s great-aunts. One of her aunts was Charlotte Forten Grimké, a Black anti-slavery activist as well as a poet (see Angelina’s poem about her aunt below).


Charlotte Forten Grimké

Grimké stayed with an aunt and uncle in Washington D.C. while attending school. She got a degree in physical education from the Boston School of Gymnastics, and then worked as an English teacher at a couple of different schools. She took summer classes at Harvard. She eventually lived in New York. Her poems and essays were published in Crisis, the magazine for the NAACP, looping her in with the Harlem Renaissance.

In 1915, D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation was released. It became a blockbuster hit, the first. It was screened at the White House. To this day, it is praised for its artistic innovations (fair enough), while also being criticized for how FUCKING RACIST it is (also fair). I mean …

There is a myth – perpetuated by people who don’t know anything about history – that everybody “back then” was just a-okay FINE with Birth of a Nation. The OPPOSITE is true. The film was protested ferociously at the time. The film caused an uproar. People protested the theatres. Writers wrote about it. The NAACP organized protests. Don’t ERASE these courageous pissed-off people just because you can’t be bothered to actually read a book.

In order to consolidate the protests against Birth of a Nation, Crisis called for works by black writers to counter-act Birth of a Nation‘s racist narrative. Angelina Weld Grimké heeded that call and wrote Rachel, a play about a black family in the North, during the Great Migration. Rachel is about lynching and racial discrimination, and it’s also about motherhood (the play’s original title was Blessed are the Barren, which gives you some sense of Grimké’s ambivalence on the topic). How can you be a mother and protect your children in a world where there is such a thing as lynching? This is the central theme of the play.

Rachel was first produced in D.C. and then it moved to New York. It is the first play by an Black woman to be produced in this country in professional venues. It got very good responses initially, and it rode the waves of publicity from Birth of a Nation. After that, it lapsed into obscurity, although it has recently been re-discovered, as a fairly important early work addressing the realities of African-American life in the early years of the 20th century. There have also been a number of recent productions of it.

In more recent years, her lesbianism – which she wrote about in her journal and in letters – has gotten more attention. She knew who she was. But what were her relationships? How did she navigate this? One can only speculate. It’s hard to know what exactly was going on – there just isn’t a lot of evidence. Her moment in the sun was so brief. She died in 1958.

Here are a couple of her poems:

El Beso

Twilight—-and you
Quiet—-the stars;
Snare of the shine of your teeth,
Your provocative laughter,
The gloom of your hair;
Lure of you, eye and lip;
Yearning, yearning,
Languor, surrender;
Your mouth,
And madness, madness,
Tremulous, breathless, flaming,
The space of a sigh;
Then awakening—remembrance,
Pain, regret—-your sobbing;
And again, quiet—-the stars,
Twilight—-and you.

To Keep the Memory of Charlotte Forten Grimké

Still are there wonders of the dark and day:
The muted shrilling of shy things at night,
So small beneath the stars and moon;
The peace, dream-frail, but perfect while the light
Lies softly on the leaves at noon.
These are, and these will be
Until eternity;
But she who loved them well has gone away.

Each dawn, while yet the east is veiléd grey,
The birds about her window wake and sing;
And far away, each day, some lark
I know is singing where the grasses swing;
Some robin calls and calls at dark.
These are, and these will be
Until eternity;
But she who loved them well has gone away.

The wild flowers that she loved down green ways stray;
Her roses lift their wistful buds at dawn,
But not for eyes that loved them best;
Only her little pansies are all gone,
Some lying softly on her breast.
And flowers will bud and be
Until eternity;
But she who loved them well has gone away.

Where has she gone? And who is there to say?
But this we know: her gentle spirit moves
And is where beauty never wanes,
Perchance by other streams, mid other groves;
And to us there, ah! she remains
A lovely memory
Until eternity;
She came, she loved, and then she went away.

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Eleanor Roosevelt, the D.A.R., and Marian Andersen

86 years ago today, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt publicly resigned from the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) after the organization barred famous contralto Marian Anderson from singing at Constitution Hall. Howard University had invited Anderson to sing in Washington but the DAR owned the hall. They said No.

Here’s a draft of the strongly worded letter she sent to the President of the DAR, Mrs. Henry M. Robert, Jr.

Roosevelt also wrote about it in her weekly column, saying, “To remain as a member implies approval of that action, and therefore I am resigning.”

To those who can’t seem to grasp that widely-discussed news events existed before the age of social media, this was a well-publicized uproar that brought national headlines.

The federal government – at the urging of the First Lady – invited Marian Anderson to come to Washington a couple months later – on Easter Sunday – and give a concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. 75,000 people showed up.

Anderson wrote later that looking out at that massive crowd was terrifying: “I could not run away from this situation. If I had anything to offer, I would have to do so now.” One of the songs she sang was “My Country Tis Of Thee.” Amazingly, we have video of this.

Please note that she changed the lyrics from “Of thee I sing” to “Of thee WE sing.”

A couple months after THAT, the NAACP chose Anderson for their annual Springarn Medal “for her special achievement in music.” Eleanor Roosevelt attended and presented Anderson with the award. This is truly a First Lady using her platform to “Be Best.”

Eventually, years later, Anderson DID sing at the venue that had barred her entry, and in 2014 a tribute concert for Anderson was held at Constitution Hall. Toscanini said that a voice like Anderson’s comes along once in a generation.

 
 
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Posted in Music, On This Day | Tagged | 4 Comments