Your favourite bit, aside from the clichéd I cried to dream again and brave new world that has such people in’t?
Mine’s got to be Caliban’s few words while basted on booze or, as he lovingly calls it, celestial liquor.
What tickles is the characteristic hallmarks of the drunk as he tries to give the also carted Stephano and Trinculo instructions on how to polish off Prospero [Caliban’s boss].
He’s truly bowsered. Or, as the irksome and obsequious Ariel puts the state, red-hot with drinking.
It’s all here. The frowning. The determined imperative. The repetition of idea. The aggression. You don’t have to see the play to see him swaying, lurching, finger-pointing.
Continue reading The Tempest by William Shakespeare (1609)
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