FinermanWorks

NO McKELLEN NUDE SCENE FOR TV’S KING LEAR

Sir Ian McKellen’s full frontal nude scene in a stage production of King Lear has been cut from a U.S. TV version of the play.

McKellen stars in network PBS’ adaptation of the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of King Lear – but producers have decided to simply “suggest” the nudity, instead of showing the full, unedited clip.

Putting the prude in prudence, PBS is concerned that some viewers think that Sir Ian’s homosexuality might be contagious. (The same people who, if listening to Cole Porter or Tschaikowsky, would sterilize the grammophone needle.) However, King Lear actually needs the nudity if only to distract the audience from the play’s overwhelming bleakness. Prozac should be dispensed to the audience; otherwise the play’s nonstop misery would induce mass suicide.

No, for the public’s safety and sanity, King Lear should be made fun. Why not cast Burt Reynolds in the title role? He wouldn’t even have a problem with nudity as long as he could keep on his toupee. His presence would reassure the audience “Hey, this play can’t be that tragic.” With that frame of mind, Gloucester’s blinding and Cordelia’s lynching might be just good slapstick–a Gentile Three Stooges.

However, if you insist that King Lear be played as a tragedy, at least cast an actor we all would love to see humiliated and abused. Who would tempt you to yell at the TV set, “Kick him again, kick him again.” I am envisioning Jim Carrey as King Lear.

Why settle for tidbits on Lindsay Lohan and Anne Hathaway when you could get real dirt about Byzantine princesses, homicidal French Queen Mothers and America’s most vacuous presidents!

By subscribing to Your RDA of Irony, you will possess wit, erudition and charm–all the advantages of being me without the annoying in-laws. And it is free! (You don’t even have to be grateful). So how do you subscribe?

Just write to me at FinermanWorks@gmail.com

And I will do the rest.

Yours for the asking,

Eugene

Let’s wish a perfunctory birthday to Millard Fillmore, born this day in 1800. His name sounds ridiculous and he certainly lived up to it. He had six months of formal schooling but somehow that qualified him to be a lawyer in upstate New York. (Be fair; George Bush had less than six months of education in his four years at Yale.) Nonetheless, no one wanted to trust Attorney Fillmore with a will or a land deed, so he had to go into politics.

He won election to the state assembly in 1828 running as an Anti-Mason. Apparently, the Freemasons were considered a danger in his district, lurking under beds and quoting Isaac Newton and Thomas Jefferson while one slept. Perhaps the voters there had just seen an awful performance of “The Magic Flute”; otherwise there is no reason to dislike the Freemasons. Fillmore’s next phobia was Andrew Jackson, who also happened to be a Freemason; running in 1833 on a platform of being Anti-Jackson, Fillmore was elected to the U.S. Congress. Being his own party, with a one plank platform, was somewhat limiting; so in 1837, Congressman Fillmore joined the Whigs. The Whig leadership of Henry Clay and Daniel Webster was illustrious but tottering toward ancient; the 37 year-old Fillmore was new blood, and the party elders may have mistaken his ambition for intelligence. Fillmore soon became a leader of the congressional Whigs.

In 1848, the Whigs nominated Zachary Taylor as their presidential candidate and Fillmore as his running mate. Taylor was a Southerner, an aristocrat and a war hero; Fillmore balanced the ticket. The contrast also included lifespans. Taylor was 63 when elected and died after 16 months in office. At the time of his death, Congress was roiling over the issue of extending slavery into the territories that Mexico had just “donated” to the United States. Of course, the South wanted every acre to be open to slavery; Colorado and Nevada apparently were perfect for cotton plantations. Ironically, Zachary Taylor of Louisiana opposed the full extension of slavery in the new territories, and the old warhorse was not one to be bullied by John Calhoun and the other Southern fire-eaters. Just as ironically, Millard Fillmore of New York was quite prepared to let the South have its way; slavery evidently was not as bad as Freemasonry.

With President Fillmore undermining northern opposition, the Compromise of 1850 was reached. California would be a free state, Texas a slave state, and everything in between could be decided later. The Compromise also included the Fugitive Slave Act, which guaranteed federal assistance in capturing and returning escaped slaves. The Compromise was more of a capitulation, and no one was impressed with Fillmore. The North despised him, and even the South dismissed him. In 1852, the Whigs refused to nominate him for another term.

But Millard Fillmore was not through with politics yet. There was a new phobia for him to exploit: Anti-Catholicism. The Irish Potato Famine had led to the migration of one million Irish to our shores, and now some Protestant paranoids feared a Papal conspiracy to seize America. These “nativists” organized their own political party, now remembered as the Know-Nothings, and guess whom they chose to be their presidential candidate in 1856? Fillmore came in third but still won 23 percent of the popular votes.

But Anti-Catholicism did not prove a lasting issue. The Irish were needed to build railroads and fight our Civil War. Furthermore, the Irish did not like immigrants either–at least the ones who came next. So Millard Fillmore spent the remaining two decades of his life in comfortable oblivion, fancying himself the great statesman of Buffalo, New York.

January 5th Obituaries

On this day in 1589, ten thousand French foodtasters were thrown out of work. Catherine de Medici died and the people no longer felt terrified of eating. Ironically, Catherine was credited with introducing haute cuisine to France. Of course, the ulterior purpose of delicious food is to disguise the taste of any surprise ingredients.

In his novels, Alexander Dumas has the Queen Mother finding the most remarkable ways to poison people. Jeanne de Navarre, the mother of the future Henri IV, shouldn’t have worn those gift gloves from Catherine. Henri of Navarre receives a book from his loving mother-in-law. Unfortunately, so the novel relates, King Charles IX sees the book and is the first (and last) to read it. Guess what the sticky substance on the pages was? At least, Charles wasn’t Catherine’s favorite son.

You’d have thought that Catherine would have applied her culinary skills to the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre. She probably couldn’t trust French waiters to get the orders right. “Was Admiral Coligny supposed to get the poisson or the poison?”

From my video archives, here is a visit with the 16th century’s inspiration for Martha Stewart:

Catherine: Why hello. Today I am planning the wedding of my daughter Margaret to Henry of Navarre. And nothing and no one will be spared. I may cut throats but never corners. Helping with the invitation list is my friend–and great gossip–Nostradamus.

Nostradamus: The Pope can’t come, so there is no point in sending him an invitation.

Catherine: With Nostradamus you don’t have to bother with RSVPs. Now designing the wedding dress is my son Henri.

Henri: It is so beautiful I wish I were wearing it. Perhaps when I am king….Knowing Margaret, though, no one will believe that she should be in white.

Nostradamus: When the groom says “I do”, most of the guys at court will think “So have I.”

Catherine: Changing the subject, we are having the wedding at Notre Dame Cathedral. Having a thousand people stand during a four hour ceremony might be a certain problem, but my friend–and paisano–Ben Cellini is here with the solution.

Cellini: Here is it: a solid gold chamber pot. Of course you will need at least five hundred for both necessity and mementos. It won’t be cheap.

Catherine: We can economize on the catering. You see, we are planning to massacre the Protestant guests. Believe me, it will be difficult enough getting Margaret to write any thank-you notes for the gifts; so this will eliminate half of that chore. And a massacre is certainly a more original entertainment than the usual band; even the Protestants might find it preferable to doing “The Hokey-Pokey.”

Guess what was in Martin Luther’s junk mail on this day in 1521? It was a big envelope with the exclamation “You May Already Be a Heretic! Learn How You Can Get a Free Trip to HELL!” Yes, Martin Luther had just received his very own Excommunication.

Pope Leo X had finally noticed the loss of Northern Germany and Scandinavia, a mere three years after Luther ignited the Reformation. The Pope had been preoccupied with redecorating the Vatican. Aside from having the aesthetic standards of a De Medici, Leo had an unrequited crush on Raphael and was always finding projects to keep that attractive, personable young man around. Unfortunately, in 1520 Raphael died of syphilis (the consequences of being so attractive and personable) and the Pope lost his major distraction.

Finally, the Pope would deal with that dangerous young man who threatened the supremacy of the Church. Of course, Leo picked the wrong man. The Pope could not be bothered with Luther; Leo was not interested in theology and was not prepared to debate some ill-tempered professor over the standard of living in Purgatory. However, Leo was concerned with young Charlie Hapsburg. By the age of nineteen, Charlie had inherited most of Christendom: he was the King of Spain,Sicily and Southern Italy. And that was just on his mother’s side. Being a Hapsburg, Charles also ruled Austria, the Netherlands, Belgium and–for what it was worth in prestige–the nominal Holy Roman Empire.

The Pope tried to prevent Charles’ election as Holy Roman Emperor, a position that had long been regarded as a Hapsburg prerogative. Then, Leo refused to coronate Charles. The Pope evidently thought that a 19 year-old was unworthy of such power and responsibility. (Leo had been appointed a cardinal when he was 13, and the deMedici family had been bought their kid the papacy; but the young deMedici begrudged the even younger Hapsburg.)

By his futile and meaningless efforts, Leo had managed to offend his most powerful parishioner, the one man in Germany who was in a position to crush the nascent heresy. Not feeling terribly loyal to the Papacy, Charles proved initially quite tolerant of Luther. After all, the Church definitely needed reform; and wasn’t that Luther’s sole aim? Yes, Charles was wrong; but by 1521, the heresy had proved so popular in Northern Germany that only a civil war could crush it. Charles needed the support of the German princes of the North; he intended to conquer Italy if only to make his point to the Pope.

(Leo died without having the pleasure of meeting Charles. However, Pope Clement VII– Leo’s cousin–was persuaded by the German sack of Rome in 1527 to coronate Charles.)

So, after three years of ignoring the loss of northern Europe while alienating any support elsewhere, the Pope finally excommunicated Martin Luther. The most impact that Papal Bull might have had on Luther was a paper cut.

HAROLD PINTER DIES

“The Eulogy”

cast: Harold Pinter, ghost and guest of honor
Lady Antonia Fraser, his widow
Ian Holm, actor
Vivien Merchant, first wife

Harold: Should I say something?

Lady Antonia: I really don’t think that it is expected of the dead.

Harold: That’s why I want to. But what should I say?

Antonia: Coherence would be a nice change of pace. Of course, the public would love all the eternal gossip. God’s appearance…or Satan’s. There is an equal audience for either.

Ian Holm: Is he really dead..or is this just another of his inexplicable pauses?

Antonia: Both. And I shouldn’t complain. Those pauses saved you from having to memorize dialogue.

Ian: But I had to look as if I knew something.

Antonia: So did Harold.

Ian: Nobel Prize. Not bad for a cockney.

Vivien Merchant: Always could pronounce his H’s, though.

Antonia: His type always could.

Harold: My type?

Antonia: You know.

Ian: He knows.

Harold: But I love cricket.

Vivien: Social climber.

Antonia: That would explain me.

Vivien: That would explain you.

Harold: Should I say something to this audience?

Antonia: A profound silence should suffice.

In the second century BCJ (before Cousin Jesus), Syria extended far beyond the borders of the country that we know and love. It also included Turkey, Jordan, Iraq, Israel and Lebanon. (Lebanon still may be part of Syria.) This very large kingdom was a fragment of Alexander’s Empire that had been divided among his generals. Seleucus grabbed it, and his ancestors continued to rule it two centuries later.

Seleucus was Greek as was the ruling caste; and these Hellenes made themselves comfortable by recreating the Greek culture in their kingdom. The same was true of the other grasping Greek and Macedonian generals. Egypt, under the Ptolemies, was Hellenized. There were Hellenized satraps in Afghanistan and India. (Even the statues of Buddha started to look remarkably like Apollo.)

A descendant of Seleucus, Antiochus the Third attempted to expand his empire into Greece. However, Rome had the same idea at the same time. Guess who won? The Romans pushed him out of Greece and then defeated him in Asia Minor (190 B.C)

His son Antiochus the Fourth inherited a smaller empire; however, he tried to make it more cohesive by imposing uniform Hellenization. But one province, with a very idiosyncratic theology, did not really appreciate the glories and gifts of Greek civilization.

Who could resist all the enticements of Western civilization? Art, theater, medicine, bathing! Had we been a little more receptive, “Pygmalion” could have been a musical 2000 years sooner.

My ancestors must have been real ingrates. In fact, those Semitic fundamentalists were so unappreciative of imposed western values, that they rose in rebellion. (Do you think that history repeats itself?)

The Greeks were then obliging enough to lose the war. This was at a time when the Jews hardly ever won–obviously long before there were Nobel prizes in Economics or Emmy Awards for comedy writers.

In any case, but for Jennifer Aniston’s ancestors, we wouldn’t have Hanukkah as a psychological shield against the veritable avalanche of Christmas.

December 19th

Let’s offer a belated congratulations to Hussein Kamil on becoming Sultan of Egypt on this day in 1914. The promotion must have been a surprise to the 61 year old prince, an innocuous fellow who made no enemies or impressions. Of course, that is exactly what the British wanted in a regal stooge. Egypt was an unique political entity that demanded a well-mannered if contorted form of imperialism.

In theory and diplomatic protocol, Egypt was a province of the Ottoman Empire; however, for a century Egypt actually had been an independent monarchy. A Turkish-appointed governor named Mohammed Ali (1769-1849) decided that he really liked ruling Egypt and had no intention of leaving. Ruthless and efficient (he knew exactly the right people to assassinate), a fine soldier and excellent administrator, he proved invincible and forced Constantinople to grant him hereditary rule of Egypt. Yes, he and his descendants would acknowledge the nominal sovereignty of the Ottoman Empire; they assumed the title of Khedive–viceroy–as if they were only assistants to the Sultan. But their ties to the Empire were tenuous and whimsical; they would be loyal Turkish subjects if and when they felt like it. (South Carolina wanted a similar status with the United States.)

Unfortunately, the Khedives were not so adept at protecting the country from the British. Whatever Machiavellian brilliance the dynasty’s founder possessed, it did not extend to the third generation. The reigning grandson Ismail (1830-1895) had excellent intentions and some good ideas–such as the Suez Canal–but his efforts created more debts than progress. In 1875, to alleviate his financial straits, the Khedive sold the Suez Canal to the British government. Of course, as it turned out, he received much more than several million Pounds sterling; he also got the unsolicited but adamant British assistance in governing Egypt. The British felt that safeguarding the Canal required a protective buffer: the entire surrounding nation. In fact, the British called their imposition a “protectorate.” Neither the Turks nor the Egyptians seemed especially appreciative, but did they have any say in the matter?

Actually, there was a native uprising and the Khedive found himself in the middle of it. The Egyptian nationalists condemned Ismail as a traitor, while the British despised him as a weakling. He was no help to them in suppressing the rebellion. (Was it too much to expect Ismail to be an eager toady?) Looking for a more cooperative figurehead, the British ousted Ismail in 1879, sending him off to a comfortable retirement and appointing his son Tewfik as their Khedive. Tewfik (1852-1892) proved suitably pliant and even earned a certain esteem from the British; they thought of him as more European than Egyptian. He was a very Victorian Moslem, making do with just one wife.

But Victorian parents tended to produce Edwardian children, and the next Khedive was an affront to British propriety and the security of the Empire. Khedive Abbas (1874-1944) was all of 18 when he succeeded his father, and he wanted to rule rather than reign. There was a young Kaiser in Germany with both the same intention and a similar resentment of the British Empire. Wilhelm had an admirer–and a potential ally–in Cairo. Abbas was not exactly subtle; he was described as “the wicked little Khedive” and there were thoughts of ousting him. But unless he he declared open rebellion and invited the German army to Alexandria, but the British chose to ignore him…until 1914.

Abbas declared his support for the Central Powers. Of course, he was prudent enough to relocate to Constantinople before he denounced Britain. The British responded by anointing a new sovereign of Egypt: Hussain Kamil, the uncle of the now unemployed Abbas. (No doubt, he expected the Germans and Turks to win, and then restore him to the Egyptian throne. He would live his last 30 years in exile.) Furthermore, Hussain (1853-1917) would be no mere Khedive. The British promoted him to a Sultan. In effect, Britain had just fired the Ottoman ruler, too. The war between Britain and the Ottoman Empire simplified the status of Egypt. With a British fleet in Alexandria and a British army along the Suez, there was no further need to pretend that Egypt was a Turkish province. As a Sultan, Hussein was the equal in rank to the imperial figurehead in Constantinople. (In real power, Hussain had less authority than a British sergeant.)

And like God or Allah, what the British Empire gives, it can also take away. Once the Great War had ended, the idea of an Egyptian Sultanate became awkward. Now that the British fleet was anchored off Constantinople, the British wanted to preserve the Turkish Sultan as their figurehead in the Balkans and Asia Minor. To maintain the luster of the Turkish title, you couldn’t have a competing Egyptian Sultan. So, in 1922 the British demoted their regal stooge Fuad (1868-1936) to being the mere King of Egypt.

The Egyptian Sultanate had lasted six years. Ironically, the Ottoman Sultanate collapsed in 1923, but the Egyptian royal family did not attempt to regain the more prestigious title. Being King was good enough, and the dynasty lasted until 1952 when–finally without British protection–the entire family was sent off to a comfortable exile. They have been losing millions at Monte Carlo for years.

Archduke Franz Ferdinand would have been 146 today; but he stopped counting in 1914. His assassination was, at the very least, a disaster for Sarajevo’s tourism. If only the heir to Austria-Hungary had the consideration to have been gunned elsewhere, World War I could have been averted.

The Emperor Franz Josef couldn’t stand his nephew. The archduke was crass, humorless and irritable; there was no Viennese charm about him. In fact, Franz Ferdinand hated Vienna: too intellectual, too artistic and–or is this redundant–too Jewish. The elderly Emperor may have kept living just to keep his repulsive nephew from the throne.

And if Franz Ferdinand had been killed anywhere but Bosnia-Herzegovina, the old Emperor might have chuckled and shrugged. The Hapsburgs were inured to violent deaths. His brother Maximilian had been executed in Mexico. His wife Elizabeth had been assassinated in Switzerland. Yet Austria had not declared on Mexico or Switzerland, and Franz Josef actually liked his wife.

Unfortunately, the assassination of Franz Ferdinand could not be rationalized or ignored. Bosnia-Herzegovina was Austrian territory (whether or not Bosnians liked it) and it really was a breach of etiquette for the Serbian secret service to be encouraging the murder of Hapsburgs there.

So Austria-Hungary had to declare war on Serbia, so Russia had to declare war on Austria, so Germany had to declare war on Russia, and France was only too eager to declare war on Germany, so Germany had to declare war on Belgium (poor Belgium was in the way), so Britain had to declare war on Germany. Turkey hated Russia and didn’t want to feel left out.

On the positive side, the next-in-line to the Hapsburg throne was the Archduke Karl, and the Emperor liked him.

Happy Birthday to Prince Rupert!

Every family has an idiot; but among the Stuarts it was a challenge to be conspicuously stupid. Yet Prince Rupert (1619-1682) achieved it. Oliver Cromwell should have written him thank-you notes. Rupert was the nephew of Charles I and, as a commander of his uncle’s army, the prince repeatedly would grasp defeat from the jaws of victory.

Rupert was unquestionably brave. He would have made a splendid corporal. Unfortunately, as the King’s nephew, he was a general by birth–not ability. He did have a sense of theatrics, if not tactics, riding into battle accompanied by his poodle. (We can only guess how embarrassed the dog must have been.) Commanding the royal cavalry, the dashing Rupert would lead irrelevant charges while the rest of the royal army was left to face Cromwell. Yes, Rupert won skirmishes but the Royalists lost the battles. After a series of such grandstanding calamities, the surviving members of the King’s court wanted Rupert to be courtmartialed. He certainly was no longer Uncle Charlie’s favorite nephew. Rupert was banished; at least he found France a pleasant alternative to Cromwell’s England. Uncle Charlie wasn’t that lucky.

During his years in exile, Rupert took up new careers and hobbies, including piracy and painting. Although only a mediocre buccaneer, it still was an improvement over his soldiering. And he actually turned out to be a good artist. (If only Charles I had entrusted his nephew with a palette instead of the cavalry….) At least Charles II held no grudges against his incompetent cousin. Upon the restoration of the monarchy, Prince Rupert received properties, an annuity and the rank of admiral. (Commanding the British navy, he did lose one war to the Dutch–but only one.) Rupert also served on corporate boards, lending his royal patronage to such enterprises as the Hudson Bay Company. A number of Canadian cities and locales are named for the dashing dolt if only as an English alternative to French or Inuit.

Today in Britain the name Rupert has become a synonym for a reckless show-off. Here in America his legacy endures. While no American graduate schools are named for him, Rupert obviously is the role model for every MBA.