Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta 2012 olympics. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta 2012 olympics. Mostrar todas las entradas

viernes, 11 de agosto de 2023

HORRIBLE HISTORIES SONGS IN SWEDISH

 HH SAVAGE SONGS - IN SWEDISH

Translated by Sandra Dermark

REGENTERNA (REFRÄNG)

Wille, Wille, Henrik, Stefan, Henrik, Rickard, Jan

Henrik, Ed, Ed, Ed, Dick tvâ, tre Henrikar till i vâr sâng

Edward, Edward, Rickard Tre, Henrik, Henrik, Ed igen,

Maria! Lisabet!

James, Karl och Karl och sen

Jim, Wille, Maria, Anne-Gloria,

George, George, George, George, Wille, Victoria,

Edward, George, Edward, George Sex

och Lisa Tvâ är vâr regeeent!

TUDOR-ÄTTEN

Lisa: Alla som bor vid den här tiden i den här trakten

vet att ätten Tudor är de som har fullmakten

min farfar Henrik Sjuan

han slog kung Rickard

han pâ bilden

segraren alltsâ

Han älskade sitt namn och

var ingen blygsam fänrik

hans son fick heta Henrik

hur var han dâ?

Alla säger Henrik 8 gjorde illdâd en massa

jag mâste erkänna, trots att han var min farsa

Vi är Tudors

Storbritanniens Vasar

en hopskock vilda masar

som dräper sâ fint

Tudors

var fiende en Judas

âtminstone är vi ej som

Anders Lundin

Henrik: Jag hade en känd regering

älskade att slakta och jaga

men frugan fick mig aga

hon födde en Marie

jag ville ha en kronprins

sâ jag tog ut skilsmässa

Lisa: Sen fick du en till dotter

Henrik: En till? Ânej tji!

Lisa: Det är mig du talar om!

Tudors

fasligt överlägsna

Henrik: Vem följde mig pâ tronen?

Lisa: Inget alls svar.

Henrik: Det mâste vara min kronprins

Lisa: Ja, den sjuklige Edward

fick lungsot och for hädan

Henrik: Och efter det?

Lisa: Sen kom dina tvâ döttrar

först blodiga Mary

hon var katolsk och marig

sâ leve mig!

Tudors

vi gick in i historien

som en skock vilda masar

som dräpte och stred

Jag fick inga barn

sâ ätten slut fick ta

vi var inte rättvisa

men hade ändâ fred!

SKILD, HALSHUGGEN OCH AVLED

Skild, halshuggen och avled

Skild, halshuggen, överskred

Jag, Henrik VIII, fick mângen fru

undrar var de är just nu

En Katarina var först

hon släcke för âtrâ min törst

Ingen kronprins? Frânskild, pâ Towerns borg

satt hon och dog av hjärtesorg

Anna Boleyn, nummer tvâ

Hon gav mig en tös likasâ

Jag sa att hon bedrog mig med en ann

sâ tappade huvudet stackars Anne...

Jane Seymour var nummer tre

och den som jag mest älskade

hon gav min en kronprins, sâ vi log

men hon fick hög feber och dog

Skild, halshuggen och avled

Skild, halshuggen, överskred

Jag, Henrik VIII, fick mângen fru

undrar var de är just nu

Anna von Kleven gör fyr

jag sâg hennes porträtt och blev yr

men fick se henne live och skrek: En tysk märr!

Jag mâste skilja mig tyvärr...

Catherine Howard gör fem

en ungmö i varenda lem

tyvärr bedrog hon mig! Sin man och sin kung!

sâ hon fick avrättas fast hon var för ung...

Catherine Parr hon var sist

jag hade min ungdom dâ mist

jag dog av ett bensâr i smärta och kiv

lyckliga hon fick behâlla sitt liv...

Orättvist!

Skild, halshuggen och avled

Skild, halshuggen, överskred

Jag, Henrik VIII, fick mângen fru

undrar var de är just nu

ETT LITE MINDRE ANTAL KLOSTER

HENRIK VIII: Ett lite mindre antal kloster,

lite mer reformation.

Vill ha tag pâ deras pengar,

för min religion!

Lite mindre pâve,

mycket mer kung,

jag hoppas fâ deras kosing i min pung…

Att kriga mot Frankrike är vad som lyster mig,

och att föra krig kostar!

Pâvens tro är nu lyst i bann…

Nu styr jag kyrkan här i England…

Allt gâr som smort,

jag har ingen sorg,

i tornerspel och dryckeslag,

Anne tappade huvudet häromdagen!

Det blir gott om spex

âr (15)36,

jag hâller än pâ med vâld och sex,

och kyrkan är min,

det är ingen bluff,

de ska lära sig att jag spelar tufft!

Ett lite mindre antal kloster,

lite mer reformation.

Vill ha tag pâ deras pengar,

för min religion!

Lite mer kung,

färre nunnor här…

Jag ska sälja deras mark och köpa gevär…

Att kriga mot Frankrike är vad som lyster mig,

och att föra krig kostar!

För katolikerna gâr det inte väl…

Jag sänder min högra hand, Cromwell…

Med misstankar, lögn

och bedrägeri…

Jag hör deras desperata skrik,

sen tar deras mark som första pris!

Att förneka mig

är förräderi,

men jag har förstând

här inuti:

Jag erbjuder gâvor,

ger betalt,

men krossar de som säger halt!

Ett lite mindre antal kloster,

lite mer reformation.

Vill ha tag pâ deras pengar,

deras religion!

Om de ej förändrar sig,

sträckbänken ska de fâ av mig!

Bäst att förneka pâven och godkänna mig,

ja, att godkänna mig!

Sâ ut med var munk (var munk, var munk!)!

Ut med var munk (var munk, var munk!)!

Nâgra flyr

utomlands,

resten krossar jag i min hand!

Javisst, de ska torteras,

hängas, dras och kvarteras!

Ett lite mindre antal kloster,

lite mer reformation.

Vill ha tag pâ deras pengar,

för min religion!

Översvämma klostren, ta deras guld,

stänga vart bibliotek av böcker fullt!

Det finns inget att göra för att hejda mig,

ty jag är kung Henrik!

Sâ ska det lâta!

Det blir lite mer reformation!

MARY TUDOR

Kung Henrik, ja, min fader,

önskade att jag fick bröder,

men det blev inga, alltsâ

tog han dâ ett par styvmöder.

När min halvbror Edward kom

tog jag av kronan farväl:

kvinnfolk kunde ej regera

ty de hade en för svag själ.

Men jag gav inte upp sâ lätt,

sâ, äntligen, barnlös,

gick han in i evigheten

och dâ blev jag krönt

Mary

Tudor, det är jag,

engelsk drottning, den röda rosen,

ej förväxlas alls med Mary

Stuart, min skotska släkting,

även hon katolik!

En viss lady vid namn Jane Gray

skulle ej bli drottning alls,

hon gjorde ansprâk pâ tronen,

fick tyvärr ont i sin hals.

Jag var katolska, ett gissel

för den nya religion

som kallades Engelska kyrkan,

utan nâgon pardon.

De kättarna, som kallade sig protestanter, var

sâ lättantändliga, och deras eld sâ ljus och klar!

Mary

Tudor, det är jag,

engelsk drottning, den röda rosen,

röd av blod och eld, dock mörkt hâr,

som kom in i världshistorien

som en hel katastrof!

Äktade Filip Habsburg, som sedan lämnade mig,

för att äkta en annan: en svikare!

Över Kanalen lät vi tvâ föra en här

som gick mot franzoserna med förlust som tär!

Det regnade, det öste ner, det öste mer och mer,

med skördarna gick det dâ snett och livslängden gick ner,

i krig fann nederlag och brände kättare pâ bâl,

brände fler, av protestanter blev det luad âl!

Fick inga barn, min arvinge min halvsyster fick vara

sâ länge hon regerade väl och var katolik som jag...

Lisa

lyssnade ej,

hon gjorde landet protestantiskt,

sâ kunde det inte fâ vara,

allting jag hade försökt uppnâ

blev det ingenting av!

DICK TURPIN

Alla känner till historian om Dick Turpins rövargloria

den är ej en sann historia, visste ni ej

Ni tror jag var en frihetskämpe, de fattigas försvarare

tror ni att jag var det? Svaret nej

Som en slaktarson i Essex var jag flink med hand och kniv

en dâ okänd söt ung tjuvskytt som fick leva ett dubbelt liv

Ett ökänt rövarband fick dâ en krabat att rekrytera

jag lärde mig deras hemliga kod och mycket mera

vi drog igenom gârdarna, vi stal och sköt och stred

när överheten kom var det blott jag som överskred

Jag blev till en rövarkung, till folkets fiende

jag var ingen drömprins, inget romantiskt med mig

Undertecknad var vâldsam, man kan väl säga sadist

stal pengar, ur, juveler, skrattar bäst som skrattar sist

Min märr hon hette ej Svarta Lisa, utan Svarta Blixt

Jag var sagt inte den drömprins som ni tänkte näst sist

Legenden missar fakta som ni borde känna väl

jag var en mördare med iskallt hjärta och kolsvart själ

Jag blev till en rövarkung, till folkets fiende

jag var ingen drömprins, inget romantiskt med mig

Jag rymde till Yorkshire, bytte namn till John Ward

men âkte fast för att ha stulit höns frân en viss gârd

skrev ett brev till mina kära att köpa mig fri

brevbäraren sâg pâ kuvertet och c’est la vie!

Han hade lärt mig att läsa och skriva...

“Det är inte John Wards hand, det är Dick Turpins!”

Jag blev till en rövarkung, till folkets fiende

jag var ingen drömprins, inget romantiskt med mig

det blev inga fler fuffens, nej, nu var det slut pâ det

för vem vill hänga med en rövarkung som hänger frân ett rep?

DE FYRA GEORGARNA

1 (stark tysk brytning): Ich fick ta öfer Englands Tron

för att ich far en Lutheran

Kurfurste, ich kudde ej Spraket bra

Kung George Nummer Ett

2: Jag älskade att diskutera

speciellt med farsan här med flera

och när han dog, med äldste sonen

i piska och epâlett

3: Jag slog rekord

med 60 ârs regeringstid

4: Och jag slog vâgen i kras

med min kroppsvolym

Alla: Födda till att styra är vi fâ

Kung George

4:..fyr...

3:...tre...

1:..Ett...

2:...och tvâ

Alla: Ni mâste göra som vi har sagt

därför att vârt blod är blâtt.

1: Ich far en Qwinnokarl sa älskad

adliga Damer och Jungfrurs Günstling

De kudde schöra fad som helst för mig

ich dräpte deras Män

2: Jag förde krig mot Rare Prins Kalle

3: Alla sa att jag var den bbbballe!

4: Jag spelade bort mig, tänk!

Alla: Älskar folk dock oss än?

1: Ich far der Sorgsne

2: Jag var den hete

3: Jag var den galne

4: Och jag var den fete

Alla: Födda till att styra är vi fâ

Kung George

4:..fyr...

3:...tre...

1:..Ett...

2:...och tvâ

Alla: Englands kungar, men med tyskt pâbrâ

4: Han...

1: Och han...

3+4: och sen vi tvâ...

Alla: Födda till att styra är vi fâ

1: Dog pa Toa, fet ni ocksa

2: Älskade men föraktade likasâ

Alla: Födda till att styra är vi fâ

3: Jag var sâ sâ galen som ett känguru i trikâ

4: Och jag var sâ fet sâ jag stod inte ut

Alla: Och nu är vâr sâng slut.

FÖRMYNDAREN

4: Jag är George Fyr, förmyndaren

vilket är vikarieregent

vikarie för att min far

George III helt galen var

3: Kuckuck!

4: Lät bygga nyklassiska slott

Buckingham ett exempel blott

konst och mode sâ jag älskar

3: Och hustrur?

4: Skulle ha aldrig äktat!

Adliga, konstnärliga

var kvinnorna i mitt liv

jag älskade alla utom en

min hustru Caroline

3: Hans hustru Caroline

4: Tyst!

Jag äktade en viss Caroline

när spelskulden steg ej alls fint

ty om jag skulle knyta band

skulle far ha pengar till hands

men kring vigseln kom en skandal ut

jag hade ju redan en fru

3: En skild katolska?

4: ...suckade far,

men med att dö den kuckun sâ seg var

3: För tidigt!

4: Äntligen solokarriär!

Sâ tog vid 10 âr som regent

av min fars avträde konsekvent

det första jag gjorde för att njuta

var att min Caroline förskjuta

sâ dog hon av ett brustet hjärta

efter tre veckors hädisk smärta

men alla pajer som jag ât

la slutligen för mig försât...

3: Hejsan, har vi setts? Jag är ett känguru!

4: Adliga, konstnärliga

var kvinnorna i mitt liv

jag älskade alla utom en

min hustru Caroline

jag var 10 âr pâ Englands tron

som lyssnaren kanske vet

nej allt som ni kommer ihâg

att jag var verkligen fet.

ROYALISTER VS PURITANER

Vi puritaner vill ej ha monarki

Därför har vi förklarat inbördeskrig

Folk säger vi är trâkiga, det är vi inte alls

speciellt när demokrati är ämnet till tals

Pass vad ni säger, royalisterna är här

hejar pâ kung Karl och pâ allt han begär!

ni puritaner lätt kan döda ett partaj

med allt ert andligt krimskrams som ej har nâgon sans...

Ni puritaner har för sunda vanor

regler och bestämmelser, trâkigt men rättvist

Vi royalister ända ner till vrister

vi älskar att partaja även om det är orättvist

Jag är regent och min vilja är lag

ska det bli krig blir det med välbehag

är gift med en viss Henriette de Bourbon

-Men tänka sig, kung Karl, det blir ingen pardon!

-Är det sâ ni talar till eder regent?

envälde utan riksdag det blir konsekvent!

-Jag tänker pâ att ämnet bör diskuteras

-Gör ni det? Pff! Lât dâ slagen vara flera!

Ni puritaner har för sunda vanor

tror ej pâ regenter, ni vill ha republik

Vi royalister ända ner till vrister

vi älskar att partaja även med slagfältens lik

Strid! Strid! Strid! Strid!

Strid! Strid! Strid! Strid!

Royalister, puritaner, engelska inbördeskrig

-Men du är ju min bror!

-Fâr jag döda dig?

-Visst!

-Inga fler krig ska det râda i vârt land

när jag tagit makten har ni ej jul till hands

-Ingen chans, Cromwell, segern blir nog vâr

förbjuda julklappar och glögg det är alltför svârt

-Skrattar bäst, Kalle, den som skrattar sist

förbjuda underhâllning gör vi även visst

-Uselt, Cromwell, chansen att du vinner är svâr

-Kung Karl är vâr fânge och segern är vâr!

Segern är vâr, stackars royalister!

Fly utomlands ni, jag är eder president!

Kung Karl dödens, envar styr sitt öde

inga fler nöjen eller nâgon regent!

-Men det blir sen!

KARL II

Jag heter

jag heter

jag heter Karl II!

Jag älskar folket, och de älskar mig si

sedan jag âtervände och âterställde monarkin.

Är halv skotte, halv franzos och lite grann skandinav

men hundra procent partydjur: nu bär det av!

Tycker om smâ knähundar med galen frisyr,

ser ut som min peruk, jag älskar dem bien sûr!

Fyller jag âr idag? Kommer jag inte ihâg!

Lât oss ha ett partaj, en riktig maskeradbal, ändâ!

Vâr kung

är ung,

sâ gung

och sjung,

ej lugn,

ty Karl Tvâan är en kung med schwung!

Min farsa, Karl I, förlorade krig, blev lyst i bann,

han halshöggs och stackars jag flydde mitt fosterland!

Ollie Cromwell var en trâkmâns, han var högfärdig och feg,

inga nöjen var tillâtna, existensen var rätt seg.

När Ollie kolade vippen, sa folk, “Kalle, min käre,

kom, ta din faders plats, vi vill döda tiden hellre!”

Sâ fick jag krona och spira, monarkin âterställdes,

frân segerfirandet var det nâgot annat som gällde!

Vâr kung

är ung,

sâ gung

och sjung,

ej lugn,

ty Karl Tvâan är en kung med schwung!

En brand förstörde London, och pesten kom hit likväl,

men de problemen löstes, jag tog i med all min själ!

Sâ här har ni en regent som tar det hela med en klackspark,

även om han fick som tonâring lida sâ det knastrade!

Vâr kung

är ung,

sâ gung

och sjung,

ej lugn,

ty Karl Tvâan är en kung med schwung!

UTVECKLINGSTEORIN

Folk trodde att alla djur

var ej släkt med varandra:

pâ femte dagen, Skaparen

skapade arterna, alla...

men nâgon sâg upp i ett träd,

tänkte: “den apan tar efter mig”

Sâ livets ursprung pâ vâr planet

var en otroligt mystisk hemlighet!

Gick ombord pâ klippern Beagle

med fiskmâsar och delfiner...

Vi studerade djur,

växter, väsen i ur och skur.

Sov i hytter och hängmattor,

levde pâ möss och markattor,

tills jag hade en tanke invecklat...

Att arter har utvecklats!

Arter har utvecklats,

varje art till sin miljö,

förändringar fick livet

att nâ fram till minsta ö...

Sâ näbbar med olika form

hos finkar med olika kost

betyder att var specialitet

gjorde sâ att dessa arter överskred!

Det fanns rejäla sköldpaddor

pâ nâgra av öarna Galapagos

med sköldar som vagnshjul,

det var nâgot som stod ut.

Leguaner uti havet,

som sam som det var självklarhet;

allt det speglade vad jag invecklat:

att arter har utvecklats!

Tillbaka i Storbritannien,

gjorde myndigheterna och kyrkan motattack.

Jag var själv en from protestant

och tvivlade pâ att härstamma frân aporna,

men det var lätt att säga ja!

Varje art som lätt förändras,

kommer snart att överleva

sâ att alla imperfektioner

blir tillrättade av naturen.

En begränsning kan vara dödlig

för en art som har invecklats,

sâ när handikapp tillrättas

kan överlevnad vara möjlig,

varav framstâr det objektivt

att arter har utvecklats!

MITT NAMN ÄR KALIGULA

(Det väldiga romerska imperiet var det största, värsta kvarteret.

Vi fyra var de värsta kejsarna, sâ för elakhet bered er!

Woo woo woo)

Kaligula: Mitt namn är Kaligula

och mina dâd är fula

vâgar du för mig ljuga

har du snart ingen hand!

En gâng tog jag en präst

som kommit för att offra en häst

tycker du nâd vore bäst

har du ingen chans!

Jag är väldigt fjunig, sâ ni vet,

men om nâgon viskar ordet “get”

ska h@n märkas med glödande järn

eller fâ strupen skuren, der finns inget värn!

Jag vet ej hut

och med det stâr jag ut

Har du än fyra lemmar kvar?

Ja, dâ har du en jävla himla tur!

Elagabalus: Er elakhet var fabulös

men här är Elagabalus

och han var mycket värre,

lyssna, min dam och herre!

Jag var väldigt ökänd,

slängde ormar pâ pöbeln,

giftormar, dessutom,

det ger extra poäng!

Om du vann pâ lotteri,

fick flugor eller vetekli

och gäster till palatset fick

lejon uti säng

Och ni som tror att barn är söta,

jag sâg pâ dem som en värsta röta!

med deras inälvor läste framtiden:

skulle varit mattelärare nuförtiden...

Jag var sâ kall

att tyckte allting var ballt,

genom hela imperiet

alla fruktade mitt namn!

Commodus: Era elakheter är fusk,

ty jag heter Commodus,

och värre härskare

har ej riket haft än mig

Det fanns aldrig en bättre fuskgladiator.

Om âskâdarna sa bu, fick de lejonen ett-tu.

Det fanns en rival jag hade, Julius Alexander,

men jag tog hans liv, det var för mycket kiv.

Jag är rar, sâ rar

sâ rar som ingen var

Kören: Du har fâtt kejsartiteln

av en from, rättrogen far...

Nero: Ni är envar ett zero

jämförda med mig, Nero

Ska man vara snäll,

har ni lyckats med det väl!

Jag förändrade OS

sâ jag fick alla gulden,

hovfolket skulle prisa,

och frukta för sitt liv...

Brände kristna och spela strängar,

bara för att ha det trevligt

och för ingen annan orsak!

Ja sâ trâkig kan makten bli...

Gift i min styvbroder,

drunkningsorder mot min moder,

hon flydde, men jag hann fatt,

stötte henne som en katt!

Ännu mer!

Med min första fru Oktavia

visade jag hur ond jag kunde vara

halshögg henne, sedan ett-tu

gav huvudet till min andra fru!

Jag är sâ elak

att ingen törs det neka:

kom an, jag vill se

nâgon värre i elakhet!

Är mjuk!

Kören: Sâ mjuk, att vi stâr inte ut!

Vi trodde att du var fruktansvärd men vad du är är sinnessjuk!

Nero: Jag har faktiskt blivit beskriven med ordet “sinnessjuk”.

FLAME

(OS, London 2012)

GREKER: Âr 766 för Kristus tog de första OS vid:

vart fjärde âr en fredsfest som uppehâll frân strid.

Fuskare gjöt Zeusbilder, var de fuskarna mânga?

Det fanns sâdana som gjöt av statyer rader lânga!

Även om krigen upphörde, var arenan full av vâld,

det fanns sâdana som omkom, vad än om de gick bort?

Som âskâdare och tävlare var kvinnor väck,

men det var därför att alla sportsmän tävlade helt näck!

Kören: Flame!

Det ska brinna för evigt,

hjältar, ja, sporting heroes!

Flame!

Vi skulle gilla näste,

om det ej var kejsar Nero!

NERO: Jag seglade till Grekland för att spela deras spel,

âr 67 blev jag en OS-stjärna, sâ ni vet!

Jag lät in en ny tävlingsgren och den var poesi:

för nâgon som vill ej anstränga sig och är kreativ, (som jag!)

Kraschade min racervagn, men vann där ändâ guld,

det är jag som ställer reglerna, och den regeln är huld!

Jag fick alla guld att hänga runt min hals,

och folk älskade mig: de skulle dö om de ej gjorde det alls!

Flame!

Mästaren här i allting,

OS fick dâ kejserlig klang!

Flame!

Tills âr 393,

lyste de kristna det i bann!

Kören: It’s over, it’s over, it’s over...

It’s over, it’s over, it’s over...

NERO: (Shame!)

BARONEN: (Arrêtez!) (fransk brytning)

Moi, baron de Coubertin, en välkänd fransk historiker,

jag hörde talas om OS och tänkte âterställa dem!

Det skulle vara som förut, fast med kläderna pâ,

ty reglerna om prydhet hade förändrats likasâ!

Sâ spelen âterföddes 1896,

i en âterbyggd arena, och med nya tävlare.

De är de OS-Spel som vi har än idag,

men det har bildats och upplösts en hel väldig del landslag!

Flame!

Jag har gâtt in i historien

men fâ kommer ihâg mitt namn!

Sâ, här är nâgon mer välkänd,

en man med ett guldhjärta i famn!

JESSE: Jag, Jesse Owens, snabbast var âr 1936,

tog fyra guldmedaljer, och mycket mer än det,

ty det envar bör veta om min stora seger

är att den gjorde Hitler galen och helt blek av vrede!

Hitler ville att Spelen skulle hâllas i Berlin,

visa att, förutom arierna, ingen annan ras var fin.

Jag vann fyra guld, han tog sitt nederlag,

nazismens teori tog ett förkrossande slag!

Kören: Flame!

Lâgan skall evigt brinna!

Och spänningen aldrig ta slut!

Flame!

Det gör inget alls att vinna...

(Sâg du att facklan blâstes ut?)

Olympic, Olympic, Olympic...

Flame!

BURKE OCH HARE-MORDEN

KNOX: Jag är Knox, en välkänd fältskär,

och tjänar mitt levebröd

genom att dissekera

lik ej lângt sedan deras död.

Tvâ trevliga unga herremän

kom hem till mig en natt...

BURKE: Kalla mig Burke.

HARE: Kalla mig Hare.

BURKE+HARE: Hur är det fatt?

KNOX: De herrarna förklarade

för mig att en bekant

hade gâtt i evigheten

förra dagen, det var sant.

HARE: Ursäkta mitt erbjudande.

KNOX: Sa Burke... det var nog Hare...

BURKE: Skulle du vilja skära upp,

se hur hon är?

KNOX: Det är alltid ett palaver

att fâ tag pâ ett kadaver,

sâ jag tror att jag tar ‘ne… (Elakt skratt)

Dagarna gick, och alltid

kom de med en tjej eller karl.

Snart hade jag i labbet

väldigt lite utrymme kvar.

Betalt, det fick de bra nog!

Alltid fanns det lik just här!

Ni är verkligen upptagna,

Mr. Burke…

HARE (avbryter): Och Mr. Hare!

KNOX: Jag kunde ej misstänka

att sâ belästa unga män

kunde inga ädla syften ha!

Vad hände sen?

En dag kom snuten till mitt labb,

frâgade om jag sett en karl.

En främling, men hans lik fick jag

skära upp efter tre dar!

Det sâg ut som att mânga

“vänner” till mitt kära par

var främlingar för dem och

deras död var ej oklar.

Burke och Hare var mördare!

Tvivel fanns det ej!

De tog stackarnas liv och

sâlde deras lik till mig!

De hamnade bakom galler,

men en av dem slapp fri…

Burke hängdes i ett träd, men

hans lik fick jag skära i!

ÄTTEN BORGIA

ALLA 4 BARNEN: Lucrezia, Giovanni,

Gioffre och Cesare,

de värsta i renässansen,

Borgia är vârt efternamn!

Vâr farsa var Rodrigo…

RODRIGO: Jag hade ett rejält ego.

ALLA 4 BARNEN: Vi alla gâr dit han gâr,

Borgia är vârt efternamn!

RODRIGO: Det började i Aragonien,

där kungen var en vekling,

sâ jag började ett uppdrag

för att fâ makt och livets mening.

Jag erbjöd kardinalerna kontanter sâ det räckte,

och hela Vatikanen sig för mina fötter sträckte!

ALLA 4 BARNEN: Mer makt än alla kungar,

släktens blod som ljungar.

RODRIGO: Använde mina ungar

och skapade en dynasti.

CESARE: När farsan är just pâven är det nästan allt man kan!

Jag dödar envar som vâgar inta mitt Lebensraum!

RODRIGO: Här är en fästman för Lucrezia, herr Giovanni Sforza!

Är han ej skön?

LUCREZIA: Han har pengar, och därför har jag valt ‘nom!

ALLA 4 BARNEN: Nu gifta in hos Sforzas,

ses nya dörrar öppnas,

och ännu mer erövras,

Borgia-Sforza är vârt efternamn.

RODRIGO: Och, när vi hâller pâ med det,

bäst nog att gifta bort Gioffre.

Tolv âr är han, men vad blir det?

Borgia-Sforza-av Neapel är vârt efternamn!

När din Sforza-äktaman

har mot dig ej samma vilja,

annullerar vi vigseln

om han inte vill sig skilja...

LUCREZIA: Fâr jag välja ej?

RODRIGO: Min raring… Du ska fâ en annan fästman, se!

Alfonso, aragonisk visst!

LUCREZIA: Sâ vacker! Spansk! Tackar jag jovisst!

CESARE: Du? Han är sâ söt jag blir yr! Ingen pardon!

LUCREZIA: Tar du ‘nom?

CESARE: Ja, Machiavelli hade mig som inspiration…

RODRIGO: Giovanni var generalen,

men Cesare sa:

CESARE: Nehej!

Jag tar dig och blir ÖB, kardinal passar ej mig!

Jag är elakast i världen, har en makt utan rival…

sâ länge farsan lever är jag oslagbar totalt!

(Rodrigo hostar och dör)

ALLA 4 BARNEN: Vi skulle nu föraktas,

och inga för oss aktas,

som uslingar betraktas…

Borgia är vârt efternamn!

Allt är sant…

MAKTKAMP I DET MEDELTIDA ENGLAND

MATILDA 1: Här är sagan om Matilda

och min kamp mot fränden Stefan om en tron.

STEFAN: Min fru heter även Matilda…

Rätt förvirrande om tvâ med samma namn

vill ha samma tron…

HENRIK: Matilda 1, hon är min mor

STEFAN: Min Henrik... Lyssna nu om vâran fejd!

MATILDA 1: 1135 förlorade jag min krönte far,

och jag var hans enda barn, Matilda, arvingen.

Men vâr släkting Stefan sa...

STEFAN: En kvinna kunde ej drottning va’

och män är klokare och därför först i ättlinjen…

MATILDA 1: Jag äktade Geoffroy d’Anjou

i Frankrike, ej Waterloo,

när Stefan, utan voulez-vous,

tog över tronen…

Ej längre dancing queen!

STEFAN: Usurpator vara, det är fint!

MATILDA 1+STEFAN: Gimme, gimme kronan! Take a chance on me!

Jag är arvingen, inte du! Aha!

STEFAN: Tror du du kan ta den? Vill jag gärna se!

MATILDA 1: I do, I do, I do!

STEFAN: Blev tillfângatagen i strid…

MATILDA 1: Och jag blev First English Lady!

MATILDA 2: Men hon fick mânga fiender…

Kommer ni ihâg mig, Stefans fru?

Fick kungarikets râd att se

att hon var mer en krigare,

tog Stefans här och stred mot henne!

MATILDA 1: Mer krig nu?

Spelade min egen död,

höll andan, blev blâ, led nöd!

Var fri!

MATILDA 2: Hur tror du att jag känner mig?

Du vet, tvi.

Titta vad jag har, din halvbror här,

sâ byter vi?

MATILDA 2: Gimme, gimme kungen, det blir strid igen!

MATILDA 1+MATILDA 2+STEFAN: The winner takes it all! Aha!

STEFAN: Om jag belägrar dig spelar du död och flyr...

HENRIK: Pâ slagfältet vi slâss! Aha!

14 âr, led nederlag,

dâ Stefan styr, förlorade slag!

Vem ska regera, mamma…?

MATILDA 1: ...mia!

ALLA 4: Here we go again!

STEFAN: Sorgligt nog, min fru Matilda

fick feber, blev dödssjuk, avled,

med henne försvann drömmen om

en kunglig dynasti!

När min son gick bort,

blev ättelinjen väldigt kort!

HENRIK: Gimme, gimme kronan! Jag stâr näst pâ tur!

STEFAN: Efter mig kan du den fâ! Aha!

ALLA 4: Sâ Matilda aldrig alls regerade…

MATILDA 2: Näste kung blev min son!

HENRIK: Knowing mum, knowing you!

Slutet gott, allting gott!

1215 - 2015: 800 ÂR MAGNA CARTA

ÄDLINGAR: Hör historien

om ett urgammalt dekret

som tvingades pâ kung John när han betvingade skatt

pâ oss adeln,

landets främsta folk, ni vet,

han tog vâra gods och i vâra barn fick även fatt…

Magna Carta

JOHN: Magna Carta?

ÄDLINGAR: Det förklarar för kung John

han mâste lyda lagen, diskutera skatt med oss.

Han förseglade…

JOHN: Jag förseglade?

ÄDLINGAR: Sedan bröt sin egen ed,

efterträdarna fick det igenom, ja förstâs…

Och tänk det är 800 âr

att fira 800 gânger i âr.

Sedan 1215, Magna Carta är

grundvalen i vâran demokrati…

BÖNDER: I renässansen

läste man att envar är fri.

Till och med bönder som vi är ense med en kung.

Men sen försvann den…

tills riksdagsmannen Edward Cook

(EDWARD COOK: Det är jag!)

utmanade Karl I:s envälde, sâ tungt.

Ni tror att Cromwell… Jolly Ollie…

skulle godkänna den? Nej!

CROMWELL: Magna Carta? Magna Tjata,

mer som. Ej för mej!

JEFFERSON: Jag är Thomas Jefferson

och Edward Cook är min idol.

Vâr författning här i USA

med hans dekret skryta fâr!

ÄDLINGAR, BÖNDER, COOK, JEFFERSON:

Och jag tror 800 âr

av frihet, vinter, höst, och vâr,

är Storbritanniens största skatt,

som en hel västvärld fâtt ifatt!

Magna Carta - supercharter!

Magna Carta - det självklart är…

Ni det i skolan lär…

Magna Carta - frihet starta

Magna Carta - lagar smarta

Ej mer förtryck här!

BÖNDER: Eleanor Roosevelt har räckt ut

det här brevet till världen frân USA!

ELEANOR ROOSEVELT:

Hör historien

om ett urgammalt dekret,

bas för Mänskliga Rättigheter sedan världskrig 2.

Det började för

engelska adelsmän, ni vet.

Nu känner den ej rang, kön, âlder, hälsa eller pâbrâ!

ÄDLINGAR, BÖNDER, COOK, JEFFERSON, E. ROOSEVELT: Vi hoppas 800 âr

av frihet aldrig alls förgâr.

Tacka att denna enkla lag finns till!

Mâ vi ha den 800 âr till!

Magna Carta - supercharter!

Magna Carta - det självklart är…

Ni det i skolan lär…

Magna Carta - frihet starta

Magna Carta - lagar smarta

Magna Carta här!!

jueves, 1 de febrero de 2018

THE DOCTOR WHO HAMLET

Time Lord of Infinite Space: Celebrity Casting, Romanticism, and British Identity in the RSC's "Doctor Who Hamlet"
Abstract
The article considers David Tennant's recent performance as Hamlet in the light of his portrayal of the tenth doctor on British TV's most iconic show, Doctor Who. It considers the way in which the two roles inform each other, particularly in the minds of the audience, and argues for a particular notion of British cultural identity manifested by both the TV show and the recent direction taken by the Royal Shakespeare Company.


The recent success of the history play cycle at the Royal Shakespeare Company, built from a cast of home-grown company talent, few of whom boast much in the way of name recognition outside theater circles, led some to believe that this phase of Britain's most recognizable theatrical institution may mark a turning away from star vehicles such as last year's King Lear, with Ian McKellan. The announcement that the Hamlet that would define the 2008 season would feature David Tennant, star of the BBC's hit show Doctor Who, produced much cynical muttering about bottom lines in the face of the rebuilding of the new Royal Shakespeare Theatre, and some genuine concern about the selling out of the solid and expressly theatrical company in favor of something shinier and more easily marketable, built around TV celebrity.
There is, of course, good reason for such concerns. The failure of Project Fleet, along with the loss of a permanent home in London for the RSC, the replacement of Adrian Noble with Michael Boyd, and the demolition of the old RST have marked a period of significant upheaval for the company and raised real concerns about its financial viability. The theater construction in Stratford is a 112 million-dollar project, and even after a fifty million-pound lottery grant, movement forward was considered sluggish enough that the Culture, Media, and Sports committee stepped in to press the company — and the Arts Council — to make progress before the lottery money was consumed by inflation. In such a climate, it is not surprising that the decision to cast Tennant as Hamlet and Patrick Stewart as Claudius was seen in some quarters as transparent pragmatism designed to put bums in the seats of the temporary Courtyard Theatre, which houses the company pending the completion of the new RST. But while there are legitimate concerns with bringing in TV and film actors to play Shakespeare on stage, which have to do with styles of acting, vocal projection, relationship with a live audience, and so forth, there is also simple snobbery and the impulse to keep Shakespeare on stage unsullied by commerce in general and celebrity stardom in particular.
The apparent subordination of art to business was recently bemoaned by no less a figure than Sir Jonathan Miller, who lambasted the West End's "obsession with celebrity" and the RSC's casting of "that man fromDoctor Who" (Jury 2008). Miller had two projects of his own declined by London theaters because — apparently — they did not have the built-in box office draw of well-known actors in key roles, but the remark remains ungenerous and dismissive. For such detractors, of course, pointing out that the Hamlet sold out long before its extensive run began, thereby building significant revenue for the RSC, only reinforces their point. But once the show did open, reviews were generally positive, and Tennant himself garnered significant accolades despite the talk of cheapening Shakespeare in the process of spoon-feeding an audience more at home with the idiot's lantern. Of course, where reviews were negative about Tennant's performance — notably, the Daily Mail and the Daily Express — the response was not overtly anti-TV, anti-star, or anti-Tennant, but couched in the more acceptable (if predictable) terms of gimmickry and shallowness. These were countered by stronger reviews in the GuardianTimes, and the Independent. It is ironic and telling — and here I am indulging some snobbery of my own — that it's the inferior papers that find fault with what they perceive to be a lack of depth.
I don't have a lot of patience for carping and am deeply skeptical about the self-aggrandizing aura of theatrical purism that such skepticism seems to imply, so I would like instead to pursue a consideration of the production not in spite of its sci-fi TV valences, but because of them. I considered Patrick Stewart's performance of Prospero in the RSC's 2006 Tempest in similar terms, but those were expressly personal and ultimately about the baggage I brought into the theater, but this Hamlet presents a different prospect. However much I made connections between Stewart's Prospero and his Picard, the performances were separated by many years (the original TV show ending in 1994, twelve years before this Tempest, with the final Next Generation movie being released in 2002). Tennant's Hamlet, by contrast, took place at the height of Doctor Who's popularity, the extended run of the theatrical production actually being a factor in the TV show's one-year filming hiatus. To contextualize this production of the Shakespeare play and its celebrated lead properly, something needs to be said about the nature and status of Doctor Who.
Doctor Who first ran from 1963 to 1989, becoming a monolith of British popular culture. The title character is a Time Lord who travels the universe, usually with a female human "assistant" (later a "companion"), fighting evil manifested by various alien beings and races, including the Sea Devils, the Sontarans, the Cybermen and — most iconically of all — the Daleks.1

The Old Daleks
The show was famous for its innovative use of electronic music, its creative (though much maligned) low-budget special effects, and its clever solution to changing actors in the title role. The Doctor, as he is always known, is effectively immortal, the last member of his race; and when he dies, he regenerates, but with a different body and personality. The show thus built into its premise the ability to replace its star, and in its initial twenty-six year run the Doctor was played by eight different actors, including William Hartnell, Patrick Traughton with his recorder, Jon Pertwee with his frilly shirts and antique car, Tom Baker with his multi-colored scarf, curly hair, obsession with jelly babies, and robot dog (K-9, of course); the transitions were made on camera, one actor "regenerating" into another.2 Each actor could bring something of his own flair and interpretive energy to the part because the character's personality was perceived to shift with each regeneration. The Doctor travelled through time and space fighting evil and righting wrongs primarily through wit, knowledge, and improvisation. He had an aversion to guns of all kinds, a trait that persisted with each incarnation of the Doctor. Throughout, the show was unique in targeting children and adults simultaneously, blending scary stories and the politics of the day with campy humor, and held a diverse audience until interest finally waned and the show was cancelled.

Baker and Melkur
By this time, however, the program had become the longest running sci-fi show in television history and an essential component of British popular culture, its galloping, spacey theme music, the Daleks, and the look and sound of the TARDIS (the Doctor's time-travelling spaceship fashioned to look like a 1950s police call-box) firmly engrafted in the national consciousness.

Eccleston with Rose and Jack
The show was revived in 2005 with Christopher Eccleston in the lead, and though he committed to only one season, the new look (and its exploitation of CGI special effects) combined with familiar ingredients, more even acting, and richer, more thoughtful writing instantly catapulted the show back into the forefront of British pop culture. The great villains of the old show — notably, the Cybermen and the Daleks — returned with a vengeance, impressively and menacingly retooled for the times, the latter circumventing the old joke about their moving on wheels by acquiring the alarming ability to fly.

Cybermen

Daleks
The following year saw a new Doctor, the tenth, played by Scottish actor David Tennant, appearing first in the double episode entitled "The Christmas Invasion," wherein the earth is threatened by a hostile species — the Sycorax — whose attempt at conquest through a form of mind control is thwarted when the newly regenerated Doctor is able to defeat the enemy leader in single combat with a sword.

Doctor Who
The newest version of the show takes its minor characters more seriously than any of its former incarnations, particularly in the development of the Doctor's companions. The dramatic consequence of this development has been the explicit portrayal of a romantic subplot as the first companion of the new series, Rose Tyler (Billy Piper), clearly fell in love with Christopher Eccleston's doctor and did not want to see him change. By the end of season two, however, her affection had clearly transferred to the new Doctor (Tennant), who was and was not the same man, and — most remarkably — he clearly reciprocated her feelings in ways the ninth Doctor did not. Story-lines determined that Rose had to be confined to a parallel dimension to which he could not travel, and the Doctor and Rose were finally cut off, leaving him scarred and even more distant than usual. As Rose was replaced first by Freema Agyeman's Martha Jones (a doctor in her own right) and then by Catherine Tate's brassy Donna Noble (a temp from Chiswick), the show embraced Tennant's romantic appeal, connecting him ever more deeply to the inner lives of the women around him and their families. In so doing, the show developed an unforeseen delicacy of touch in matters of character psychology, particularly in its exploration of the Doctor's inherent loneliness and isolation. As well as spawning spin-off shows The Sarah Jane Chronicles and Torchwood, the revived Doctor Who show has garnered numerous awards, including BAFTA's (British Academy of Film and Television Arts) award for best drama series and best writing for television.
Less than two months before the RSC's Hamlet opened, season four of Doctor Who ended with a dramatic two-part finale that commanded extraordinary viewing figures (almost ten million households, forty-seven percent of the TV viewing audience) and flirted with the idea of killing off Tennant's Doctor and replacing him with someone else. This exploited mounting rumors that this would be Tennant's last season as the Doctor, even leaving him apparently dying/regenerating at the end of the first installment. In the end, Tennant survived, but contact with both Rose and Donna was severed, apparently irretrievably. A Christmas special involving the Cybermen was advertised at the end of the show, but for fans — and given the Doctor Who merchandise that packs the aisles of every high-street Boots and Woolworths, this is clearly a considerably larger segment of the UK population than sci-fi normally commands — it would be a long wait for more of the Doctor.
At the beginning of his director's talk on 4 August 2008, Gregory Doran invoked Doctor Who only to say that with the exception of one episode (about which more shortly), he had not seen the show since its 1960s inception, mentioning it only to insist upon its irrelevance to the Hamlet production. His interviewer, Paul Allen, fed the idea by referring to Patrick Stewart's Star Trek alter ego as Jean-Luc Picu [sic.] This is understandable to a point. The production wants to ground meaning in the moment of performance, in the choices made by the director, design team, and performers, and they want those meanings to be independent of whatever is going on in the culture that seems irrelevant to their approach to the play. They want, moreover — and this is a common actor fantasy — to be able to overwrite all expectations with the power of their performance, changing the audience's sense of the play and, indeed, of those involved in its production by sheer commitment to their parts. Actors want — even need — to escape their former roles, if only because being unable to do so makes all their work on the present production seem fruitless.
But as I have said before, it is unreasonable to expect audiences to shelve their sense of an actor's performative past during a production, especially if — as in the case of Tennant — much of the audience came specifically to see this particular actor because of those past performances (Hartley 2007). In the case of this Hamlet, the professed desire to move away from the associations of Doctor Who is a little disingenuous, and though the director clearly was not interested in drawing explicit parallels between the protagonist of the play and the TV show, there were numerous echoes that would keep the TV show in the minds of the Hamlet audience in interesting ways.
Hard-core Doctor Who fans would have noticed that the cast — as well as sporting other sci-fi icons Patrick Stewart (Claudius, formerly Picard and Professor Xavier from the X Men movies) and Oliver Ford Davies (Polonius, formerly Sio Bibble in Star Wars episodes one, two, and three) — featured several actors who had played small roles in Doctor Who: Zoe Thorne (the page, formerly Toclofane and The Gelth in four episodes), Andrea Harris (Cornelia, formerly Suzanne in "The Stolen Earth" episode), and Roderick Smith (Voltemand, formerly Cruikshank in the Tom Baker episode, "The Invisible Enemy").
Tennant is a Scot with a rich brogue, but he played his Hamlet with the same, neutral English accent with which he plays his Doctor. That Doctor, like those before him, has a distinctive costume, one chosen to suit his character — in this case, a slim-fitting dark suit that emphasizes his skinny frame and Converse-style sneakers. In the last couple of years, the costume has become so recognizable in the UK that it has spawned parody as in, for instance, the recent reunion episode of The Vicar of Dibley, in which Alice's bridesmaid outfit is a replica of Tennant's Doctor, and she is accompanied by flower girls dressed as Daleks.4 A narrow suit and sneakers were also core elements of Tennant's Hamlet costume; his black-tie ensemble was undercut by bare feet during the Mousetrap scene, and by sneakers (here in a parallel dimension pastel shade) in the final scenes. Neither suit nor sneakers was exactly the same as the Doctor's, of course, but they established a visual echo, an unobtrusive point of continuity between the two productions through the person of the actor. The incongruous pairing of suit and bare feet/sneakers suggested — as their analogous pairings do in Doctor Who— elegance and polish tempered by an earthiness and capacity for action that is a little dangerous, possibly even unhinged. It may be that such echoes are as much in the mind of the audience as they are on stage; one audience member remarked that when Hamlet first produced his switch blade and the light caught it, she was sure it was the Doctor's sonic screwdriver — but that, surely, is the point. Audiences remember and connect performances, and as if to emphasize the point, the BBC took the extraordinary step of airing the video adaptation of the Hamlet production on national television on Boxing Day (26 December) of 2009, in between the two parts of Tennant's final performance as the Doctor ("The End of Time," which aired Christmas Day and New Year's Day).

The Doctor Looking Hamletic
What really keeps the Doctor in mind during this Hamlet is the presence of Tennant himself, who brings something of the same intensity and manic energy to the role that he brings to his Time Lord. His performance is marked not by an attempt to escape the Doctor, but by many of the same vocal and gestural touches — elements of what I have elsewhere called the actor's performative habitus, his "bag of tricks" and the physical vocabulary he has absorbed through training, experience, and habit (see Hartley 2009). Tennant uses his hands expressively, in quick flickering movements that are vaguely evocative (as Bruce Smith pointed out at intermission) of Renaissance oratory manuals. He counterpoints his frantic, flailing movement with moments of extraordinary stillness and focus. Above all, he is a gifted comic actor, able to undercut a ponderous moment with a throw-away quip, a flippant shift in vocal register, or an expansive facial expression. All of these characteristics Tennant brought to his Hamlet, creating a mocking, parodic — but simultaneously likeable — protagonist who many acknowledged as the funniest they had seen (Billington 2008).

David Tennant as Hamlet
The humor Tennant found in the role of Hamlet takes us beyond what the show itself was doing that might tap into elements of the Doctor and into those for whom it was a given: large portions of the audience. When I saw the show, there were a disproportionately large number of young people in attendance, particularly teenaged girls. Tennant's appeal has evidently spread from the stereotypical adolescent male, sci-fi geek to something broader and sexier. Many of these audience members were so thrilled to see their hero in person that the theater positively thrummed with delighted energy. Some would not have been out of place chasing Ringo through A Hard Day's Night, and their engagement with the actor as celebrity was perhaps — as some of the skeptics suggested — too totalizing for them to engage with the story and the role, but these fans were, I think, in the minority. What the fan audience's delight brought to the theater as a whole was a willingness to see the humor, to enjoy it, even where it shot between moments of darkness, introspection, and tragedy. This refusal to be overly weighted by the play's seriousness — particularly in the second half — intoxicated the audience and made for a more celebratory experience and a joyous connection with the protagonist. This in no way — at least from my experience and the majority of people I spoke to — undermined the seriousness of the play. Rather, the unexpected humor — or rather, the unexpected capacity to enjoy that humor — made sense of Robert Weimann's linkage of Hamlet to the comic, topsy-turvy punning of the Vice tradition (Weimann 1978). It was a revelation, and one that I doubt I could have had without that crucial element in the audience, the same element that jammed the barriers at the stage door in the hundreds, autograph pens and programs in hand, breathlessly waiting for Tennant to appear.
And it was this curious shift in the Doctor's audience demographic that helped facilitate another dimension of the RSC's Hamlet production, one that even the program cover embraces. Because while the Doctor has always had his fans, it has only been since he regenerated into David Tennant that he could be considered a sex symbol, and much of that — apart from the actor's good looks — is grounded in the story-lines of the last two seasons of Doctor Who. Emma Smith's shrewd review for the Times Literary Supplement sees the two roles as essentially different, despite significant resemblances:
In fact Tennant's Hamlet is rather like his Doctor — sardonic, clever, verbally facile, isolated — but less mordantly intellectual and more febrile. Doctor Who's superciliousness as he bests circumstances and challengers in episode after episode here gives way to a radical susceptibility. Hamlet's loneliness is not that of superior understanding but of submission to events. His belated realization that "the readiness is all" seems here less an intellectually achieved stoicism, more a visceral understanding that he is the object rather than agent of events. (Smith 2008)
Smith tracks the Doctor's separateness to his intellectual superiority, and there is some truth to that, but the isolation stems more deeply from what seems to be his most desirable attribute: his immortality. As the show has progressed, the Doctor's inability to age and die has become the core of what makes ordinary human relationships both desirable and impossible for him. Tennant's Doctor began life as a fighter: a feisty, playful, scientific genius of a fighter, admittedly, but a fighter, nonetheless. In his first episode, still weak from the regeneration process and with the fate of the world hanging in the balance, he had to discover who he was, what kind of personality had come with his newly regenerated body, and he found it after having one hand severed by the Sycorax leader's sword. "That's a fighting hand," he quipped, as the hand — thanks to the incomplete regeneration cycle — regrew. But if such a moment was visually recalled by the vigorous and thrilling fight scene with Laertes in the final act of Hamlet, the swashbuckling dimension of the Doctor was, by the end of season three, subordinated to his status as romantic hero, and this was the element on which the production drew most decisively.
Though the TV audience could not hear the whispered words, this Doctor confessed his doomed love for Rose at the end of season two, at the moment when she was taken away from him, and from that point on, his wildness, his deflecting humor and crazed sense of adventure were revealed as a device to keep the loneliness and fragility at bay. He was the last of his kind, one for whom the time was out of joint and whose ongoing, never-ending mission was not just to set it right, but to do so alone. The end of the story-line and the romance was the Doctor's unwilling acceptance of his essential separateness from Rose because he could not age with her. Far from being simply smarter than the humans with whom he interacts, this Doctor is deeply lonely, finally cut off from those he works hardest to save, and this marks the heart of the show's success. However fun and scary the older series was, the new version has given less attention to space and more to time, finding in the implications of the Time Lord's nature an inherent pathos that can be quite painful. It is a sci-fi device that achieves a romantic effect because the Doctor is separated not by his intelligence in the misanthropic manner of a Sherlock Holmes, but through the depth of his empathy, though the connection that empathy desires is always deferred.

The Doctor with Rose
This was also Doran/Tennant's Hamlet, a Hamlet beset by the crassness and superficiality of the world, a man more sinned against than sinning (his guilt in the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern significantly relieved by some deft cutting) whose love for Ophelia was genuine and whose grief at her death nicely counterpointed Claudius's political manipulation. For Hamlet, the gap between the public and private was excruciating, so that his dour, formal stiffness in the first court scene became a cramped, fetal sobbing for his first soliloquy. He felt for his mother, for Laertes — if only in the final moments, when he realized what had so pointlessly occurred — even, perhaps, for Claudius who was allowed the dignity of drinking his own death. As his shifting wardrobe suggested (dinner suit at one moment, jeans and T-shirt the next), he was a man out of time, trapped in a world where connection to those around him was impossible because the time was out of joint, a man who felt the pain of others without being able to relieve it.5 This Hamlet was (as Stanley Wells remarked) a return to the Victorian romanticism of Irving and Tree, in which the hero was out of step with the sophistry of the court, feeling too deeply for the world, a hero whose death ("The rest is silence") ended the play. Fortinbras entered wordlessly (surely a bewildering moment for those who did not know the play), but with a production so centered on the inner and unknowable mind of its protagonist, there really wasn't anything else to say. It is no accident that the program art inserts Tennant into Casper David Friedrich's icon of Romanticism, Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (the wanderer above the sea of fog), the suited gentleman standing high on a rocky crag gazing out into the numinous tumult of nature, separate, tormented by insight, even lost and verging on suicidal. Such an image, I think, uses traces of Tennant's most famous role to inform the separateness of his Hamlet.

Tennant as Hamlet, with Yorick's Skull
The residual snobbery that some critics hung on to despite the apparent success of the production speaks to the rift between television and theater and the attention attracted by the production's "irresistibly unlikely coupling of high and low culture" (Smith 2008). John Morrison acknowledged that Tennant had done his job by filling the house, but dismissed his performance with the faint praise rooted in that high/low divide: "He's a good stage actor, but on this evidence, not a great one" (Morrison 2008). Some thought he lacked weight, some felt the character did not evolve adequately and that Tennant relied overmuch on showy, manic energy and glee (as when, after having been interrogated by Claudius, he was pushed off stage while taped to a desk chair and exclaimed a non-textual "Whee!"). Such criticisms, though I did not agree with them, may be justified, but beneath them one sometimes senses the refusal to be awed by the celebrity actor, a rearguard action against being wowed (or wheed) by television star power. Again, there are, no doubt, good reasons for such critical distance, but I worry whether they do not also manifest an impulse towards something that is fundamentally antitheatrical: the desire to strip the performance of its actors, to restore something textually pure, untainted by the theatrical means of production. After all, Tennant was not some pop singer or soap star taking over the Christmas panto circuit. He is an actor rejoining the RSC after a spell on television, just as Patrick Stewart did.6 Stewart's return to the stage received the same scrutiny, the same cynical asides about box-office appeal and low-culture gloss, despite his fuller track record of Shakespearean roles. Taken together, thisHamlet might even be seen as a hand-off from the sci-fi TV star of the past, in the person of Stewart's doubled Old Hamlet and Claudius, to that of the present, perhaps even with the spectre of Star Wars in the person of Oliver Ford Davis trumped by the Doctor's current appeal. Whatever else might be said about Doran/Tennant's Hamlet, there is no question that it was better received by audiences and critics than the RSC's other new summer offerings, The Merchant of Venice (dir. Tim Carroll) and The Taming of the Shrew (dir. Conall Morrison), which the Hamlet in some ways facilitated. These less than crowd-pleasing takes on famously troublesome plays were possible in part because Hamlet was bound to make money hand over fist.
And what's wrong with theater making money and building a new audience for Shakespeare out of TV fans? Yes, there are the dangers of the much touted dumbing-down that shadows all conversations about Shakespeare in culture and education these days, but theater companies have to ensure their success, and star actors have been central to Shakespeare since Burbage. As the body of the actor is a material component of practical theater that some critics seem to want to wish away, so is money and an attentive audience. But to want these things not to be relevant is to wish for a Shakespeare of the mind, a Hamlet not just out of time but out of the theatrical moment, existing only in the infinite hypothetical of imaginary audition.
There is one other specific intersection between Doctor Who and Hamlet, which occurred during the revived TV show's third season when the Doctor and Martha spent an entire episode in Shakespeare's London. The premise of "The Shakespeare Code" was a threat to the earth by a species called the Carrionites, who used language to alter reality, in this case by ventriloquizing the Bard through an interpolated speech at the end of his Love's Labour's Won. The Carrionites took the form of three witches, thereby supplying a gag origin-myth for elements of Macbeth (the production was set — anachronistically, for the dating of Love's Labour's Won — in 1599), a termination myth for the lost comedy, while also foregrounding the creation of Hamlet.
Shakespeare on Stage in The Shakespeare Code Episode
The story begins with the conclusion of a production of Love's Labour's Lost at which Shakespeare — manipulated by the Carrionite/witch Lilleth through a doll made in his image — announces a sequel that will premier the following night. The Doctor, who having seen the future, knows the play should not exist and resolves to investigate with Martha (to whom Shakespeare is clearly attracted and whom he calls first, a "queen of Afric" and later, his "dark lady"). The Doctor uses his trademark psychic paper (a convenient device by which he is able to talk his way into most situations) to conceal his identity, but Shakespeare — remarkably — recognizes the paper as blank, thereby confirming his genius. The Master of the Revels tries to prevent the play from being performed, at which point he drowns on dry land through more of the Carrionites' "witchcraft." Shakespeare is manipulated by Lilleth into penning the final word-code paragraph to the play, and Shakespeare extracts from the Globe's architect — now in Bedlam — the fact that the "witches" dictated the form of the new theater to him. One of the witches materializes and kills the architect, but the Doctor is able to dismiss her by recognizing and using her species' true name, Carrionite. They are, he says, a race that creates quasi-magical effects through an ancient science tied to the power of words. These three members are effectively imprisoned, but seek to use Shakespeare's verbal aptitude to create a fissure through which the rest of their species can enter and take over the world. As Love's Labour's Won concludes on stage, Martha revives the Doctor, who has been incapacitated, by restarting his left heart (Time Lords have two), but the last lines have been delivered by two baffled actors, and the portal is opened. Shakespeare attempts to prevent the final words from being spoken, but he is incapacitated by Lilleth, and the play proceeds. Martha is also incapacitated through the use of her true name, but Lilleth cannot identify the Doctor adequately to affect him. Instead, she steals a lock of his hair and fixes it to her puppet before stabbing it through the heart. The puppet is actually a DNA replication module, and her action causes the Doctor to collapse, apparently dead, until Martha revives him. As the Carrionites swarm, the Doctor tells Shakespeare that only his words can close the rift. Shakespeare improvises a stanza and Martha adds the final word, which seals the portal and confines the witches.
Though the tone of the episode owes much to Shakespeare in Love and is similarly playful in its teasing out of Shakespearean issues and problems, the end roots the episode in Shakespeare's repudiation of the frivolity of comedy for something of more weight. That "something" was to be a father's response to the death of his son Hamnet, the grief of which, we are told, had somehow facilitated the rise of the Carrionites in the first place.Hamlet was quoted twice in the episode, first by the author musing on mortality ("To be or not to be") and second by the Doctor when he realized the centrality of performance to what the Carrionites were trying to do ("The play's the thing"). The episode emphasizes Shakespeare's linguistic genius, giving his facility with words the power to alter the universe and, most tellingly, setting up clear comparisons with the Doctor's other abilities. It is the notion of the two brilliant men set apart from the rest of the world by the depth of their grief which strains hardest against the largely flippant tone. When Martha Jones starts to flirt with the Doctor, she is rebuffed by his recollections of Rose, becoming instead the object of Shakespeare's own casual desire.
Shakespeare with Martha
Shakespeare even remarks on Martha's unwillingness to kiss him because of the Doctor, who will never kiss her. Shakespeare's clear-sightedness goes far beyond language, allowing him to identify his visitors correctly as being out of time and space; one gets the sense that his separateness, like the Doctor's, comes from knowing and feeling too much, however flippant he seems superficially. Both figures are thus rendered Hamletic according to a specifically Romantic model.
The Doctor as Romantic Figure
All of this weighs on Tennant's Hamlet, making the Shakespeare production an odd, but inevitable, teleology fulfilling the direction of his Doctor in general and "The Shakespeare Code" episode in particular. It extends those Shakespearean parallels and conflations — and as Iris Murdoch's Black Prince suggests, it is in Hamlet that Shakespeare sometimes seems most clearly personated — continuing a sense of character rather than creating it anew at curtain-up. There is a sense in which this is often the case with actors known primarily for other roles, but in this particular and — to my mind — happy piece of casting, the roles fuse in interesting and generative ways that enrich the performative moment. Some of this, I suspect, is about desire, the audience's desire to connect with two fetishized roles, both of which have an air of detachment. In Tennant those two roles (the Doctor and Hamlet) are rendered more approachable, more "human," partly through his desire, the earnest wish for a connection to Rose/Ophelia. He becomes more like us, easier to like, easier to connect to because we imagine that that is what he really wants. This is more than celebrity fetishism and more than merely seeing the former role in the present one, because there is a manner in which the roles align, their respective histories augmenting the present performance in ways both materially irrelevant, but essentially real.
Apart from interweaving Tennant's Doctor with Shakespeare in general and Hamlet in particular, the episode also underscores the essentially British phenomenon that is Doctor Who and brackets it — with Renaissance London, the Globe, and its most famous poet — as a particular national concern, an index of historical community identity. There is a uniquely British affinity between these icons of high and low culture, which together form part of the national psyche in ways quite different from the more disparate culture of the United States, where it is rare to find — as one does in England — conversations that seem to engage almost the whole country. Indeed, the origin myths are reversed near the end of the episode when Tennant — already, it seems, in Hamlet mode — picks up a skull and remarks — since it is clearly not human — that it looks like it belongs to a Sycorax. Shakespeare seizes on the word and stores it away for future use as the name of Caliban's witchy mother in The Tempest. The Sycorax were, of course, the first race this Doctor fought, the race who gave him his fighting hand. Time, which seems linear (Shakespeare hears the word and writes it into a late play) becomes a mobius strip, circling back on itself, Shakespeare's word giving a name to a crucial TV villain, metadramatically announcing the centrality of Shakespeare to British culture and Doctor Who in particular. It is therefore telling that when Shakespeare and the Doctor fumble for the final word of their quasi-magical incantation to send the Carrionites back whence they came, the final word that does the trick is one lifted from another bastion of British fantasy: Harry Potter's "Expelliarmus!" As the world of the Globe theater resolves, the Doctor comments "Good old J. K."
Doctor Who used to be British because few other people in the world watched it, and because its concerns were British in an unselfconsciously provincial way. Now it's British because the new series has invested more in time than in space, focusing particularly on familiar British places and people, celebrating the local instead of doing sci-fi (à la Star Trek) in quasi-universal terms. It has embraced its Britishness, championed it, shaking off the "stiff upper lip" brand of national identity in pursuit of something more contemporary, but still steeped in British cultural history. Numerous episodes are set in modern London (and others in places symbolizing British post-war rebirth, such as Cardiff), and they intersect with key moments and people central to British identity such as the Blitz, Queen Victoria, Dickens, and Agatha Christie; the show has also become a showcase for distinctly British guest stars (Anthony Stewart Head from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Australian pop singer Kylie Minogue, comedian Katherine Tate, Bernard Cribbins, Felicity Kendall, Tim McInnerny and Colin Salmon from the James Bond movies). Its views of London, Wales, and Scotland are underscored with regional dialects once virtually banned by the BBC, and the overall feel is of a TV show embracing its Britishness as the core root of its wit and ingenuity, rather than trying to do TV in the US American style.
The End of Time

In this, Doctor Who is not so different from the RSC, currently gearing up to take the lead in the so-called "cultural Olympics" of 2012 with a world festival of Shakespeare: another nationalistic cementing of cultural identity, though one complicated by the markers of high art. The issue, I hope, is less about what is ours — British — in terms of Shakespeare, and more about what we are that involves his work in our past, present, and future. Tennant himself is a nice image of this celebrated localism, familiar from a disparaged medium but also a star, Hamletic by association with his other role as well as simply Hamlet, and adamantly provincial while still a king of infinite space. The program's cover art turns the wanderer towards the camera so that we can see his famous face staring back at us against the backdrop of cloud-capped mountains, (once German, now surely Scottish): a romantic hero as Byronic as Shakespearean, pensive, sensitive, daring and desirable, uniquely and recognizably British, but distant and out of reach as only a celebrity can be.