Two things stand out to me regarding William Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. The first is the courage and strength of the play's women characters. The second is the way in which this play, composed at the height of Shakespeare's powers as a writer, mixes high and low comedy so seamlessly.

We know now the practical challenges that faced Shakespeare and other playwrights of the Elizabethan era as they considered their prospective audiences. In that time when playgoing was a profession of dubious respectability, theatre companies had to draw in every potential customer they could. Nobles and well-to-do commoners could sit comfortably in the gallery, shielded from the heat of summer, the cold of other seasons, and the rain that falls in England all year round. Those with less disposable income, by contrast, would pay a lesser fee to stand in the open area in front of the stage, exposed to the elements.

And those socioeconomic differences in turn influenced what different audience members wanted to see in their dramatic entertainment. The affluent gallery guests would expect witty repartee, sophisticated commentary on the social scene of their time, and well-drawn characters in interesting situations. The "groundlings," by contrast, inhabiting the late-16th- or early-17th-century equivalent of a mosh pit, wanted much earthier entertainment - sex talk; jokes about bodily functions; characters clobbering one another after the manner of the Three Stooges, or the Minions in the Despicable Me movies. A good playwright had to provide an audience with all of the above.

Fortunately for Shakespeare, for the audience of his time, and for all of us, he was a great playwright; and all the elements of Twelfth Night combine for a delightful comic mix.

The delights of Twelfth Night start with the nuances of its title - a deceptively casual title for a play constructed with such care. The post-comma part of the title - Or What You Will - has a "whatever" quality, as if the playwright genuinely doesn't care what he calls his play. The foreword to this edition discusses a popular theory that Shakespeare may have written the play specifically for a Twelfth Night entertainment in Queen Elizabeth's court, when the English monarch was receiving an Italian duke at court in 1601.

Interesting theory, that; but the mystery behind the reasons for the title of Twelfth Night remains. Perhaps it is for that reason that director Trevor Nunn, in his 1996 film adaptation of the play, provides at the beginning of the film some context, added by the screenwriter, to provide some explanation for the play's otherwise-unexplained title: "Once, upon Twelfth Night -- or what you will/Aboard a ship bound home to Messaline/The festive company, dressed for masquerade/Delight above the rest in two young twins." Pretty gutsy, to put one's own blank-verse iambic pentameter right next to Shakespeare's.

But to the play. The high comedy of Twelfth Night emanates from the seemingly grave situation of two young twins, Viola and Sebastian, whose ship is wrecked off the coast of Illyria, a region of the western Balkans roughly corresponding to the former Yugoslavia. Sebastian is missing and presumed lost; his sister Viola, knowing that she will not be safe traveling as a woman alone in a strange country, disguises herself as a man and takes the name of Cesario. In this guise, Viola becomes a favored courtier of Orsino, Duke of Illyria, and gradually finds herself falling in love with the duke.

Duke Orsino, like so many nobles in Shakespeare's work, is a bit of a mess; he claims to be desperately in love with the countess Olivia, but part of the supposed intensity of his emotion may stem from Olivia's inaccessibility (her brother has died, and she has pledged not to marry until a seven years' period of mourning has elapsed).

Many people know Orsino's famous first line of the play: "If music be the food of love, play on." Not as many, by contrast, are aware that Orsino then insists on the musicians stopping and re-playing a particular part of the song -- "That strain again! It had a dying fall" -- like that drunk guy in a bar who goes to the jukebox and plays song G5, over and over and over. And then Orsino contradicts himself altogether by saying, "Enough, no more!/'Tis not so sweet now as it was before." Orsino is not really in love; he is in love with the idea of being in love.

The low comedy of the play, meanwhile, comes to us courtesy of Olivia's uncle, one Sir Toby Belch. (I suppose calling him Sir Toby Fart would have been a bit much.) Sir Toby, whose place in Olivia's family and household gives him a certain freedom to eat, drink, and be belchy, speaks what many of the "groundlings" in Shakespeare's audience would no doubt have been thinking regarding the pretensions of the upper classes of that time, as when he scornfully says to another character, "Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?"

Sir Toby is keeping himself in pocket change through regular contributions from an unfortunate and feckless nobleman, one Sir Andrew Aguecheek (or "Fever-face," if you will), who regularly supplies the Belchster with money as part of a hopeless suit for Olivia's hand. Amidst this collection of ne'er-do-wells, Maria, an attendant to Olivia, is a long-suffering spokesperson for common sense.

A third comedic plotline proceeds from the antagonism between Feste, Olivia's clown (and one of a long line of wise Shakespearean fools), and Olivia's priggish and stuck-up steward Malvolio, who would like nothing better than to see Feste dismissed from Olivia's service. Olivia aptly tells Malvolio that "you are sick of self-love...and taste with a distempered appetite", and any first-time reader of Twelfth Night who is familiar with the norms of Shakespearean comedy will sense at once that Malvolio has some sort of comeuppance coming his way.

From these three plotlines, the comedy ensues. Viola, whose disguise as Cesario gets him admitted to Olivia's court to plead the Duke's suit, learns to her shock that Olivia has fallen in love with Cesario -- or, to put it another way, with the male disguise that conceals the woman Viola. Viola's twin brother Sebastian, who survived the shipwreck, meanwhile makes his way toward Orsino's kingdom, where his resemblance to Viola results in comic complications that show the extent of Shakespeare's debt to the Roman comedic playwright Plautus. And Sir Toby, Feste, and Maria concoct a plot to humiliate the self-important Malvolio by getting him to think that Olivia has fallen in love with him. And Shakespeare brings it all together quite seamlessly in Act V.

As mentioned above, the strength of the women characters in Twelfth Night really stands out for me. Viola is brave, smart, and kind; cast into a situation of adversity, she survives by her wits without losing her humanity or her compassion. She is a truly heroic character, and her heroism is human and believable. Small wonder that the Shakespeare character from the film Shakespeare in Love (1998), inspired by his love for the noblewoman Viola de Lesseps, speaks at film's end of his plans for writing Twelfth Night, and says of the character Viola that her "soul is greater than the ocean, and her spirit stronger than the sea's embrace. Not for her a watery end, but a new life beginning on a stranger shore. It will be a love story. For she will be my heroine for all time. And her name will be Viola."

There is something moving in the way Olivia finds herself falling in love against her will, never knowing that she is falling in love with a woman rather than a man. And Maria shows that those like Malvolio who would dismiss her determination and intelligence do so at their own peril.

I also like the play's reflections on gender. Just as Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn, disguising himself as a girl at one point in that novel, must learn to negotiate gender as a construct - by "throwing like a girl," among other lessons - so Viola must learn through careful observation what is socially determined, rather than biologically innate, about being "one of the guys." That Shakespeare engaged these complex thematic ideas in a play that is so much fun is enduring proof of his genius.

It is a bit of an anachronism when Queen Elizabeth in Shakespeare in Love watches the first staging of Romeo and Juliet, is moved by the tragedy of the young lovers, and then instructs one of her courtiers to "tell Master Shakespeare, something more cheerful next time, for Twelfth Night." In point of fact, it is likely that eight years and quite a few plays separated Romeo and Juliet from Twelfth Night. But it is no accident that Tom Stoppard, screenwriter for Shakespeare in Love (and a man who, as author of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, knows his Shakespeare), made a point of evoking Twelfth Night as a particularly strong example of Shakespeare's artistry. Seeking out this great play, and enjoying it, is much more than a matter of "what you will."

I've just written another review for a more modern play, complaining about how they're not made for reading, but watching. Although I'd say Shakespeare kind of breaks that rule. I often enjoy the words on the page as much, if not more than watching a stage performance. However, I feel like Twelfth Night needs to be seen. There's quite a lot of stage direction and subtleties that are missed just by reading, or at least they are if you're not familiar with the story. I chose to watch a production of this first (Mark Rylance at The Globe, utterly brilliant), as I knew I might get confused otherwise. Coming back to the text, I realised that I'd have missed a great deal if I hadn't seen it first. Nor did I find myself particularly captivated by the language, as I had been with his other plays. So all in all, a mean 3 stars, which for a play, equals about 4+ novel stars.

[May 2014]
This is only the third Shakespearean comedy I have reviewed (I do NOT count The Merchant of Venice as a comedy, instead I classify it as a Shakespearean problem play) and I am really mixed on it. On the one hand I am not big on romantic-comedies or rom-coms. This is a problem since Shakespeare loved rom-coms. This play is THE rom-com. On the other hand, this play may have the best and most complex female character of any of Shakespeare's plays I have read so far. I thought Beatrice of Much Ado About Nothing and Portia of TMOV were amazing, but Viola is wittier and more balanced (all things considered) than both. She and Feste are by far the smartest and most cunning characters in this play and capture every scene they are in.

Like in "Much Ado" you have the stock Romantic or rather unrequited couple Orsio and Olivia who are boring and are simply plot devices to bring the romance. Luckily this plot of deception, and especially the sub-plot involving Malvolio bring the funny in spades. I feel like the way Shakespeare wrote these characters would make them more suitable for a suspense thriller, specifically the interactions between Viola "Cesario" and Feste. Again, the Malvolio sub-plot could have and should have been its own pure comedy play, but we had to have love triangles and unrequited angsting--comes with the romantic territory.

So with all that being said...I actually really like it. Though I wanted to rate this average because others did and I did nit-pick, I really ended up enjoying this as the play went on. Much Ado About Nothing will still be my favorite of the Bard's slapstick for now, but this was not that bad. For reference I read from William Shakespeare: Complete Plays and for visual I watched the 1988 television adaption of Kenneth Branagh's 1987 stage adaptation of the play.

A Great while ago the world begun,/With, hey, ho, the wind and the rain:-/But that's all one, our play is done,/And we'll strive to please you every day.

A few years ago I read a review of some film that had come out and I was sure I would never see – read the review almost carelessly while flicking through the arts section of the paper on a Saturday morning, no, I must have been clicking over The Age Home Page. The woman who wrote the review commented that whatever the film was had been based on Twelfth Night – which she considered that most ridiculous of Shakespeare’s plays – she really could not see how anyone could be bothered to reproduce this nonsense of Shakespeare’s based on the all too unfunny humour of cross-dressing and confused sexuality. I emailed Fiona the link with some comment to the effect, “Look at what this stupid bitch has written.”

Did I mention that this review was in The Age – that once great newspaper? If anything symbolises the tragic fall that newspaper has suffered…

Anyway, I’ve been trying to remember when I first saw Twelfth Night on telly. My ex-wife and I were away for a dirty weekend and it must have been before I had started university the first time around – the Physics me. I think it was raining outside (we hadn’t gone for the scenery, so the rain was immaterial) and the hotel room had a television. I lay the wrong way on the bed and flicked to channel two and Felicity Kendal appeared, hooded, on a beach – remarkably dry, all things considered – and I instantly feel madly and helplessly in love, first with her but then much more in love with the play.

I love everything about this play. I love all of the obvious things, the boys falling in love with girls who are dressed as boys but are really girls. I love the girls falling in love with ‘youths’ (even before that word became pejorative and male as my daughter, Fiona is now fond of telling me) who are really girls, but end up married to girls who actually aren’t girls, but also not who they think they are but really the girl’s brother… I love the perfectly controlled and perfectly understandable complexity and messiness of it all.

But most I love that it isn’t just a ‘romantic comedy’ – or perhaps I should lay the stress on ‘just’ in that sentence. There are dark themes operating here that are anything but funny. Sir Toby may be Falstaff and may be the life of the party – but he is also a bastard who uses and abuses those around him without mercy or favour. He is a selfish, self-centred prick – pure and simple. And yet we love him and cheer him on and are putty in his hands. He may be the sort of uncle that we all too often are forced to ask – O, how came you so early by this ‘lethargy’? – when we mean – how the hell can you possibly be so pissed this early in the morning? But still, none of us hope Malvolio will find him hiding out of sight when the letter is carefully left to be found – none of us hope Malvolio will not be fooled by the letter.

All the same at the end when Malvolio is released how is it possible to not feel dreadful for him when he says, “Madam, you had done me wrong, notorious wrong.” When we realise that we have spent the play decidedly not standing in his shoes and now Shakespeare is going to make sure we are aware of just what that has meant for this fellow human being. Yes, still not a loveable character – but a fellow human nonetheless.

I took Fiona to see this when she was about 8 – she is now about 18. It was a week night and a school night and we both rushed up to the theatre at the Arts Centre and both sat transfixed. I’m sure both of us must have worried that this play would prove far beyond what she would be able to understand. I had built it up so much that when it started I thought ‘oh god, I’ll ruin Shakespeare for her for life’. But at the end, when the actors had caught sight of her as the youngest in the audience and clearly made a point of catching her eye and were making a fuss of her from the stage and it was also clear she had understood all of the complications that make the last moments of this play so hilariously funny as she was bursting in gales of uncontrollably laughter, I knew that this would be a moment we would both remember and treasure always. Quality time normally comes from quantity time – but sometimes it can be planned.

Years later – I think on my fortieth birthday – we went again to see a production of the play, this time with Fi, her sister, my parents and my intellectually disabled older sister, and again it proved to be a magical night.

That night, as we were coming out at interval, a woman in front of me turned to the young man she had brought with her to see the play and said, “Of course Malvolio is Italian for Bad Will” – I was studying Italian at the time and thought – “Shit, of course it is, why hadn’t I realised that myself?”. Such are the things directly under my nose that I so rarely see. I’ve never been terribly good at the obvious.

And I love the songs – particularly O Mistress Mine (‘Youth’s the stuff will not endure’, and how true that has proven) – and I love the little jokes and Feste, yes, particularly Feste, who I still think has some of the best lines in the play.

And how could anyone not fall in love with someone who says that their preferred method of wooing you would be to,

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house,
Write loyal canton and contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out ‘Olivia!’ O, you should not rest
Between the elements of the air and earth,
But you should pity me”?

And understatement of the century (17th of course)

Olivia: You might do much

Too bloody right she/he might do much.

Two more things and then I’m done. The one is where the gardener, Fabian to his friends, waits until we are completely taken in and then slaps us awake with, “If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.” Now, what about that? How much balls would that take to write? If you ever needed proof that great writers are totally unconcerned about whether or not they have allowed you to ‘suspended disbelief’ I think you could hardly look further than this. Shakespeare is so certain we are at the edge of our seats he knows he can laugh at us for being so completely sucked in and we will still barely come up for air.

The other thing is this:

Malvolio: By my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very c’s, her u’s and her t’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

Sir Andrew: Her c’s, her u’s and her t’s, why that?

For years, like Sir Andrew, I wondered why that as well. One day I even went to the local library and found a reference book that told me that although this was clearly a joke at the time, the mists that separate us from Will mean we will never know.

In a word: Bollocks.

It is hardly remarkable that we find the same things funny now as they did then – and sexual humour is sexual humour and like a well told fart joke will always be funny. There was a film recently called Into The Cut, that also used the word ‘cut’ as slang for female genitalia and pee is still slang for ‘to urinate’ – none of this is obscure at all. Fortunately, I was able to find a second book in the same library that had not been written in the 1950s and was not nearly so prudish or so reticent to explain what ‘a cut’ was. I’m a bit embarrassed I needed it explained, but I cover it well.

When people ask me what is my favourite play by Shakespeare I always hesitate – I mean, how could I possibly say this one when compared to the utter majesty of Lear or Hamlet? I must review Lear one of these days – no play is as likely to bring tears, no play so horrible and distressing or remarkable or devastatingly good. But the truth is that this play simply isn’t the same thing as Lear – it seems strange to give them the same name ‘play’ and really they can’t be compared. I love them both and possibly even equally – but for entirely different reasons. But it is love. Even the thought of this play makes me smile – it is a pure delight and all the confirmation one needs of the genius that is Shakespeare.

Twelfth Night is a frenetic comedy of tomfoolery and excess. Everything is purposefully ridiculous—a satire of previously written farces, reveling in itself. While in As You Like It Shakespeare gives us, for once, a genuinely convincing picture of love, in Twelfth Night he is back to his old sardonic ways. Shakespeare was perhaps as cynical as Proust or Freud on the subject of love, since he seems to savor its arbitrariness. Olivia falls in love with Viola on false pretences, and then easily transfers her feelings to the (strangely willing) Sebastian. Duke Orsino, on the other hand, after pledging his undying love for Olivia, instantly falls in love with Viola once he finds out that she is a woman and not a boy. And this is not to mention that, as so often with Shakespeare, we end with a supremely strange match: the witty and lively Viola with the melodramatic and melancholic Duke Orsino. It would be depressing were it not so funny.

Shakespeare crosses the line from comedy to sadism in the subplot of Malvolio. While at first the unctuous prig’s comeuppance is wholly satisfying, his imprisonment and mockery cannot help but spark outrage from the audience—especially considering that his torturers are drunkards and fools, not half as compelling as Malvolio (insufferable as he is). On the other hand, Shakespeare gave us a perfect picture of wisdom in Feste, the fool, who brings a warmth and sanity to every scene he takes part in. Though neither Viola nor Malvolio nor Feste can compare as characters with the likes of Rosalind, the complete cast abounds in lively contrast. And then there is the abundance of memorable lines, scattered with Shakespearean generosity. In sum, then, I think that this is easily among the stronger of Shakespeare’s comedies.

2014: Another great play by the Bard, fittingly begun on the twelfth day of Christmas, epiphany. I also watched a charming production of the play with Helena Bonham Carter and Richard E. Grant: http://www.amazon.com/Twelfth-Night-H...
Nigel Hawthorne is priceless as Malvolio. (Does the man act?)
2018: Midwinter madness on the last day of Christmas.

Πιο πολύ και απο την ιδια την ιστορία ξεχωρίζει το χιούμορ και η ειρωνεία του ποιητή. Ανεκδιήγητες φάρσες και ερωτικά μπερδέματα, δηλητηριώδεις και παιχνιδιάρικες ατάκες αποτελούν τον πυρήνα του θεατρικού αυτού. Θα ήταν πολύ ενδιαφέρον αν δινόταν περισσότερος χρόνος στον υποτιθέμενο τραβεστισμό της Βιόλα που ντύνεται Σεζάριο για να εισχωρήσει στην αυλή του Δούκα Όρσινο, προκειμένου να εξασφαλίσει την επιβίωση της. Όμως ο Όρσινο είναι ερωτευμένος με την Ολίβια η οποία πενθεί τον χαμό του αδερφού της και αποκρούει τα ερωτευμένα και εμμονικα βέλη του δούκα. Οταν ο Σεζάριο θα πηγαίνει καθε μερα στην αυλή της Ολίβια για να την πείσει για τον έρωτα του αφέντη του, εκείνη θα ερωτευτεί αυτόν/αυτη. Μπορεί να υπονοούνται και να μην τους δίνεται ο απαραίτητος χρόνος όμως τα θέματα της σεξουαλικής ταυτότητας και της ερωτικής έλξης είναι ορατά. Βέβαια το τέλος αποδεικνύει το εφήμερο του ερωτικού ενθουσιασμού με τον Σαίξπηρ να ειρωνεύεται υποθέτω τις μεγάλες και απόλυτες αγάπες. Αν παρατηρήσετε την τελευταία σκηνή θα αντιληφθείτε οτι υπάρχει ένας πιθανός ομοερωτισμός μεταξυ του Δουκα και του Σεζάριο. Ακόμα και μετα την αποκάλυψη της πραγματικής της ταυτότητας η Βιόλα δεν αλλάζει αμέσως και ο Δούκας φαίνεται να είχε γοητευτεί ευθύς εξαρχής απο εκείνη ως νεαρό.

Μεγάλη μορφή ο τρελός γελωτοποιός Φέστε που αποδεικνύεται ο πιό σοφός και διορατικός απο όλους. Ευαγγέλιο τα λόγια που ξεστομίζει, χιουμοριστικά και κυνικά. Ξεγλιστράει απο όλους σαν το χέλι.

For a long time I preferred Shakespeare's tragedies to his comedies, and to an extent I still do; but I have found a new appreciation of his comedies, particularly in Twelfth Night. Economical yet unforced, hilarious yet humane, confined yet infinite, clever yet accessible: such is Twelfth Night or What You Will. The play follows the shipwrecked twins, Viola (disguised as the boy Cesario) and Sebastian, in Illyria, where the hilarity of mistaken identity and unwanted love and unrequited love are all turned up on the head and brought to a comedic reveal and reversal. Viola loves Orsino loves Olivia loves Viola, then marries Sebastian, mistaking him for Viola, upsetting Orsino, offending Antonio, etc. The tangled web of comedy in the final two acts is masterfully done, and the sideplot trick on the proud Malvolio is a misjustice sweetly served.

What strikes me in Shakespeare is the commonalities among his plays, even down to the very tautology: "I am what I am," which I suspect is uttered in some permutation in all, or nearly all, his plays, which drives at the truth of identity and what it means to be "what you are." I was particularly struck by Viola's final assertion in this comedic exchange:

OLIVIA
Stay:
I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.
VIOLA
That you do think you are not what you are.
OLIVIA
If I think so, I think the same of you.
VIOLA
Then think you right: I am not what I am.

"I am not what I am" - the very line which is the key to the character of Iago in Othello quoted verbatim for the ends of comedy. In saying the same line, Iago means that he is a trickster, that he deceives and betrays those who hold stock in his outward appearance of honesty. When Viola exclaims the same words, she means that she is literally not as she appears, that her outward appearance of a boy is but a disguise.

Can anyone truly say "I am what I am," or conversely claim the opposite, without some irony or self-awareness that reverses the very claim? I am what I am, only insofar as I am aware of it myself, and only to myself can I be thus. To an acquaintance, I may be something utterly unfamiliar to my own perceptions of myself, which is shaped by his/her desires of me, expectations and prejudices of me, etc. So am I entirely what I am, or what I am not? The question of identity, what it means to be your true Self, is a common thread which traces its spool to the pre-Shakespearean dawn, and up through the consciousness of our own modern times. It is a question ever unresolved. And it can lead to both tragic, malicious ends, or result in comedic bemusement. Unlike in the literal masquerade of false identity in Much Ado About Nothing, the masks of Twelfth Night are true faces, disguised, but essentially true. In loving Viola and professing her love to her, Olivia reveals her masculinity and boldness, and also her Narcissism for liking what is literally closer to her self than any man. Though the play ends in a double marriage, and a conjoiner of Orsino and Olivia by the mutual relation of their spouses, one can't help but wonder of the happiness of Olivia with Sebastian, a man who she scarcely knows. Does she only love him for his appearance, which he shares with his sister's disguise? Or is there something more at the heart of it. While Viola truly loves Orsino as he is, even in his love for someone else, Olivia's love for Sebastian is never proven, only transferred. Despite the high comedy of the play, and the interplay of identities, doubles and disguises, there is a subtle question of the nature of the play which follows the play, the unwritten play, wherein the full effects of mistaken identity may play out to tragic or yet comedic ends.

**********

Additional thoughts on Twelfth Night:

If Denmark is a prison, Illyria is a madhouse. The distinct flavor of pure comedy is a direct result of the the zaniness of all characters, save the fool! Shakespeare's "most perfect comedy" achieves such a status though Shakespeare's parodies on his own devices: turning upside-down his own ploy of mistaken identity and criss-crossed loves explored in previous romantic comedies and taking them to hilarious extremes. Illyria is a dukedom haunted by strange phantoms, men and women of such peculiar extremes as to parody themselves.

Take the Duke, Orsino, who despite his surety of his infinite love for Olivia, seems more in love with himself, or rather in love with being in love. How quickly he can transfer his love for Olivia to Viola, as if it were a matter of rearranging the letters in her name. Olivia too is an oddity. Originally racked with grief, swearing off men completely, she is apparently fallen in love at first sight with the first boy she meets, and her boldness which may surpass some of Shakespeare's bolder heroines, though her bold pursuits are in favor of so ridiculous a prize.

But the oddest man, or rather perhaps the least odd (besides the fool, which remains the only sure-headed man of the chaos of Illyria), is Malvolio, who feels very much at odds with his surroundings and would likely be much happier in almost any other play. In the pace of the play, we find Malvolio a fun butt to the deft prankster Maria, but at second glance, his fate is undeserved and almost cruel. Like Orsino, he is a parody unto himself, but he has an almost infinite creative imagination of himself: "Count Malvolio!" Surely his pride and egoism boarder on solipsism, but he remains one of Twelfth Night's great tragicomedic masterpieces. He at once deserves out pity and our jibes, though he is a man "greater sinn'd against than sinning" - to quote Lear's self styled betrayal by fate. He is an involuntary fool, gulled into a role which he holds beneath his station even as steward, and is locked in the dark cellar as his punishment, a fitting end for a man locked otherwise in the blinding brightness of his own imagination.

A play that can really come alive when staged, as opposed to read. As with many of Shakespeare's comedies, there's lots of frivolity and crazy fun, undergirded with some darker themes.

So this one doesn't rank terribly high on the believability scale, but this is still my favorite Shakespeare comedy. It's absurd to have a set of fraternal twins -- brother and sister! -- who look so much alike that people who know them reasonably well can't tell them apart. Shakespeare may not have been entirely clear on the distinction between identical and fraternal twins or, more likely, he just didn't care. But push the Disbelief Suspension button here and just go have fun with this love triangle:

So besides all this Crazy Love, there's other excitement: a shipwreck! (okay, that's before the play actually starts, but still.) Viola washes up on shore, all alone in the world ... well, actually she was rescued by another ship, and the captain has taken a personal interest in her and is giving her some solid advice and help. But they're on the seashore! and she's kind of alone because she's lost her twin brother Sebastian in the shipwreck.

But life goes on, so Viola (prudently, she thinks) disguises herself as a guy, calls herself Cesario and goes to work for Duke Orsino as his page. And then she promptly falls in love with him, which is a little hard to understand because he's dejectedly mooning around his mansion all full of unrequited love for the fair Olivia, but whatever. Probably money, power, good looks his sensitive heart and kind soul appeal to her. All direct appeals for Olivia's heart having failed, Orsino decides to send Viola/Cesario to plead his case, because sending a good-looking guy (even if not really a guy) to speak of matters of love to the object of your affections always works so well. Case in point: Olivia promptly ... well, go look at the above chart again.

Also, in case all this lurve stuff bores you, we have some practical joking going on: Olivia has an arrogant steward named Malvolio, and Olivia's uncle Sir Toby Belch has had it with him. So he recruits another rejected suitor of Olivia, name of Andrew Aguecheek (yes, these are the real names) and another person or two to prank Malvolio, because what we really needed here was one more guy chasing after the fair Olivia. Their punking of him gradually gets increasingly cruel.

Things really get whipped into a froth when the supposedly dead Sebastian shows up, runs into Olivia (who thinks she's the Cesario guy who's been avoiding her), is overwhelmed by Olivia's charms and marries her the same day! This throws a massive wrench into the works before everyone speedily settles down with the right person. Whew!

The comedic subplot with Olivia's arrogant steward Malvolio being taken down a notch or twenty by the pranks of Sir Toby and Sir Andrew is pretty humorous, though, depending on whether you can muster up any sympathy for Malvolio at all, you may be squirming in your seat by the end.

Thanks to Anne for her hilarious review of this play and for reminding me of it!

Twelfth night being the last comedy of William Shakespeare, is highly acclaimed and panned at equal measures. We come to peruse and praise his literary genius through his artistic handling of different themes packed in one play. On the surface, the play exhibits traces of mistaken identity, deception, Lovesickness, melancholy, desire and abundance, gender and sex, master and servant, but on the broader canvass, the colors are more vivid and glaring laden with undercurrent meanings of these themes.
Where, fools are philosophers and dukes are idiotic, where an effeminate pageboy of the duke is more appealing to countess than the duke himself, where drunken dumbheads are predators and sober generals forcefully proved crazy, and where woman when attired in men’s dress, are valued more. In such society, twelfth night is a penance to those who delight in it as comedy!!

Reasons why I LOVE this play :

1. It's so gay. Like SO gay. That only is enough to make me love a book.
2. Sir Andrew and Sir Toby literally asked Maria to step on them because they were so impressed by the way she fooled this idiot of Malvolio.
3. It's just hilarious ( Act II, Scene V is everything I needed in life )
4. Sir Andrew is such a himbo, i love this man