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Re-reading Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale! In act 4 scene 3, we meet… the king of thieves!

The previous scene established that we’re in Bohemia know, caught us up on some characters, and set up some plot. And now Autolycus struts out on stage. Who is this? The character is described as a rogue in the text, with the Folger footnotes calling him a con man. The Winter’s Tale is a fantasy play, and Autolycus brings the magic simply because he’s a figure from mythology, a demigod even. Ovid’s Metamorphosis, allegedly one of William Shakespeare’s favorite books from his childhood, has a lengthy description of Autolycus as the son of Mercury a.k.a. Hermes. Autolycus is described is having Mercury’s great speed, but also able to cast illusions and make people see whatever he wants them to see. This made him the greatest of all thieves. The king of thieves, you might say.

Who am I kidding? You already know all about Autolycus because you’ve seen Xena: Warrior Princess. So, let’s go there! The Xena version of Autolycus, played by the great Bruce Cambell, is often a buffoon, making it up as he goes along. But at other times, he can walk the walk with cool moves and lots of James Bond-like gadgets. At the end of the day, Autolycus is one of the show’s heroes. He has a heart of gold when it comes down it, and he famously refuses to kill. The crossover with The Winter’s Tale is that both versions have a lot of clever wordplay and a sense of being unpredictable. For many years, Bruce Campbell has been a supporter of the big Shakespeare shows up in Portland, so he must be familiar with Shakespeare’s Autolycus.

Getting back to The Winter’s Tale, Autolycus enters with a song. Like Shakespeare’s rhyming dialogue, everyone has their opinion about how songs in these plays are supposed to be performed. Rather than debate about it, I say leave it up to each actor and director to figure it out for themselves. Autolycus’ song is about winter turning to spring, and how, in a roundabout way, this whets his appetite to commit thievery. He jokes about spending time with his aunts during springtime, and the Folger edition footnotes state that “aunts” in this context means sex workers. I’d love to know how the fine folks at Folger reached that conclusion.

Autolycus says he was formerly a servant of Florizell. He says his business is “in sheets.” By all accounts, this is impossibly not a double entendre, but him having recently been in the business of buying and trading linens of all kinds. But then he talks more about how “the silly cheat” is his real revenue, and how is goal is to avoid the stocks. (Not to get caught, in other words.) Autolycus also mentions his father, and says he was born under Mercury, as in the astrological sign and not the god. But I’d still consider this a shout-out to Ovid’s version.

The shepherd’s son returns to the scene, rattling off what’s basically a long grocery list of stuff his family wants him to get for an upcoming sheep-shearing fest. It’s a lot of twisty-turny wordplay, making the son quite a fool. (Remember that the Pelican edition names this character “the clown.”) There’s a mention of his sister, which we the audience know as Perdita. One big question here is, if it’s sixteen years later, how are portraying this character now? Are there ways to get this across with costuming and makeup? Was he a played by a kid in his earlier scene? Is he the shepherd’s adult son, and we’re trusting the audience to accept that time has passed? Despite the time passage, he acts like the same character as before, so maybe not a lot of change is needed.  

Autolycus watches him in secret, making an insult that I don’t dare repeat here, and then he approaches the son, pretending to be a man who has just been injured in a robbery. Autolycus steals the son’s money. The stage direction tells us he does that, but not how. It’s up to each production. Unaware that he’s being robbed, the son offers to give Autolycus some of his money, but Autolycus makes a big deal about being so honorable that he doesn’t take any – even though he already has.

Autolycus tells the son that he was robbed by a man named… Autolycus! In doing so, he lays out his own backstory. Florizell threw him out of the court because of his vices. He then worked as a process server (which is apparently much the same thing as it is today), he was an ape trainer (!) and he put on a “motion,” meaning a puppet show, about the Prodigal Son. He even says that Autolycus is the one who put him in his clothes, which I suppose is true.

Autolycus also says he once went about with “troll-my-dames.” This is a reference to a board game better known as Troll Madam, or Pidgeon Hole. It’s pretty simple. There’s a board with holes along the bottom. Different holes have different point values, and players compete to flick marbles through the holes. The joke here is that the game is seen as something childish and frivolous, and not something you’d play at the prince’s court. A double meaning, however, could mean this refers to Autolycus’ womanizing ways, also frowned upon at court.

Autolycus miraculously recovers from his injuries, and the son wishes him well. All alone, Autolycus tells the audience that he will go to the sheep-shearing content, except that all the rubes there will be his “sheep” to steal from. He gives us one final verse from his song, about coming to a fence on a long journey, only to hop over it and keep going.

Next: Perdita’s deets.

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Want more? Check out my ongoing serial, THE SUBTERKNIGHTS, on Kindle Vella. A man searches for his missing sister in a sprawling city full of far-out tech, strange creatures, and secret magic. It’s a sci-fi/fantasy hybrid full of action, romance, mystery, and laughs. The first ten episodes are FREE! Click here for a list of all my books and serials.

Re-reading Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale! It’s a whole new play in a new locale for act 4 scene 2. Welcome to Bohemia!

This scene begins with Polixenes, the king of Bohemia, and Camillo, a former Sicilian lord. Polixenes says he cannot grant Camillo’s request, that it would be like sickness or even death to do so. Camillo says it’s been fifteen years since he’d been home, and that Leontes, who he describes as “the penitent king,” has requested he return. It’s at this point we must stop and recap Camillo’s deal. He’s the guy that Leontes wanted to murder Polixenes. When Camillo denied Leontes and told Polixenes of the plan, Camillo fled Sicilia along with the rest of the Sicilians. Now we’ve caught up to him.

Polixenes says Camillo can’t leave, not because of anything Leontes said or did, but because Camillo has made himself so valuable to Polixenes over the years. We’re in comedy mode now, and Polixenes launches into a long list of Camillo’s good qualities and everything he’s accomplished. It’s a long speech of twisty-turny who’s-on-first wordplay. I imagine a comedy bit where Polixenes says all this while Camillo tries to follow along, only to get befuddled.

Polixenes changes the subject and asks where his son Florizell is. Camillo says Florizel seems happy, but he hasn’t been around the court to attend to any of his princely duties. Polixenes admits he’s had people spying on Florizell (helicopter parenting!), and that the boy has been hanging out around a lowly shepherd’s house. Except not so lowly, because the shepherd experienced a financial windfall and is better off than his neighbors. We the audience know this is the shepherd we met earlier, who got the bag of gold along with the abandoned baby Perdita.

Camillo confirms this by saying he has also heard of this shepherd, and that the man’s daughter is “of most rare note.” He says the girl has become well known far beyond the simple farm cottage and its neighbors. Polixenes concludes that this girl is why his son has spent so much time near the cottage. Polixenes says he and Camillo will don disguises and investigate. Camillo says, “I willingly obey your command,” showing he’s already changed his mind about wanting to go back to Sicilia.

That’s the scene, some plot setup and a few jokes. The big deal is that we’re fully in another location now, a whole other country from Leontes’ court. So how to get that across on stage? Changes in costumes, lighting, and probably scenery are the most obvious ways. There’s also a change in attitude. Polixenes’ jokey nature recalls our other Sicilian Archidamus seeming laid back and romantic earlier. So far, they truly do seem what we think of as “Bohemian” in this way.

Next: The king of thieves!

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Want more? Check out my ongoing serial, THE SUBTERKNIGHTS, on Kindle Vella. A man searches for his missing sister in a sprawling city full of far-out tech, strange creatures, and secret magic. It’s a sci-fi/fantasy hybrid full of action, romance, mystery, and laughs. The first ten episodes are FREE! Click here for a list of all my books and serials.

Re-reading Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale! This play is of note among Shakespeare’s canon because of how different it is. Case in point is act 4 scene 1, in which Father Time suddenly walks onto the stage.

This scene is simple enough on the surface. It’d be easy enough to put up a title card that says “Sixteen years later,” but this is Shakespeare, so we’re kicking it up a bit. A character identified as “Time” comes on stage to discuss his nature, and then he tells us sixteen years has passed. He tells us we’re leaving Leontes behind (but not really) and entering Bohemia. He introduces to Polixenes’ son Florizell, and re-introduces us to Perdita, who has been raised by the Shepherd of the previous scene. That’s about it, but the scene still gives us a lot to deal with.

Many editions of the play name Time as the chorus. Lots of Shakespeare plays have a chorus acting as narrator. Everybody has a different idea as to what the chorus was and how it was played traditionally, and there’s even more modern interpretations – far too many to list here. Normally, it’s one actor making the chorus into a character. Sometimes you see the main cast take this narration role, with each actor doing a line at a time. I’ve never seen someone attempt this as the classic Greek chorus where everyone’s in big masks speaking in unison, but I’ll bet somebody’s done it somewhere.

But the Chorus in The Winter’s Tale is no mere chorus, it’s Time. This is certainly a choice. Time starts this speech by talking about the nature of his existence, saying he pleases and tries all. The footnotes say “try” means to test in this sense, but I don’t see why it can’t also mean that Time samples all things as well. Time further says that all laws, customs, and the “ancient’st order” are under his power. In other words, all laws and customs, no matter how strict, eventually answer to time. But Time is a kindly figure, asking the audience’s allowance as he feels his story pales in comparison to the present in which the audience lives.

Shakespeare doesn’t use the phrase “Father Time,” although the footnotes in all my books do. We’ve all seen the images of Father Time, usually around New Year. It’s an old man, usually holding an hourglass or a clock, sometimes with wing (as in “time flies”) and sometimes with a scythe, crossing over with the Grim Reaper. Time in The Winter’s Tale mentions both wings and an hourglass, so the costumers can go nuts with costumes and props. When Time mentions Florizell and Perdita, it would be easy enough to have them appear on stage or on screen, so the audience identifies with them.

The origins of Father Time are murky, though they seem to come from Cronos, the Greek god of time. Cronos is more often associated with harvest time and autumn than with our modern-day New Year, but The Winter’s Tale productions often depict this part of the story transforming from winter to spring, so that works.  

Are there other options to portray this character besides the classic Father Time or a generic narrator? If we’re going to put Pythia, a.k.a. the Oracle of Delphi, on stage as time, then maybe she could double as Time. Remember Archidamus, who we met in act 1 scene 1, who offered some exposition and never appeared again? What if he was Time all along? What about that unnamed Lord who followed Leontes around? What if he was Time? If we’re going huge with a far-out epic fantasy retelling, than Time could be any sort of otherworldly wizard, or creature, or god.

Also, this speech is written entirely in rhyme. Everybody has an opinion about how rhyming dialogue should be performed. A lot of drama teachers tell students not to make it sound like rhyme, to the point where word emphasis gets out of whack so all rhyming words are downplayed. Other actors and directors lean into the rhymes in the hopes of giving these lines a sing-song feel. If you ask me, there’s no right answer. The director and actor should sit down with the text and try a bunch of different approaches until they find what works for them.

Time ends the scene by promising not to make prophecy. He then leaves a blessing with the audience, telling them that if they never have a bad time, he hopes they never do.

Next: You can’t go home again.

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Want more? Check out my ongoing serial, THE SUBTERKNIGHTS, on Kindle Vella. A man searches for his missing sister in a sprawling city full of far-out tech, strange creatures, and secret magic. It’s a sci-fi/fantasy hybrid full of action, romance, mystery, and laughs. The first ten episodes are FREE! Click here for a list of all my books and serials.

Re-reading Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale! Now that the business with the bear is over, act 3 scene 3 concludes as we find ourselves in a whole new play with new characters.

Antigonus has left the baby Perdita alone in the woods, only to be chased off by the play’s infamous bear. Now we meet two new characters, the shepherd and his son. But wait, who are these two? The Folger edition uses those names, but the Oxford edition names them “old shepherd” and “clown.” The Pelican edition and the RSC edition both split the difference with just “shepherd” and “clown.” OpenSourceShakespeare.com goes one step further on the characters list with the credit “Clown, son of the old shepherd.” Why these differences? As we all know, different versions of Shakespeare’s plays were saved in various folios and quartos and whatnot. I wonder if maybe the characters aren’t named because some well-known comedy duo of the time was meant to play them.

Anyway, after the bear disappears, the shepherd comes on stage with a speech about how he wishes the youth could just skip the ages between ten and twenty-three. This is some funny foreshadowing, in that we’re about to have one such time skip in the next scene. He blames the youth for scaring away his sheep. The shepherd then spots the baby, calling it “the bairn.” More differences: The Oxford edition has a stage direction, “He sees the babe,” which is absent in all the other editions. Then we get some classic Shakespeare ‘80s teen sex comedy jokes, in which the shepherd assumes the baby is the result of a gentlewoman engaging in “trunk-work” and “behind-door work.” (Hehe, double entendre.)

The shepherd’s son joins him, and I’ll call him that because I’m reading mostly from the Folger edition. The shepherd is about to show his son the baby, but then the son describes two sights he’s seen. First, he says he’s seen a ship just off the coast being swallowed up by the sea. This would be the mariner we met at the start of this scene, and his entire crew, being doomed. This is inevitable, though, so that little Perdita is truly alone in this moment, and she has nowhere else to go.

In an interesting detail, the son says the ship was “flap-dragoned” by the sea. The Pelican edition says this means “swallowed whole,” but the other editions have bizarre footnotes about a game where revelers at parties would try to catch raisins from flaming brandy. I had no idea what the heck this meant. It took a lot of googling, but I finally learned this was a Christmastime party game more commonly known as “snapdragon.” A large plate was filled with raisins or nuts, and then covered with brandy. The brandy was lit on fire, so it made small blue flames. Then partygoers took turns reaching into the fire and snatching out raisins without getting burned. The flames are mild enough so that players only got a slight sensation of heat, nothing more. A helpful Atlas Obscura article from December 2020 has all the details about how to play safely.

In a movie adaptation, would it be worth it to depict this shipwreck on screen? It’d be a big and complicated set piece for a simple plot point, but maybe it can be combined with Antigonus and the bear attack somehow. Like, the two tragic events could be edited to happen side by side, or the bear could chase Antigonus right onto the deck and then the bear brings the ship down. The possibilities are endless, except that the shipwreck isn’t really related much to the characters and the main story. It can’t be a distraction from the plot.

Speaking of which, the son next tells us about a scene we didn’t see. He says he met an injured Antigonus in the woods, who managed to introduce himself before being chased off the bear again, and properly killed this time. Does this detail upset plans for anyone who wants to make the bear attack into a big theatrical moment? It would be easy enough to have the son witness the bear attack from the sidelines, or leave the grislier details up to the imagination.

The shepherd then shows his son the baby, suggesting the child might be a changeling. Then they find the papers and the box of gold Antigonus left behind. The shepherd says it’s fairy gold. There’s a lot of magic/fantasy stuff to deal with here. “Changeling” refers to spooky stories about fairies stealing babies from their cribs, leaving evil fairy lookalike babies in their place. Other stories say that if fairies give you their gold, it could make you incredibly wealthy. But if you tell anyone where you got the gold from, then it will become cursed and bring you only misery.

Does the shepherd believe in all this fairy talk, or is this mere playful wordplay? I think making him superstitious gives him a country bumpkin feel, in contrast to all the kings and lords we’ve been dealing with. Also, I’ve been considering a far-out epic fantasy version of this story with the Sicilians as devil/demon types and the Bohemians as angelic/heavenly types. Therefore, the baby could be something truly otherworldly from the shepherd’s perspective. But don’t worry – he describes the baby as beautiful more than once, and shows affection for her throughout this scene, no matter where she came from.

The shepherd and his son talk about finding and burying Antigonus’ remains, which the son says are scattered about in pieces. (Yikes.) Strangely, the shepherd doesn’t say outright that he’s adopting the baby. It’s understood that he’s taking the gold, that he will be sworn to secrecy, and he ends the scene by saying “We’ll do good deeds.” I suppose that’s enough.

Next: Rhyme time.

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Want more? Check out my ongoing serial, THE SUBTERKNIGHTS, on Kindle Vella. A man searches for his missing sister in a sprawling city full of far-out tech, strange creatures, and secret magic. It’s a sci-fi/fantasy hybrid full of action, romance, mystery, and laughs. The first ten episodes are FREE! Click here for a list of all my books and serials.