Dear Ophelia

Last night, Aurora had a dream about Ophelia.

* * *











































Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.



Goodnight, sweet ladies.



Good night, good night.




* * *

The title of this post comes from a song by Abney Park, which I like very much, even though the intentionally terrible couplets are sometimes a bit much for my ears.

In addition to various cinematic adaptations of Hamlet, I have been lucky enough to see two stage versions.

Aurora's Ophelia is more in the tradition of the romantic, 19th century paintings by Waterhouse, Millias, and other Pre-Raphaelite sorts. The first stage Hamlet that I saw, however, featured a modern, mature and brilliantly furious Ophelia who, at one point, rushed onto the stage in a wedding dress. Her songs were full of jazz phrasing rather than the conventional uncanny sweetness. When watching her, one felt sorrow, but also intense admiration.

The second stage Ophelia was rebellious and playful, but more vulnerable. During her mad scene, she remained almost entirely cheerful, but the haunting presence of Polonius's over-sized coat on her small shoulders made her brave cheeriness seem like the most futile of all desperate sutures.

* * *