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Your eyes were glacial and your promises all rang true
And this is why I am not a director, because while I realize that there is much psychological and supernatural ambiguity to be mined from the banquet scene in Macbeth—whether there is truly a spectre at the feast or whether Macbeth's reason is starting to give way, his guilt painting up murdered Banquo before him as previously his ambition drew a dagger on the air; or whether this question matters at all—I also think there's no argument: of course the ghost is really there. He promised Macbeth he would be.
MACBETH
Here's our chief guest.
LADY MACBETH
If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all-thing unbecoming.
MACBETH
To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir,
And I'll request your presence.
BANQUO
Let your highness
Command upon me; to the which my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.
MACBETH
Ride you this afternoon?
BANQUO
Ay, my good lord.
MACBETH
We should have else desired your good advice,
Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,
In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.
Is't far you ride?
BANQUO
As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the night
For a dark hour or twain.
MACBETH
Fail not our feast.
BANQUO
My lord, I will not.
The world of Macbeth is one of witches and worse things waiting, curses and prophesies and adynata that come, however slantwise—none of woman born, till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane—true. (I'm with Tolkien, however, in being disappointed that the actual wood does not go anywhere. I really expected it to, the first time I read Macbeth. It's like an entire forest of Chekhov's gun.) It's not the most supernatural play in the canon, but it's got to be up there. Ghosts and apparitions are not suspensions of disbelief, but factual as branches or blades. And words are spells. Our chief guest, all-thing unbecoming, a most indissoluble tie, this is performative speech. So don't command someone to dinner and then kill him, for the love of little green apples. Especially in a Scotland of völur, you're a fool if you think a man's death is a stronger bond than his word.
(I am quite sure every critic back to the seventeenth century has already figured this out, but I just thought of it in the shower. It saves me posting about the fact that what I have is probably a viral sore throat and may not go away for weeks, which is a lot more annoying.)
MACBETH
Here's our chief guest.
LADY MACBETH
If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all-thing unbecoming.
MACBETH
To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir,
And I'll request your presence.
BANQUO
Let your highness
Command upon me; to the which my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.
MACBETH
Ride you this afternoon?
BANQUO
Ay, my good lord.
MACBETH
We should have else desired your good advice,
Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,
In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.
Is't far you ride?
BANQUO
As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the night
For a dark hour or twain.
MACBETH
Fail not our feast.
BANQUO
My lord, I will not.
The world of Macbeth is one of witches and worse things waiting, curses and prophesies and adynata that come, however slantwise—none of woman born, till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane—true. (I'm with Tolkien, however, in being disappointed that the actual wood does not go anywhere. I really expected it to, the first time I read Macbeth. It's like an entire forest of Chekhov's gun.) It's not the most supernatural play in the canon, but it's got to be up there. Ghosts and apparitions are not suspensions of disbelief, but factual as branches or blades. And words are spells. Our chief guest, all-thing unbecoming, a most indissoluble tie, this is performative speech. So don't command someone to dinner and then kill him, for the love of little green apples. Especially in a Scotland of völur, you're a fool if you think a man's death is a stronger bond than his word.
(I am quite sure every critic back to the seventeenth century has already figured this out, but I just thought of it in the shower. It saves me posting about the fact that what I have is probably a viral sore throat and may not go away for weeks, which is a lot more annoying.)
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I like your musings.
Nine
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"But someday, they're going to erect a statue to me in this town—"
"Well, don't start posing for it now."
I like your musings.
(Thank you.)
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Do you know Kurosawa's Throne of Blood? The forest moving towards us through the mist is very well done.
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Yes! Open-ended promises and failure to specify parameters will get you every time.
Do you know Kurosawa's Throne of Blood? The forest moving towards us through the mist is very well done.
No; I haven't seen any of Kurosawa's Shakespeare adaptations yet. So noted.
(With the exception of Seven Samurai (1954), which I saw years ago—right around the same time I saw The Magnificent Seven (1960), thus confusing my brain forever—my experience of Kurosawa's films is very recent, comprising at this point Rashomon (1950), Ikiru (1952), Yojimbo (1961). Do you have other recommendations?)
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Thank you for mentioning that one. I've been watching Kurosawa with my friend Viking Zen, who has a streamable Netflix account on her TV; we saw Dreams in the list of immediately available films, but had no idea what it was.
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But I realize what you're getting at here was that Banquo had promises to keep and miles to go before he slept, and I agree. That's strong evidence.
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. . . yeah. I don't know if I've ever seen an interpretation that didn't treat the ghost as real. You can argue a lot of things about Hamlet's mental state, but I don't think heaven and earth, Horatio is one of them.
But I realize what you're getting at here was that Banquo had promises to keep and miles to go before he slept, and I agree. That's strong evidence.
Thanks. I wasn't sure I'd presented it as coherently as it deserved at three in the morning.
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*glee*
I hadn't noticed that before! Wonderful.
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Thank you! Seriously, the whole play is like a succession of charms.
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You're welcome. I bet there are productions that have done something with it; and if there aren't, I want to see one.
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I hope you're feeling better soon, throat and all.
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At the moment, unfortunately, I'm worse than yesterday. But I have hope. Also, a lot of hot tea.
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Oh, I'm sorry. I'm glad you've hope. And tea. Sometimes that does more good than hope does.
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And now I'm thinking, "And tea does more than Milton can . . ."
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I suppose I was consciously thinking more in a Gaffer Gamgee-esque vein, but I'm pleased to have inspired a Housman reference.
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Oh no! And no, if it is anything like my cough, it will not. I recommend gargling, and hope that it does not prevent you from doing anything you had planned.
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I'm so sorry. Are you still sick?
I recommend gargling, and hope that it does not prevent you from doing anything you had planned.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to attend a Burns Night I was invited to—I think this is not the sort of thing to share with strangers at the haggis. But I'm still going to see a movie this afternoon, because it's sunny out and I hate being confined. I will just try not to exhale . . .
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I had completely forgotten that it was Burn's Night.
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Gah. I'm sorry. Don't have TB!
I had completely forgotten that it was Burn's Night.
Not till Monday! I'm just dubious that I'll be sufficiently healthy by then to risk interacting with other singers.
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Ah, that's a pity. Good on you for being thoughtful of the rest, but I'm sorry you have to miss Burns Night. I hope you're well enough, but I expect you're right about yourself.