James Henry Nixon "The Tempest"
Looking back on 2008, it seems I've had a bit of a Tempestuous year.
It all started in April with Yinka Shonibare MBE's show, "Prospero's Monsters" at James Cohan Gallery, which was a look at the famous Shakespearean characters through the lens of colonization and imperialism.
Then in September, we saw a version of The Tempest at Classic Stage Company starring Mandy Patamkin, which was staggeringly good. A minimalist square set, accented only by sand and twinkling stars provided a perfect foil for the impassioned performances of the cast. It also contained one of the most moving wedding scenes I have ever witnessed.
A few weeks later, I watched the Greenaway film Prospero's Books
for the first time. To call this film sumptuous and visionary is to grossly understate the case. The text is a deconstructed version of the play, with dialogue and plot points sort of collaged together against eye-boggling cinematography. The whole thing takes places in a watery, Venetian styled palace, and is filled with ruffled costumes, fantastical dancers, and gorgeous, animated books. Incidentally, you can buy a book about the art direction and behind the scenes details of the film, called Prospero's Books: A Film of the Shakespeare's The Tempest, which I highly recommend. The actual film itself is much harder to come by, but you should have some luck on eBay or, as in my case, through a friend with great taste. Hopefully Criterion or someone will release it again some day soon.
Lastly, the above inspired me to reread issue 75 of Sandman. Which is really really good, but that's all I'll say about that, for those who have not read it.
I suppose I'll complete this post, appropriately enough with:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
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