R&G Are Dead - My Thoughts #4 (Act III)

So, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are finally dead. Gee, it took long enough! Haha. It's sort of strange to note though that even though I knew through the whole book that R and G were GOING TO DIE, I was still a little sad when the ambassador announced their deaths at the end. I guess I was hoping that they maybe found a way to escape their fate - but then again, the story of Hamlet would not be able to be resolved as well in that case. "Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, When our deep plots do pall: and that should teach us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will,--" (Hamlet Act V Scene II). This very well may be Shakespeare's metafictional insight about the plot of his own play. "Okay, guys," he's saying. "I know the end of this is a bit ridiculous, but, come on, how else was I supposed to resolve it?" That was the only way to write the story so that it worked and kept all its magic and artful craft. It reminds me of the movie Stranger Than Fiction. The author says that the only way to resolved the story about Harold is for him to die. Well, that poses a problem for the poor guy who she finds out actually exists. When Harold reads her intedned resolution even he agrees that death was the only true way to end it. (Luckily, since all movies these days need a happy ending, we find out that she is able to change the outcome, but it sure comes close!)

On page 102, Guildie picks up on an idea that has come up all throughout the play as he asks angrily, "Then what do you expect? (Unhappily.) We act on scraps of information...sifting half-remembered directions that we can hardly separate from instinct." This existential angst ("angstistential") highlights that they only know a few concretes and are left to their own devices to construct what they want from the remaining abstract elements of life. Also, Rosie and Guildie are characters that exists solely on direction and command from someone else. They talk to each other on the boat and wonder what to do next: "There may be something in the letter to keep us going a bit," Guildie suggests. "And if not?" "Then that's it - we're finished." Simply put, they cannot exist outside of direction. It's interesting that toward the end, they themselves notice that they're "slipping off the map" (108). They were destined to die from the beginning and feel subconsciously that they're moving closer and closer to that point with every action. "If we have a destiny, then so had he - and if this is ours, then that was his - and if there are no explanations for us, then let there be none for him - " (123). Guildie comments on page 121, "We move idly towards eternity, without possibility of reprieve or hope of explanation." On 222 he also poses the perfect pomo "Why?" question: "But why? Was it all for this? Who are we that so much should converge on our little deaths? (In anguish to the PLAYER:) Who are we?" It really has a lot to do with fate, destiny, providence, predestination (call it what you will) and the inability to escape that. This obviously parallels metafictionally to the role of an author/playrite/director and the script in accordance to the players or actors. It all comes down to, "Are we actors or are we prostitutes?" Are we puppets guided by the hand of God or fate or chance, or do we make our own decisions out of free will? I keep thinking about the song "Human" by The Killers and its parallelism to this idea:

I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes, clear your heart
Cut the cord

Are we human or are we dancer?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer?

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Hear my regards to soul and romance
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
It taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye, wish me well
You've gotta let me go

Are we human or are we dancer?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer?

Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know, is your heart still beating?

Are we human or are we dancer?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer?

I really like the insight of one of the commenters on SongMeanings.com. He or she said exactly what I see in this song: "I think the imagery speaks of 'dancers' as almost like 'puppets'. Brandon is speaking of letting go, 'platform of surrender' 'cut the cord' 'close your eyes, clear your heart.' This 'letting go' is to cease to be 'Human' because he no longer has life, (eyes closed, cleared heart) and he feels like a 'Dancer,' a puppet on strings. The puppet versus human contrast is throughout. To be human is to have life and choice. To be dancer is to be controlled by strings or 'cords.' He uses a play on words, instead of 'vital signs' his 'signs are vital' and 'my hands are cold,' i.e. lifeless, he is lifeless, and reading his signs are vital in knowing what he really is. He goes on to 'say goodbye' to everything (soul and romance, etc), embarking into that 'open door' Like a slouched puppet, he's on his knees. Puppets have no strength in their legs. Yet he wants to 'be let go' and to 'cut the cord' could refer to losing his strings and being freed from control, no longer being a puppet. Or it could refer to no longer being human. If you 'cut the cord,' you pull life support on someone. In mythology, The Fates, 'cut your cord' and you die, no longer with the life that makes one Human" (http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858741590/).

I think the most important part though is that he doesn't answer the question - that's the big idea. We're all wondering if we're human or if we're dancer and we'll never know, according to many worldviews.

Weeeee are the champions, my friends... and Weeee'll keep on fiiightin' till the end!!

Yes, yes, Team Tales is most certainly the champion team. Well, I wouldn't say "certainly"... since nothing is certain. But since Postmodernism embraces chaos, fragmentation, absurdity, ambiguity, and word play (word "killing"), Team Tales's artful craft in utilizing these elements in our reasoning and strategy merits the winning award. We were witty and absurd in concocting rules to spin the game in our favor and were constantly questioning the authority - sorry, Mrs. Kirk, welcome to Postmodernism! Aren't you glad you taught us so well? Haha. These very strategies I am sure will be the ammunition for the other team in their case against our victory, but that would show a certain narrow-mindedness and disregard for jumping completely into the postmodern game of THENDYWAMPS. Let's celebrate some chaos and celebrate our ability to mold our own realities - make life what we want. After all, it is all a game, right? Well anyway, let's have a look at the rules that clearly support our win: The first significant one is that neither team may make rules that apply to the other team. The Tales then devised a method to increase our money earned by making a rule that every even number rolled gets us $50 and every odd $100. We were upped by our worthy opponents who turned that back on us and ruled that they get twice the amount of money we earn each time. Very clever I must say. Well, it all comes down to the ultimate last rule, however. We ruled that the next team to roll the die wins the game. Period. We rolled. We won. Period. That is the meaning we constructed from what we were given - we are born and we die and everything else is abstract and unknowable - we have certain concrete rules, and everything else is ambiguous and ready to be construed into whatever reality we make of it. The Tales chose to encompass in our reality winning the game of THENDYWAMPS.

R&G Are Dead - My Thoughts #3 (Act II)

How fun would it be to play Hamlet? Mel Gibson sure is a lucky dude. "I am but mad north north-west; when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw" (55). Rosencrantz notices that "half of what [Hamlet] said meant something else, and the other half didn't mean anything at all" (57). I just think it would be really fun to play a crazy - or should I say "crazy" - person, whether he's faking it or not.

David and Carly came over last night to do our UTT project, and I had R&G Are Dead sitting on my desk. David picked it up and flipped through it. (Their class just watched the movie and didn't read the book). He pointed out that you're not supposed to know which character is which, whether the person speaking is Rosentrantz or Guildenstern, and that he didn't like that in the book the characters are distinguished and you can see who is saying what. That's partly necessary just because it's a play - if you saw it performed you wouldn't necessarily know which one is Rosencrantz and which one is Guildenstern. At the beginning of the play the writer does make character notes for them, but once again, we as the audience are not supposed to know which one struggles with wondering why and attempting to reason away bizzare circumstances and which one goes with the flow and seems a bit...slow...

Guildenstern's quote on page 60 picks up on the idea of providence that Hamlet grapples with as well as R&G in previous scenes in the play. "Wheels have been set in motion, and they have their own pace, to which we are...condemned. Each move is dictated by the previous one - that is the meaning of order." This also highlights determinism, the idea that everything you do impacts another event, like the butterfly effect or a chain of cause and effect.

Page 66 shows a conversation that embodies postmodern concepts, and life questions in general:

PLAYER: Uncertainty is the normal state. You're nobody special.
GUIL: But for God's sake what are we supposed to do?!
PLAYER: Relax. Respond. That's what people do. You can't go through life questioning your situation at every turn.
GUIL: But we don't know what's going on, or what to do with ourselves. We don't know how to act.
PLAYER: Act natural. You know why you're here at least.
GUIL: We only know what we're told, and that's little enough. And for all we know it isn't even true.
PLAYER: For all anyone knows, nothing is. Everything has to be taken on trust; truth is only that which is taken to be true. It's the currency of living. There may be nothing behind it, but it doesn't make any difference so long as it is honoured. One acts on assumptions. What do you assume?

This dialogue addresses a large number of central themes and postmodern beliefs. First of all, uncertainty is accepted and embraced in postmodernisn - we cannont know anything beyond the only two concretes in life (we are born and we die) and everything else is abstract and therefore unknowable. Guildenstern would be Madison here - "Why?? I don't get it? It doesn't make sense!" He's the one searching for answers, but the player essentially spurts back every postmodern tennet in response. This conversation also highlights the idea of R&G being sponges. They only know what they are told; they only do what they are asked to do; they "[soak] up the king's countenance." "When he needs what you have gleaned," Hamlet tells them, "it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again" (90-91). Back to the dialogue, the player poses the postmodern challenge of truth, and also presents the idea of existentialism - "everything has to be taken on trust" parallels to a leap of faith.

Ok, I put a sticky note with a heart on it next to this quote just because I love the sound and the structure, the vocabulary and the imagery, and the artful craft with which the writer composed it:

"Autumnal - nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day....Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it...Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses...deep shining ochres, burn umber and parchments of baked earth - relflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentially, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke" (94).