Jarman’s Renaissance


This summer the Shakespeare Institute Library is celebrating the work of Derek Jarman in an exhibition focusing on his engagement with Renaissance works.

On 7 July we were fortunate to launch the exhibition with a fascinating lecture by Dr Pascale Aebischer entitled, “To the Future”: Derek Jarman’s Edward II in the Archive. Through her researches at Prospect Cottage, Jarman’s home in Dungeness, she revealed a long-term fascination with the play from the edition of the play he used at King’s College University (UCL), through to workbooks and edited scripts for various adaptations, including Sod Em, 28,  Pansy and the film which got made, Edward II.  Pascale’s abstract for an essay she wrote on this theme:

I argue that the play Jarman first read as a student and admired for its rhetorical figures and portrayal of same-sex love took on a political edge in 1986, when Jarman was diagnosed as HIV-positive, and homophobic legislation was first debated by Margaret Thatcher’s Government. The truncated film treatment 28 and the scripts for Sod ‘Em composed in response to these events use Marlowe’s tragedy as a structuring device that lends historical depth to the struggles of Jarman’s modern protagonist. In 1988, Jarman physically stood this script on its head as he started to rework it as Edward II in a script that imagined a Renaissance setting for the tragedy and stuck remarkably close to Marlowe’s words and Ranulph Higden’s chronicle account of the life of King Edward II. The screenplay Jarman eventually used for Edward II moves back in the direction of the political rage and focus on the present of Sod’Em and shows Jarman hesitating over the ending of his film and the significance of young Edward III. The return to Sod’Em is completed in Jarman’s Marlowe-inspired screenplay for the satirical musical Pansy which imagines a hopeful future for its young queer king Pansy, who vanquishes the conservative forces of repression and dedicates his rule to sexual freedom.

24 - Edward II

It’s clear that Jarman found an expression of sexual freedom in Renaissance literature which has never been surpassed.

Whatever life threw at Jarman he transformed it into art. He had an amazing ability to see and translate the most painful situations using film, painting and photography into works of beauty.

Jarman’s films are works of cinematic poetry; in his creations, imagery and atmosphere impress as strongly as thematic content. To Jarman the camera was another artistic medium through which he expressed his unique vision. He wields the camera like an artist manipulating a brush – utilising the language of cinema. Using basic technology and Super 8 cameras in his early works, you can particularly see the influence of early cinema; dissolves, montage, silhouettes, reflections, stunning compositions, blocking, lighting and colour designs which take on form and substance. When given the big budget for Edward II he took full advantage of the richness it could offer. It’s difficult to come away from a Jarman film without an unforgettable image impressed and lingering in the imagination.


The exhibition focuses on The Angelic Conversation (a sequence of Shakespeare’s Sonnets read by Judi Dench), The Tempest, and Edward II. As part of the exhibition you can view various stunning clips from Jarman’s films.

I have always felt that Shakespeare translates rather badly into film. There is a great rift between the artificiality of stage conventions and the naturalism of film settings.’ Jarman (Programme notes, London Film Festival, 1979)

Jarman’s version of The Tempest still stands as one of the most original of all British Shakespeare films. Relocated to a crumbling mansion off the Scottish coast, Jarman taps into the anti-establishment spirit of the punk era. The actor and political poet Heathcote Williams was cast as Prospero; the magic, power and creativity of director, actor, playwright and character melded into a dark, hypnotic brew.


‘Forever a cinematic alchemist – a sage that conjured and devoured celluloid before the eventual ritualistic sacrifice- Derek Jarman is the perfect suitor to Shakespeare’s The Tempest (1979); a play whose heart is bathed in the tragedy and power of magic.’ Adam Scovell, Celluloid Wicker Man blog


It’s clear that Jarman felt a strong connection with Shakespeare and Prospero as artists and creators whose art conjured worlds and possibilities beyond the mind’s imagining.

‘When, shortly after Jarman’s HIV positive diagnosis in 1986, he deliberately broke ‘Prospero’s wand, Dee’s hieroglyphic monad,’ the magic staff which had been used in the film, this was not a repudiation on his previous identification with Prospero-Shakespeare, but rather a confirmation of it and, like Shakespeare, he was to die just after his 52 birthday.’ Rowland Wymer, Derek Jarman (Manchester University Press, 2005)

The exhibition will run until the end of September. Great thanks to Dr Pascale Aebischer for all her support and an inspiring lecture; to Dr Phil Wickham, the Curator of the Bill Douglas Cinema Museum, University of Exeter for his advice and loan of rare materials from the wonderful Don Boyd and James Mackay collections; and to Neil Bartlett for his beautifully evocative description of his installation of The Angelic Conversation to mark the 20th anniversary of Jarman’s death.

Heathcote Williams

img347Whilst putting up the exhibition the actor and poet Heathcote Williams died. Jarman and he tried to channel the spirit of John Dee into his performance of Prospero. A magician himself he was perfect for the part. According to one obituary ‘he loved magic, because it gave the illusion of breaking rules’. His poetry, like Jarman’s films, often had a lyric beauty but had the visceral power to shock and expose. We also pay tribute to the great man with this exhibition. Obituaries from The Economist, The Guardian, and The Financial Times


Karin Brown, Shakespeare Institute Librarian


“I’m a wild one…”: the wild men of Shakespeare

‘What is man,

If his chief good and market of his time

Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more’

On inquiring what it means to be human, Hamlet finds himself questioning the difference between man and animal, and if indeed they are all that different. In his plays Shakespeare presents us with a number of characters with a folkloric origin which Lear calls ‘unaccomodated man’ – the wild man – illustrated here from 2 contemporary ballads.

SantaWildman (1) Wild man elizabethanThe wild man can be traced back to both classical mythology and European folklore. Romulus who was reared by a she-wolf, Hercules dressed in a lion skin and carrying a club, satyrs, fauns, and other such characters lived happily with nature. Another example is the Roman god Sylvanus – a tutelary deity of woods and fields. As protector of forests (sylvestris deus), he especially presided over plantations and delighted in trees growing wild. He is also described as a god watching over the fields and husbandmen, protecting in particular the boundaries between wild and cultivated land.

2Alternatively, the wild man was a symbol that primitive existence was truly bestial and that society, through collective effort and human reason was the only way of improving the quality of life. In Europe during the middle ages there were many rumours of forest dwelling wild folk living in a state of nature. These savages were feared as the enemy of man and were associated with demons of the earth and ghosts of the underworld. Another association was with elves and fairies of country lore, impish, not always kindly and connected with vegetation and fertility.

In Book 1 of Spenser’s the Faerie Queene we meet a ‘salvage nation’ who live at ease with nature. They recognize the holiness of Una and protect her even if they cant understand her notion of true faith. In Book 3 conversely, there is a goat-herding tribe who are remarkable for their unrestrained sexuality. With bagpipes, dances and garlands they celebrate the acquisition of the strumpet Hellenore as their Maylady – which is what they call her. We are reminded here of a passage from Stubbes Anatomie of Abuses (1583) raging against the May Day Celebrations:

‘then they have their Hobby-horses, dragons, and other Antiques, together with their baudie pipers and thundering drummers to strike up the devil’s dance withal, then marche these heathen company towards the Church or churchyard, their pipers piping, their drummers thundering, their stumpts dancing, their bells jingling, their hankerchiefs swinging about their heads like madmen.’

Caliban is described in the first folio list of characters as ‘salvage and deformed’. Edmund Malone described his costuming as ‘a large bear skin, or the skin of some other animal; and he is usually represented with long shaggy hair.’ His fishiness could be attributed to his smell considering he spends time among the rocky shores, rather than to his appearance. Trinculo calls him a moon-calf. This refers to one of many items of lore connected with the moon. The moon-calf was a false conception, a foetus imperfectly formed due to the influence of the moon. Caliban’s deformity, however, derives from a different area of lore. In the days of witchcraft it was supposed that devils called incubi and succubi roamed the earth with the express purpose of tempting people to abandon their purity of life. Most records of these creatures came from monasteries and convents and were a convenient way of covering up the sexual activity of supposedly celibate orders. Badly deformed children were suspected of having such undesirable parentage. In this instance we know that Caliban’s mother was a witch and that he was ‘got by the devil himself’.

Caliban...Cambion_or_MooncalfHowever, Caliban’s intelligence and emotional development is far above the usual literary and mythological breed of savage man. When he is denied the pleasure of Miranda’s bed and forced to serve under Prospero’s will he expresses a very human bitterness:

When thou cam’st first,

Thou strok’st me, and made much of me

And then I lov’d thee,

And show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle.


Renaissance literature provides us with many examples of the civilised man turned savage, whether due to banishment or exile, or due to betrayal in love or friendship.

Pericles, The Globe, 2015

Pericles, The Globe, 2015

In Pericles the hero displays the characteristics of the wild man. Believing both his wife and daughter to be dead, he swears never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs. And when his ship reaches Mytilene we are told in Act 5 Scene 1 that  ‘for this three month he hath not spoken / To anyone, nor taken sustenance / But to prorogue his grief.’ Having found incest, fraud and jealously among men, having lost those he held most dear, and seeing nature indifferent to justice and misery, he becomes less than human in his suffering. In his reunion with Marina we are reminded of Edgar’s words at his own reconciliation with his despairing father ‘Twixt two extremes of passion , joy and grief’ they meet. Through the extreme depth of suffering that we see physically manifested, a reaction of extreme cathartic joy is reached.

Edgar victorianEdgar embodies many of the characteristics identified as that of the wild man but he is unlike any other. He dramatizes a vision of man brought near to beast – appropriate in a play full of animal imagery and crowded with comparisons of man to animal. As Bedlam beggar, he will mortify his flesh, elf all his hair in knots, grime his face with filth and take the ‘basest and most poorest shape/That ever penury, in contempt of man, /Brought near to beast.’ Through his encounter with Poor Tom, Lear reaches an awareness of the nature of humanity. If man is inherently different from animal, the distinction between the two lies not with physical or material qualities, but with rational and spiritual values – duty, affection, kindness, pity, fortitude and forgiveness. As critic G M Princiss stated:

In enacting the role of Poor Tom, Edgar embodies the lowest pitch of human existence. However, through his various impersonations we watch him re-establish order and hierarchy among humanity. Starting with the bare, forked animal, ‘the thing itself’, Edgar by turns becomes peasant, soldier, knight incognito and perhaps even king. He stands for the great range of human potential in behaviour and class and at the same time reminds us of the narrow distance between noblemen and beggar, accommodated man and bare forked animal. He portrays not only man’s closeness to the beast but his distance from it. And in emphasizing man’s common humanity, Edgar is perhaps the most powerful, poignant and comprehensive presentation of the savage man in literature. In the words of Beckett’s tramps, ‘He’s all humanity’.

Karin Brown, Shakespeare Institute Librarian

Shakespeare in Art: Tempests, Tyrants and Tragedy at Compton Verney

compton-verney-robinThe Compton Verney Sketching Trolley, stands in a stairwell stocked with pencils, drawing boards, paper. It would be easy to pass it by but there’s a printed page too: Faces and Feelings in Shakespeare is the heading. Not a kids’ activity but one for all ages. We’re encouraged to identify emotion in depictions of Shakespearean characters: fear, anger, love, sadness and betrayal are suggested.

This then is the perspective which informs the exhibition I have come to see. It’s designed as a theatrical experience which celebrates subjective responses to the poetry, drama and – above all – the emotional intensity of Shakespeare’s texts. I take this on board.Which is a bad, but wholly appropriate pun, because I go in through a very ordinary door and am immediately on board ship. It’s dim, the deck heaves under my feet, booming and cracking noises suggest the vessel is breaking up. I grasp that there’s a howling storm out there. And I’m face to face with Prospero’s ‘drown my book’ speech, half-lit on the wall.

I know the passage well. Or do I? When did I last close-read it? For the text springs into new life: this is a magic storm called up by a wizard who the power to ‘ope graves’ and raise the dead. And he’s angry. I’ve seen many Tempests over decades of theatre-going, but always from a safe, dry seat. Each time, in a mildly academic way, one wonders how they’re going to do the storm. But this is different: I’m part of it and it’s scary.

The guide says that the floor was designed with an irregular rake so that it seems to move and pitch. The ship’s planking is under-lit in some places, suggesting an unstable deck over a cavernous space below. The angle of the rake and the exact width of the spaces between planks was apparently a matter of some discussion when the exhibition was planned. Art must always be constrained by something and, in this case, Health and Safety concerns about trippings-up, stalling wheelchairs and skyscraper heels were the determining factors. The use of briny and tarry odours to enhance the sensory impact was also considered. But the potentially damaging effects of wafting chemical vapours on sensitive materials was regarded as too risky.

But now I’ve landed on the enchanted isle. Fragments from a larger canvas by George Ramsay show Ferdinand leaping ashore; Alonso, bedraggled and bewildered. Philip de Loutherbourg’s Shipwreck gives us a Ferdinand clinging to rocks and barely evading the grasp of a violently foaming wave. Here is Caliban from a 1978 painting, (Thou earth, thou!) a creature of the same tones of sand and mud from which he seems to have emerged. In a canvas by John Pierre Simon he is brutish and ugly with ape-like ears, while David Scott presents him as ponderous, earthbound, staggering under his load of firewood. The depiction of Ariel in all these works is in sharp contrast: the sprite is winged and floating, supple, sinuous and riding the air like an airborne dancer.

Now, Darwin is in my mind. Though On the Origin of Species did not appear until 1859 – he held back publication of his great work, rightly anticipating its establishment-rocking reception – a number of similar theories on the origins of man were circulating in the first half of the century. Frankenstein is surely in the mix too: hideous, homeless, rejected and mistreated by their father-figures, both the Mary Shelley’s Creature and Shakespeare’s Caliban crave acceptance and possess sensitivity and intelligence.

THE_TEMPEST_2110An_1717652iI can’t leave this section without gazing for some minutes at Anthony Sher’s depiction of himself in role as Prospero. Against a background of a custom rail of tribal masks, Sher crouches centre-stage balancing the all-powerful staff on a forefinger. The painting refers to a 2009 production of The Tempest in South Africa. But there are other levels of meaning here. Not all the masks are benevolent: some seem futuristic – eight eyed aliens – others bare their teeth menacingly. What is Sher saying? Something about the versatility of the actor who, in the blink of an eye, can assume any role? Power, certainly. But an ephemeral power, implied perhaps by the humble, disposable -plastic water bottle, placed before the great magician: a symbol of his mortality.

The Exhibition is divided into seven ’Acts’ and I pass on to Hamlet, a drowning woman and shades of Millais’ ‘Ophelia.’

For here is a life-size Ophelia, immersed. She’s slender, fragile, dressed in virgin white and clasping flowers. Her image wavers under the surface as tiny fish flit by. We have Gertrude’s detailed account of the event and again I am driven back to the text. Too often, Ophelia’s death is referred to as ‘suicide’. Not so. We last see her in the ‘mad scene’ where she is described as ‘distract’, ‘divided from herself and her fair judgement’. It’s the ‘poison of deep grief’ for her father that’s sent her over the edge, together with her rejection by Hamlet – another form of bereavement. She doesn’t drown herself but climbs a willow over a stream. An ‘envious sliver’ breaks and her sodden clothes bear her under.

The genius of this 2014 installation by the husband and wife team Davy and Kirsten McGuire, is that suddenly the apparently drowned figure stirs. Streams of bubbles erupt from nostrils and mouth and her limbs move frantically. Has the cold water brought her to her senses? Is she struggling for life? It is both moving and distressing, for the figure succumbs finally and sinks away. The cycle repeats itself while an endless recording of ‘Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day’ becomes more and more vexing and fraying to the nerves.

terryI am glad to turn to the 1888 John Singer Sargent painting of Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth. This is the true face of a Tyrant. The Queen crowns herself in Napoleonic style, drawn up to an imposing height and glittering in the peacock blue and auburn robe, adorned with a thousand iridescent beetle wings, which Terry wore onstage. Her eyes are avid and full of triumph. There is no reference at all in the text to the Macbeth’s coronation: all is inferred by Sargent from the early scenes of the play where the voracious ambition of Lady Macbeth pushes her husband into regicide. It’s a breath-taking piece of imagination and execution, made more striking by the art deco frame commissioned by Sargent. This features the same Gaelic designs as appear in the Queen’s crown and period art deco footlights – with what care and attention to detail has this exhibition been planned! – illuminate the whole.

The lighter relief of A Midsummer Night’s Dream comprises Act 5. A sequence of photographs by David Farrell capture behind-the-scenes shots of Sir Peter Brook’s 1968 film of the play, shot entirely at Compton Verney itself. Judi Dench, Helen Mirren, Ian Holm and Ian Richardson are all there. How young they look. Green leaves deck the roof of the gallery and birds twitter while I stare in fascination at Tom Hunter’s remarkable photographic remixes of The Dream, drawing on the venues and people of modern day Hackney.

Samba dancers, a thrash metal band and pole dancers appear in pieces such as And I Serve the Fairy Queen and The Course of True Love. Titania becomes a Samba Queen: sexy, rather sleazy and asleep on the green baize of a snooker table which hints playfully at the greenwood, while urban fairies watch over her. The triple wedding at the end of the play is held in a nightclub/pub setting – all lurex curtains and balloons. The fairies, mingled with the guests, watch on impassively. Another large installation is an urban brick wall which one has to examine closely to find the chink. It’s fresh, challenging and stimulating.

There’s much, much more. Most striking is the digitally rendered and animated Ariel which will appear in the production of The Tempest at the RSC this year. Theatre goes on and on, pushing the technical boundaries. And Shakespeare, as always, accommodates it.

I leave, walking down the long path from the gracious Compton Verney mansion to the lake and the bridge guarded by four  massively-clawed sphinxes. The air seems fresher here, swishing through the great cedar trees, envisaged  but never  actually seen by Capability Brown.

As usual, on leaving an exhibition, I feel as if I’ve only scratched the surface. But, in the current trendy term, I have been immersed.

Bettina Harris, Library Support Assistant

Thanks to Lorna Burslem for advice on sourcing images.

The Shakespeare Films That Never Were

With Almereyda’s Cymbeline (brave choice!) and Justin Kurzel’s Macbeth both due to be released in the next year or so, one starts to think of Shakespeare plays you’d like to see filmed and those proposed films of that never got made. It turns out that three of my favourite directors nearly adapted Shakespeare for the screen but didn’t quite get there – imagination bodies forth and wistfully forms images of what might have been.

Most famously and probably best known, Alfred Hitchcock wanted to produce a modernized version of Hamlet set in England with Cary Grant in the title role.

Alfred Hitchcock and Cary Grant

Alfred Hitchcock and Cary Grant

With his love of Freud, it’s not surprising that Hitch wanted to produce Hamlet as “a psychological melodrama”. How much of Shakespeare’s original language the script would have contained is unclear but I for one would have loved to hear Grant’s distinctive and enchanting voice reading the lines of the Bard. The reasons as to why the project fell through seem to be manifold. Cary Grant, who was ever-so-slightly type-cast by everyone (except Hitchcock) because of his excellence in romantic comedy, turned down the role.

cary-grant-actor-1932In films like Notorious and Suspicion Hitch had brought out interesting tensions in Grant’s persona, revealing a darker and dangerous side to his character. Grant himself was apparently struck with class-consciousness and feared that his cockney upbringing would become evident in Shakespeare which was traditionally spoken in Received Pronunciation. Could it be that he also felt that at the age of forty-two he was too old to play the Dane? Grant’s decision aside it has also been mooted that a professor who had written a modern version of Hamlet threatened Hitchcock’s film company, Transatlantic, with a lawsuit.

Interestingly, one of Hitch’s most successful and popular films has been compared with Hamlet by some critics, North-by-Northwest referring to Hamlet’s words to Polonius, “I am but mad north-north-west”. Read more on the Hamlet connection in Grunes’s blog: http://grunes.wordpress.com/2007/03/30/north-by-northwest-alfred-hitchcock-1959/

…and in A Hitchcock Reader, ed. Marshall Deutelbaum (Wiley-Blackwell; 2nd Edition 2009)

Poster for North by Northwest

Nice to think that he smuggled in the Dane at last!

It’s also great that the legacy of this missed opportunity lives on – students from Mercyhurst University, PA., were given one week to plan, film, edit, and present a film in homage to Hitchcock’s proposed Hamlet – screenshots from these are available online. http://plato.mercyhurst.edu/english/breed/www/Hitch/HHH.htm

Another of Britain’s greatest and most visionary directors, Michael Powell, who worked with Emeric Pressburger on some of the most visually stunning, emotionally complex, beautiful and intriguing films ever made (yes, I’m a big fan..) – wanted to direct a film version of The Tempest.

Director Michael Powell

Director Michael Powell

Powell worked on the script from 1970-1975 producing several versions. The production was to have starred James Mason as Prospero and Mia Farrow as Ariel. Topol, Frankie Howerd, and Malcolm McDowell were also in the proposed cast; Gerald Scarf was set to design. If any of you have seen The Red Shoes, A Matter of Life and Death or Tales from Hoffman, for example, you will start gnashing your teeth at such a missed opportunity. It’s hard to imagine a director that would be better suited to directing the visual fantasy, poetry and imagination of The Tempest.

The Red Shoes

The Red Shoes, 1948

However, Powell had been condemned for his own genius by British studios when his controversial film Peeping Tom hit the screens in 1960. Now considered a classic the violent reaction by critics to the film basically ended Powell’s career in this country. In view of what had happened to Powell, Hitchcock refused a press screening for Psycho which came out the same year, in fear that it would elicit a similar reaction. Powell (like many criminalised Brits before him!) exiled himself in Australia. While he was there he made the films They’re a Weird Mob and Age of Consent starring James Mason and Helen Mirren. It was during the making of Age of Consent that Powell started thinking about Mason as Prospero. However it was not to be. The BFI web page on films of The Tempest notes:

Michael Powell never made his long-planned Tempest, but his 1969 film Age of Consent, shows clear parallels, being about a disenchanted artist (James Mason) who rediscovers his inspiration when he meets the beautiful Cora (Helen Mirren), but their idyllic existence is threatened by the coarse Caliban-like Nat Kelly (Jack MacGowran). http://www.screenonline.org.uk/tv/id/564758/

Age of Consent

Age of Consent, 1969 with Helen Mirren and James Mason

Michael Powell stated: I gave up the idea of doing The Tempest in England – because people said, “Oh Christ! Now he wants to do The Tempest! It’s a good script but you know Micky Powell and you never know where it will end!” Funding was turned down by major studios. Some backing was given by Frixos Constantine & Costas Caryiannis but the rest of the money couldn’t be raised.

The great advocate and scholar on Michael Powell, Ian Christie, celebrated Powell’s unmade Tempest at Cine City Brighton Film Festival in 2009 in which they showed:

… a section of The Tempest which was specially created for a tribute edition of The Late Show on Powell in 1992. Powell wrote the scene in a Shakespearean style as a new opening to the film. “Most film-makers spend time working on projects that don’t get made and never get talked about. What I’m trying to do is bring those films alive,” says Christie. So while we will never see Powell’s full vision of “the one that got away”, we can at least glimpse what he was trying to achieve. (Independent, 19 November 2009)

The third in my top three of missed opportunities is Andrei Tarkovsky’s Hamlet. Tarkovsky had directed Hamlet for the stage in 1977 at Moscow Lenkom Theatre. He believed Hamlet to be “one of the greatest works of genius in the whole of art.”

Tarkovsky's Hamlet 1977

Hamlet, Moscow, 1977

It is telling that, when Tarkovsky began to speak publicly about his conception for a film adaptation of Hamlet, he was circumspect concerning the details because, he said, ‘I still have to find an equivalent of Shakespeare in my own genre. I have to find my own form to deal with the story, a different dramaturgy.’ Robert Bird, Andrei Tarkovsky: Elements of Cinema (Reaktion Books, 2008) 184

The Hamlet Project at the Capital Centre, University of Warwick initiated by Tom Cornford investigated Tarkovsky’s staging of the play with other lost or never-made Hamlets of Stanislavsky and Edward Gordon Craig, Meyerhold, Michael Chekhov. http://www2.warwick.ac.uk/newsandevents/podcasts/culture/89-hamlet-project/

It’s clear through Tarkovsky’s visual mastery of symbolism, philosophy and spirituality as to why he was drawn particularly to Hamlet. Like Powell he was not afraid to mix ‘visions’ with reality and use all of the imagination and technical brilliance he possessed. With a cinematographer like Sven Nykvist who worked on Tarkovsky’s last film The Sacrifice (and long-term collaborator of Bergman) one can only imagine the masterpiece of cinematic poetry that would have emerged. Sadly, Tarkovsky was diagnosed with cancer in 1985 and was denied the time to plan and produce his Hamlet. He died in 1986 aged 54.

The Sacrifice

Tarkovsky’s The Sacrifice, 1986 which contained echoes of Hamlet.

Karin Brown, Shakespeare Institute Librarian