Tanya Anderson
When
I went to a local high school to speak with a group of students last year, they
expressed some interest in a medieval program I had started. One of them asked me if I were excited about
the movie Anonymous (PG-13, Dir.
Roland Emmerich, Starring Rhys Ifans, Vanessa Redgrave, David Thewlis). Those
of us interested in medieval and Renaissance history have already noted a
glaring error – Shakespeare falls under, and indeed is the English Renaissance – but for that moment, in an art
teacher’s room, I had about two minutes to explain why I was not excited about
the movie, even prior to its release. Shakespeare scholars are understandably edgy about Emmerich’s film as
it promotes the Oxfordian theory of the plays we attribute to William
Shakespeare, that a nobleman named Edward de Vere, the seventeenth Earl
of Oxford was the true author of the plays and poetry we attribute to Shakespeare.
I
did promise myself that I would try to be objective about reviewing this movie,
but I knew it was pro-Oxfordian. I hoped it would present the events as an alternate/parallel/science-fiction
tale so that I could watch it, knowing that its writer and director had presented
their film to the audience with a wink and a nod.
From the opening and closing bookend technique – set in the modern day –
Emmerich attempts to lend veracity to his story, however; and therein lies my
greatest concern about the film: it knowingly promotes and authorizes a theory
that Shakespearean scholars debunked in the 1980s.
Portrait of Edward de Vere
Why,
then, would the Oxfordian theory even surface as a credible idea almost 35
years after its disintegration? In brief: intellectual and artistic laziness. Screenwriter John Orloff conceived of his
script after watching a documentary on Oxford in 1988, at the tail end of any
credibility the Oxfordian movement may have had. After
the success of Shakespeare in Love
(1998), the script for Anonymous was
set aside even longer as Hollywood executives worried audiences would not want
to see two Shakespeare films in close succession. In other words, producers, the director, and the screenwriter chose to ignore nearly thirty years of Shakespeare scholarship.
Emmerich
clung to his motive, one that Sony Pictures watered down in its promotional
materials for the film: “The objective for our Anonymous program, as stated in the classroom literature, is to encourage
critical thinking by challenging students to examine the theories about the
authorship of Shakespeare’s works and to formulate their own opinions.” While there is nothing wrong with critical
debate, I question the ability of the average high schooler – who may, as my
daughter did, have an English teacher who mistakenly referred to Elizabethan
English as “Old English” – to watch Emmerich’s film and successfully reject the
historical inaccuracies (and they are legion) that he presents.
For
his part, Emmerich wholeheartedly embraces his vision, arguing that the “arrogance
of the literary establishment” is concealing the truth, even going to far as to
call one Shakespearean scholar an outright “liar” for writing that Shakespeare
did, indeed, write the plays attributed to him.
In
addition to his disdain for scholars who use a wealth of irrefutable evidence of Shakespeare's authorship from the
period, Emmerich allows his derision for Shakespeare to ooze over his film. Shakespeare is made out to be a boorish,
drunken, illiterate oaf who seizes the opportunity to pass off Oxford’s plays
as his own. While we should make fun of our sacred cows as it
is healthy in the spirit of intellectual play, Emmerich doesn’t stop with the
Bard. For a writer who immersed himself in the Elizabethan age, Emmerich seems disgusted by its major figures and invents imaginary personas for them. His Elizabeth is a flighty
old bag who commits incest with her own grandson. Kit Marlowe fares little better, coming
across as a sulking, bitter soul, displaying none of the wit we read in his
plays. Thomas Dekker also receives
lashes under Emmerich’s guard; his character weeps during a presentation of Hamlet and then laughs like a ninny
during the comedies. Did I mention that
Shakespeare crowd-surfs after a presentation of Hamlet?
A shrewd ruler, Elizabeth is depicted
as insecure and flighty in Anonymous
Curiously,
Emmerich’s film does not become so much an Oxfordian promotion as a Ben Jonson
apologist movie. Jonson – who murdered a man but
was acquitted because he could read some lines of Latin – was, by many
contemporary accounts, a bitter writer who did not celebrate the success of his
peers. In Anonymous, Emmerich's Jonson preserves Oxford’s plays and poesy because Oxford is “the
soul of the age.” This line, delivered tearfully as the Earl is on his
deathbed, is perhaps the most appalling moment in a film riddled with appalling
moments; Ben Jonson famously wrote of Shakespeare in the 1623 Folio that Will
was “not of an age, but for all time.” Emmerich, using a biased revisionist history here for his film, hopes to counter what he sees is the
prevailing attitude of academia: “We know it, we teach it, so shut the fuck up.” His film is a narcissistic, ahistorical, untimely mess.
Rhys
Ifans, for his part, does an adequate job in a caricature of a role, schlumping
around gloomily, wearing more makeup than Elizabeth. The actor has a heavy burden; after all, ten
of Shakespeare’s thirty-seven plays were written after Oxford’s death in
1604. Orloff and Emmerich casually
ignore this problem, depicting the Earl penning Macbeth, written a year after the Earl’s death.
The Earl of Southampton is depicted as Elizabeth's
illegitimate son in Emmerich's film
The
film also suggests layers of secrecy regarding the lineage of the Earl of Southampton,
where Elizabeth is his mother and grandmother at the same time, Oxford his
father. The poems in the sonnet
sequence, then, are in Emmerich’s fantasy poems written from father to
son. We do, by chance, have some of
Oxford’s poetry – and contrary to Emmerich’s theory that the gentleman could
and would not have been able to publicly reveal himself as a poet or
playwright, Oxford’s reputation as a patron and creator of the arts was well
known. One short poem, from a 1589 publication
lacks every ounce of wit and the sublime we find in any of Shakespeare’s poems:
When wert thou
borne, desire?
In pompe and
prime of May,
By whom sweete boy wert thou begot?
By good conceit men say,
Tell me who was thy nurse?
Fresh youth in sugred joy.
What was thy meate and dayly food?
Sad sighes with great annoy.
What hadst thou then to drinke?
Unfayned lovers tears.
What cradle wert thou rocked in?
In hope devoyd of feares.
I once spoke
too rapidly in a Shakespeare course in which I served as a teaching assistant,
committing a spoonerism by saying something was “like trying to fit a square
pig in a round hole.” This
mistake of mine accurately serves to sum up what Emmerich has done with Anonymous. In the opening scene, set in the modern age,
Derek Jacobi – who has himself has an illustrious career in Shakespearean
theater and film – lays out four “problems” that suggest Shakespeare could not
have penned his works: that Shakespeare was uneducated, that his father was an
illiterate glovemaker, that his will makes no mention of a book collection,
that no manuscript survives in his hand. All four of these objections are easily refuted. Shakespeare attended a notable grammar school
in Stratford-upon-Avon, where students memorized Latin from Ovid under a
schoolmaster’s whip. Additionally, there
are theories that during Shakespeare’s “lost years,” prior to his arrival in
London, he served as a schoolmaster himself. Marlowe seems to escape this same "uneducated" charge, yet he was a butcher's son.
Elizabethan hornbook, the type
Shakespeare would have used
in grammar school
Although John
Shakespeare was illiterate, he must have sought better for his son by
encouraging him to attend school rather than enter the glovemaking craft,
though by glovemaking, I will stress that this career was lucrative.
Elizabethan gloves, the sort
John Shakespeare would have crafted
Shakespeare’s
will has been the subject of debate for decades, but notably for its inclusion
of a detail that his “second-best bed” go to his wife Anne while failing to mention the sort of library we would expect the author of Shakespeare's plays to have. The exclusion
of mentioning books may mean Shakespeare had sold them when he left London -- and why not,
since he appears to have written and elaborated upon many stories he
encountered in his storied career and carting them back to Stratford may have
proved less profitable than selling them to any one of the many bookdealers
near St. Paul’s. Additionally, if he
did take his books back with him to Stratford, there may never have been a
question about who would inherit them since the majority of his estate went to
his eldest daughter Susanna, to be passed on to her first-born son.
1623 Folio title page
Finally, on the
matter of Shakespeare’s play-texts: these were not typically something that
were preserved. In fact, they were
constantly evolving in the theater, and the advent of the printing press meant
that copies of plays – either authoritative or not – were readily
available. The most compelling evidence
for Shakespeare’s authorship is in the 1623 Folio, or authorized, version of
his works. Compiled by his fellow actors
and friends John Heminge and Henry Condell, who preserved and categorized the
plays that survived, the Folio is strong evidence – irrefutable, in my mind –
that Shakespeare existed and wrote these plays. Additionally, Ben Jonson wrote
a brief epilogue for Shakespeare in the Folio, which also lends a great deal of
credibility to its contents.
Bad Shakespeare
gives Emmerich’s confused revision of history 2/10 laurels. You can skip this one and watch the
less-promoted version of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus (2011).