Hamlet (Kishworjit, 2001)

Shakespeare’s plays enjoy a great deal of popularity across the world, yet most of us study Shakespeare’s local productions. Alexa Alice Joubin‘s Shakespeare and East Asia (Oxford 2021) addresses this gap through a wide-ranging analysis of stage and film adaptations related to Japan, South Korea, China, Singapore, Tibet, Hong Kong, and Taiwan.

The New Books Network interview about the book by MIT Global Shakespeares co-founder Alexa Alice Joubin is now live. The interview was hosted by Amanda Kennell (North Carolina State University).

The book focuses on post-1950 adaptations that were distributed across or associated with the Sinophone world and East Asia. She identifies a quartet of characteristics that distinguish these adaptations: innovations in form, the use of Shakespeare for social critiques, the questioning of gender roles, and the development of multilingual patterns of circulation.

The adaptations are alternately funny, dramatic, and thought-provoking, but never boring.

Several of the works described in both the interview and the book are available online through the MIT Global Shakespeares Video and Performance Archive.

Podcast: https://newbooksnetwork.com/shakespeare-and-east-asia

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We are pleased to announce the publication of MIT Global Shakespeares co-founder Alexa Alice Joubin’s Screening Shakespeare, a new, open-access, online textbook with interactive learning modules. You can learn about key concepts of film and adaptation studies. The openly-licensed book is free to all. You can learn about film theory, mise-en-scène, cinematography, sound and music, and adaptation strategies in the context of global Shakespeare.

This online book is designed with the principle of multimodal access. There are multiple pathways to the contents with plenty of cross-references.

Click one of the thematic “tiles” on the homepage to access the contents in a non-linear fashion.

You can also navigate this site, in a more traditional manner, by way of drop-down menus that replicate the experience of leafing through a codex book with a table of contents.

The lesson units cross-reference one another. They do not have to be read in any particular order.

This online book is supported directly by the George Washington University Adapting Course Materials for Equity Faculty Grant and indirectly by the Online Course Development grant. less

What if some Shakespearean characters are transgender or played by trans actors? Examples include Viola as pageboy Cesario in Twelfth Night, Falstaff as the Witch of Brainford in The Merry Wives of Windsor, Rosalind as Ganymede in As You Like It, and Imogen disguised as the boy Fidele in Cymbeline. Different kinds of trans practices elicit contrasting reactions. While trans masculine acts, such as those staged by Viola’s Cesario, are often performed in the vein of empowerment, trans feminine characters, such as Falstaff’s Witch of Brainford, are ridiculed by other characters and by the audiences.

When actors embody a role, their own identities—perceived or self-claimed—enrich the meanings of the performance. One of the key aspects of identities on stage is gender as a social practice. In Shakespeare’s plays, gender variance is more than just a dramatic device derived from the early modern practice of cross-dressing.

What is “true” in a fictional character can be determined by the rhetoric in various dramatic conventions such as trial scenes and formal debates. By taking into consideration a character’s actions and choice of words we can deduce their personal truth in a performative context.

Gendered language plays an important role in the acclaimed South Korean period drama film The King and the Clown (dir. Lee Joon-ik, 2005). The tragicomic film chronicles the life of a masculine and a trans-feminine vagabond performers—Jang-saeng and Gong-gil—in the fifteenth-century Joseon Dynasty. The trans-feminine Gong-gil is played by a cisgender actor.

As a catalyst for the twists and turns of the plot, Gong-gil is an Ophelia figure. She is unable to express herself and lack inner direction. Like Ophelia, Gong-gil’s life is influenced by men around her. Like Ophelia, Gong-gil is objectified by the male gaze as a love interest. In one scene Gong-gil wears an opera headdress ornately decorated with flowers, similar to Ophelia’s garland. In another scene, Gong-gil is found lying in a pool of their blood after a suicide attempt.

Notably the trans protagonist is neither in flamboyant drag nor struggling with gender transition. She presents as female throughout the entire film. There is no gender crossing to speak of. She is not moving between different identities. The King and the Clown enables its central trans-feminine character to simply exist as themselves without justification.

Over time, the king, a composite of Hamlet and Claudius, becomes fond of Gong-gil. The king is clearly drawn to Gong-gil’s appearance as an exotic object, while Gong-gil seems to have sympathy for the unhappy king. This causes displeasure of Nok-su, once the king’s favorite consort.

In one scene, Nok-su storms in on the king and Gong-gil in an intimate scene and taunts Gong-gil about her “real” gender. She tries to undress Gong-gil in front of the king, creating a great deal of tension. Presumably Nok-su’s dramatic act of “gender reveal” is to expose Gong-gil’s as an abject subject with alleged physical deficiencies and thereby dissuade the king from bestowing further favors on Gong-gil.

Nok-su is as frustrated by Gong-gil’s version of femininity as she is jealous of the newcomer who is replacing her as the king’s favorite subject. The act of peeling the dress off Gong-gil is symbolic of her desire to authenticate embodied identities, as if to up the ante in the competition.

Such revelation scenes are a familiar trope in transgender narratives. These scenes are part of what is known as the reveal in trans cinema, a device of exposure and a shock device about a bodily truth. Such scenes subject trans characters to “the pressures of a pervasive gender/sex system that seeks to make public the ‘truth’ of the trans person’s gendered and sexed body.” Such revelation scenes reenact struggles over the body’s meanings.

Transgender theory enables us to reclaim gender variant performances and expand our collective archive of global Shakespeare. Multiple gendered crossings in The King and the Clown, among other works, disrupt cisgender assumptions. By reading Gong-gil as a transgender Ophelia we build a more capacious theoretical model to elucidate not only performance histories of sexual transformation.

Performance theories inflected by transgender studies destabilize the line between normalcy and the deviant in and beyond scripted performance.

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Excerpted from Alexa Alice Joubin, “Transgender Theory and Global Shakespeare,” in Performing Shakespearean Appropriations: Essays in Honor of Christy Desmet, ed. Darlena Ciraulo, Matthew Kozusko, Robert Sawyer (Lanham, MD: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2022), 161-176.

More about the chapter.

Full text in PDF.

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The concept of “interface” is often overlooked in the study of performances. The screen interface immerses audiences in an alternate universe in such a way that audiences rarely question the screen’s aesthetic function. That interface often makes itself transparent even though it is generating the dramaturgical meanings central to the narratives. Performance, as a medium, interfaces with textual variants, different scripts, the stage or the film set, and audience expectations. Within some Shakespearean performances, screens are literal and metaphorical interfaces. The interface between humans (story-tellers) and machines (technologies of representation) governs the very logic of screened performance as a narrative medium. Let us take a look at a few examples.

Ralph Fiennes’ 2011 film Coriolanus uses the fictional Fidelis TV channel as an interface to connect three key time zones of (1) the 1990s setting of dramatic action that fuses (2) Elizabethan era ideologies that are (3) mapped onto a Roman history inspired by Thomas Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans (1579).

Set “in a place calling itself Rome” in Serbia, a cinematic space created by the newsreels with references to the Yugoslav Wars, this film leans heavily on the screen-within-the-film as a framing device and interface. Protestors are shown filming, on their cell phones, Coriolanus’ (Ralph Fiennes) speech vilifying the plebeians during a conflict at the grain depot.

Jon Snow plays himself as a newscaster who interviews various characters while delivering breaking news in Shakespeare’s blank verse. Multiple scenes show characters, such as Aufidius (Gerard Butler) or Volumnia (Vanessa Redgrave), glued to a television set in tense, pivotal moments.

Appropriately enough, for a film bent on allegorizing the role of public media in modern political life, Coriolanus is banished during a live interview in a television studio. The co-presence of media coverage and on-screen action recasts the film viewers as consumers of the news. The television screen within the film reframes the movie screen in front of the film viewers. The interface of television news goes far beyond their typical function of silent exposition to become the message itself.

Famous lines from Shakespeare can themselves become a gateway to alternate realities. “To be or not to be,” for example, is used as an interface between film viewers and values traditionally associated with “Shakespeare.” John McTiernan’s Last Action Hero (1993) depicts the adventure of Danny Madigan (Austin O’Brien), a schoolboy who is a fan of the action film hero Jack Slater (Arnold Schwarzenegger).

When Danny’s English teacher screens the scene of Hamlet’s soliloquy from Laurence Olivier’s film, a bored Danny envisions the scene as it should be played, starring a Terminator-esque Slater in Olivier’s costumes, who smashes his way through stalled moments in Hamlet without hesitation. Watch the Hamlet scene in Last Action Hero here. 

Recast in the role of Hamlet, Slater asks himself, “to be or not to be?” Lighting up the cigar in his mouth, he declares “not to be” as he ignites explosives without hesitation, killing all the characters in Hamlet. The scene is an example of how films interface other modes of presentation. Olivier’s psychological realism and clichéd theatrical style of performance on screen are overwritten by the school boy’s imagination that draws on more contemporary cultural reference points. James Cameron’s Terminator 2: Judgment Day made Schwarzenggar a bankable global star in 1991, two years before the release of Last Action Hero.

These uses of screens-within-the-film or Shakespearean artifacts as an interface anticipate the Wooster Group’s meta-media and multi-media stage production of Hamlet (dir. Elizabeth LeCompte, 2007) in which the actors projected onstage a filmed version of Richard Burton’s performance in a 1964 Hamlet (dir. John Gielgud) on the Broadway. Burton’s onscreen Hamlet ghosts Scott Shepherd’s onstage Hamlet.

In addition to the 1964 Hamlet, which is playing on a big screen upstage as pre-recorded material, another smaller screen is present downstage. The smaller screen, standing behind the actors but in front of the large screen, shows a live video stream of their action primarily in the form of closeup shots of their faces. Actors speak the same lines synchronously with Burton’s performance. On some occasions, the soundtrack from Burton’s video contributed to uncanny dual soundtracks of live and pre-recorded speeches. On other occasions, the actors appeared to be ventriloquizing, or mouthing, lines from Burton’s video, because the louder soundtrack of the project drowned out the stage action.

Three observations can be made about these instances of interfacing Shakespeare onscreen. First, the screen as interface has created deep structural connections among even works that seem to be isolated instances of artistic creation. The connections extend through the cultural practice of interfacing different media, such as film, theatre, visual arts. The cases above relate more frequently to one another, through the screening interface, than to Shakespeare as sanctified source material.

Secondly, these works are products of meta-cinematic and meta-theatrical operations and contestations among genres for primacy. The meanings of these narratives are shaped by the interface between disparate genres.

Thirdly, this interface culture has given rise to digitally enhanced global Shakespeare performances. While in the 1990s audiences typically encountered Shakespeare for the first time through film or theatre, in our times the initial encounters occur predominantly on digital platforms in the form of video clips, memes or quotes. It has become more common for non-professional readers and audiences to encounter Shakespeares in fragmented forms. “To be or not to be,” even in fragmented forms and out-of-context quotations, carries weight and shifts the meanings of some characters’ action.

It is now commonplace to integrate Shakespeare in traditional film format on the big screen into personalized experiences on the small screen for personal entertainment or for education. The interface of the screen is now a portal through which audiences experience Shakespeare’s narratives with a range of associated artistic elements including costumes, sets, and music.

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This is an excerpt from Alexa Alice Joubin’s “Interfacing Shakespeare Onscreen” in The Routledge Handbook of Shakespeare and Interface (2023), ed. Clifford Werier and Paul Budra, pp. 332-344 [PDF]

Abstract

The screen as an interface immerses audiences in an alternate universe. As a result, that interface seems transparent. Through analyses of performances that call attention to filmic genres, such as Edgar Wright’s parody film, Hot Fuzz (2007), and the Wooster Group’s multimedia production, Hamlet (2007), as well as (meta)theatrical operations on small screens within cinematic and digital performances, such as Ralph Fiennes’ Coriolanus (2011), the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Dream (2021), and Michael Almereyda’s film Hamlet (2000), this chapter argues that the screen is an interface that generates dramatic meanings and that promotes audiences’ self-reflexivity.

Performance, as a medium, interfaces with textual variants, audience expectations, and site-specific arts—artworks produced and consumed at specific physical sites and in designated social spaces. Performances with screens as interface, in particular, create celluloid and digital pathways to various ideologies. The interface between humans (story-tellers) and machines (technologies of representation) governs the very logic of screened performance as a narrative medium.

With case studies showing how screens big and small have become more than technologies of representation, this chapter reveals the central place of screen as interface between the different universes of the characters, the performers, and the audiences.

Read the full text here.

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Recently, anti-feminist, white nationalist, (trans)misogynist, anti-immigrant, and homophobic movements have used “genderism” to evoke a range of disruptive identities and to attack legal and social human rights [watch the video recording]. On April 14, 2022, the George Washington University Humanities Center hosted an event entitled “Trans Studies and Why It Matters: A Conversation with Alexa Alice Joubin“; the event was chaired by Lynn Westwater. The conversation explored how transgender studies can combat intersectional forms of oppression and what the history of transgender studies can teach us about our current social crisis.

Here is an excerpt from the conversation. For the video recording, please scroll down.

This is not a full transcript but a highlight of the event. Please note the following content warning: gender-based violence and discrimination, film clips and verbal discussion of rape and misgendering acts.

Lynn Westwater: Gender has emerged as the latest wedge issue. Vladimir Putin used scaremongering about gender and sexual orientation to support his authoritarian agenda. In the midst of Russian invasion of Ukraine, Putin took time to complain about “cancel culture” in the West, claiming that Western elites had “canceled” J.K. Rowling because she “did not please fans of so-called gender freedoms.” Putin is referring to Rowling’s attacks of transgender rights. Why has gender become the latest battle ground for culture wars?

Alexa Alice Joubin: At first blush, it may seem odd that Putin should care about Rowling, the author of Harry Potter, when, in 2003, a group of Russian lawyers sued Warner Bros over similarities between Putin and the CGI character Dobby the elf.

Upon closer examination, Putin’s and Rowling’s obsession about gender purity is not odd at all. Right-wing politicians follow the same playbook. The pandemic of Covid-19 has fueled intersectional forms of hatred and fear that have coalesced around gender.

The presence of trans individuals creates a category crisis by challenging putative binary distinctiveness of gender. Further, it poses what is known in social identity theory as distinctiveness threat. When a group sees the boundaries defining their identity as indispensable, they feel threatened when these putatively definitional boundaries are blurred.

Gender identity is merely the latest scapegoat. There is a long history of associating trans bodies with illness, and inversion of trans individuals’ personal truths.

We should see gender as a set of evolving interpersonal relationships and social practices rather than immutable identities. Interpersonal relationships and gendered practices evolve in the presence of other people as well.

Trans theory puts into focus, and thereby expands, our collective understanding of human variations.

     Westwater: It seems that, historically, various notions of purity, ranging from race to gender, have been used by haters to attack human rights.

     Joubin: Yes, for example, there is a racialized dimension of anti-trans attitudes, and anti-trans discrimination was linked in the earlier period to anti-Semitism.

Take the German sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld, for example. He is a pioneer in trans studies. He coined the word “transvestite,” which is no longer in use today, by combining the Latin words for crossing and clothing: trans and vestis. In 1910, he published a book entitled Transvestites, which regards gender nonconformity as an independent phenomenon from same-sex desires. He observed individuals who experienced a “feeling of peace, security and exaltation, happiness and well-being . . . when in the clothing of the other sex” (125). He found that “transvestites” could be asexual, bisexual, or have any given sexual orientation.

Hirschfeld’s conception of the transvestite overlaps in part with the modern-day practice of drag and gender non-conforming sartorial choices. Hirschfeld’s contribution lies in his distinction between transvestism and the misconception of homosexuality.

In his times, homosexuality, a pathologized concept, was a conflation of sexuality and gender expressions in which homosexual individuals were thought to be gender inverted.

As a pioneer in gender and sexuality studies, Hirschfeld unfortunately was persecuted by Nazis for his Jewish and gay identities. His Institut für Sexualwissenschaft was shut down in 1933, with its books burned.

It is important to note that there is a racialized dismissal of transness. At the core of anti-Semitism and anti-trans discourses are the ideas of racial and gender “purity,” which leads to harmful biopolitics.

     Westwater: Can you give us some examples of cis-centric assumptions from your field of study?

     Joubin: Yes. Shakespeare’s plays often feature cross-gender roles, and professional performances in Shakespeare’s times featured only male actors. Boy actors performed female roles on stage.

While much ink has been spilt over the theatrical gender of the boy actors and Shakespeare’s female characters, the boy actors have been regarded as “transvestite actors” (Orgel 106) who engage in the cisgender practices of “cross-dressing” or drag. Peter Stallybrass pits “the staged body of a boy actor” against “the imagined body of a woman [through] the material presence of clothes” in early modern “production of contrary fixations” (79).

More recent scholarship has focused on the stage enactment of femininity and female characters’ masculine guises within the context of (queer) desire, such as sodomy (Goldberg 19; 143) and lesbian undertones in relations between trans-feminine and cisgender female characters (Traub 2015).

There are now new questions to be asked of these dramatic situations and theatre practices. How might the narratives change if we consider them as transgender performances rather than cis-centric “cross-dressing” stories requiring suspension of disbelief?

What if the final scene of As You Like It is a “charade” by Rosaland’s male alter ego Ganymede? Can we abandon our literal-mindedness about dramatic fiction and consider every character’s practice in fluid terms? It is time that we recognize transgender performances “as resisting precisely the binaries usually understood to structure modern gender” rather than simply “enacting binary male/female or homo/hetero desires” (Sanchez 88).

Instead of asking: “why did the English stage take boys for women?” we should interrogate the cis-centric formulation of that question itself.

What if the body of the female character and the actor’s somatic presence exist on a continuum rather than in contrary fixations? The enactment of gender practices is not predicated upon “substitutions” (as in substituting the boy actor for Desdemona) or entail diagnostic recognition (as in being reminded of the “real” body beneath the illusion of Desdemona). Many plays lend themselves to transgender interpretations. Twelfth Night, a “happy wrack,” is energized by Cesario’s presence, with only cursory references to Viola. Even though Cesario alludes to Viola’s “maiden weeds” (to be fetched by Antonio) in the final scene of “grand reveal,” he never changes into them and Orsino continues to call him “boy” and by the name Cesario. Orsino uses fluid language to cast Cesario as both “a man” and his “fancy queen … when in other habits” in a future that is never solidified before the play closes.

Transgender theory can advance feminist and performance scholarship by posing new questions and offering new methodologies for Shakespeare studies.

     Westwater: You mentioned earlier that narrativizing trans life is the key to countering oppression. Can you elaborate?

     Joubin: The performing arts are an important tool for tackling cis-sexism, given their power of embodied representation. Both cis and trans practices can be performative in this context, which puts dominant and minoritized social groups on equal footing.

     There is some risk, of course, to bring the concept of performativity to trans-ness. Detractors often accuse trans people of “performing” to “pass” as someone else to deceive the society and to gain access to the “wrong” restroom. In fact, if trans individuals are performing roles at all, it is either a cis-gender conforming role enforced by the society or some form of trans narrative deemed acceptable by medical gatekeepers. Trans individuals have to perform in this sense and in these contexts in order to survive or to obtain medical care (Seelman and Poteat).

     On one hand, the notion of performative gender expressions has been misappropriated by anti-trans groups to invalidate trans life, and, as a result, rejected by some trans activists as harmful to trans self-realization. On the other hand, as articles in this issue show, transgender performances can serve socially reparative purposes through characterization and representation. Reparative performances—in which characters see their conditions improve—offer optimism and model best practices.

     Trans people and characters are often accused of fabricating an identity to deceive those around them for sinister purposes, such as the murderer in Dressed to Kill (1980). If they deviate from binary expectations, they are disavowed as a pretender, such as the titular Albert Nobbs (2011) and Suzanne in Nos années folles (2017). If they present as heterosexual men or women, they risk forced disclosure, as is the case of Brandon Teena in Boys Don’t Cry (1999) and Dorothy Michaels in Tootsie (1982).

     Focusing on trans women, performer and activist Julia Serano, who coins the term transmisogyny, observes that the media often present trans women as either cunning sexual predators or laughable fakes (2007: 36). Serano theorizes that this pattern of representation in fact harms cis women as well as trans women, because it results from the tendency to regard femininity as artificial (44 and 340). It is a form of “traditional sexism” in which masculinity is deemed superior by default. It is also a symptom of what Serano calls “oppositional sexism,” the belief that masculinity and femininity are mutually exclusive categories (13). Accusations of fake identities are a tactic of social control. As Toby Beauchamp’s study reveals, gender nonconformity only comes to be associated with “fraud” through “demands for disclosure” and through “claims that certain bodies or identities do not match as they ought to” (9).

Here is a video recording of the event:

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Putting a human face on globalization

Alexa Alice Joubin, “Familiar Ambiguity: The Value of the Humanities in a Globalized World,” Signal House 10 (March 2021): https://www.signalhouseedition.org/issue-10-essay

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The King’s Speech (dir. Tom Hooper, 2010) portrays a figure that suffers from speech impairment. Lines from Shakespeare play an important role in scenes about speech therapy in The King’s Speech. 

Having worked with multiple therapists without any result, Bertie (Prince Albert, Duke of York, later King George VI), a stutterer, is reluctant to receive treatment from Lionel Logue. In their first session, Logue bets Bertie a shilling that he can in fact read without stammer right away, and he would record his speech as evidence. Logue puts headphones on Bertie and asks him to read Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” speech into a Silvertone Home Voice Recorder. However, music is blaring through the headphones. Not only is Bertie not able to hear himself, the film’s audience too can only hear the Overture from Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro with increasing volume on the soundtrack. From Bertie’s point of view, the music is only blaring through the headphones he is wearing. He cannot hear himself, but Logue can. The film recreates the discrepancy between seeing and hearing, which Bertie is experiencing, by placing us the audience in the visual perspective of Logue who is present in the room but gives us Bertie’s aural perspective where the music drowns out his recitation. Believing that he has failed again and humiliated himself, Bertie stops half way and decides to leave without listening to the recording, only to be persuaded by Logue to take the record home as a souvenir.

Logue does not choose Shakespeare out of the blue. The Australian speech therapist is an amateur Shakespearean actor while in Australia. Logue plays educational games with his children reguarly. The kids have to guess the Shakespearean character and play he is portraying.

Two observations can be made of the particular speech’s function in the cinematic narrative about disability. First, the scene signals that Hamlet is part of the collective memory of the British and Commonwealth cultural realm—an Australian speech therapist working with a British monarch with dwindling significance in the modern world. As Terence Hawkes argues, phrases and ideas from Hamlet have been so deeply embedded in everyday speech that it operates simply as “a web of quotations.” As a “universal cultural reference point,” speeches from Hamlet function as “a piece of social shorthand.

Secondly, this scene is part of an emerging cinematic tradition of tapping into a perceived curative quality of Shakespearean texts. The “to be or not to be” speech is familiar enough to most audiences to have an impact. It serves as an index of intelligence despite Bertie’s speech impediments. It is part of what Geoffrey Ridden calls a process of “Shakespearization” in fragmentary uses of Shakespeare as social shorthand in recent films. The same speech features prominently in My Left Foot (dir. Jim Sheridan, Ferndale Films, 1989). The doctor brought the speech to the protagonist Christy Brown and asks him to learn it. Born with cerebral palsy, Brown struggles with the daily speech and particularly the passage from Hamlet. The theme here, similar to The King’s Speech, is a philosophical investment in Shakespeare’s therapeutic value and a demonstration that even patients with voice disorder can recite the lines from Shakespeare.

Through Shakespeare’s curative power and Logue’s therapy, it seems that Bertie can be enabled by radio technology like his father, paralleling Hamlet’s journey, and, more importantly, consolidate and sustain the image of the Empire and British identity.

While Logue’s experiment might work even if the text is not Shakespearean (since the key is isolation of the potentially stuttering subject from any disturbing feedback), Shakespeare here has important symbolic value. The King’s Speech appropriates Shakespeare’s cultural capital in this therapy scene. There are other cinematic instances where Shakespearean texts are bestowed curative power, such as the stuttering Chorus in Shakespeare in Love (dir. John Madden, 1998) who, as he moves along in delivering the Prologue of Romeo and Juliet his stammer gradually disappears. Eventually he is able to finish reciting the speech in front of the live audience.

King George VI reads the most iconic passage from Shakespeare, “to be or not to be.” At the end of the day, the English canon does not matter when self identitie is always already artificially constructed. It is a prosthetic device.

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Excerpted from:  Alexa Alice Joubin, “Can the Biopic Subjects Speak? Disembodied Voices in The King’s Speech and The Theory of Everything.” A Companion to the Biopic, ed. Deborah Cartmell and Ashley D. Polasek (Chichester, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 2020), 269-282. Full text.

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