Theo Logos's Reviews > As You Like It

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

As You Like It contains this great and moving, melancholy speech, which is worthy of one of Shakespeare’s great tragedies. Instead, it is spent here, in this silly little froth of a convoluted comedy.

I’m coming to realize that I little like Shakespeare’s comedies. His tragedies examine nobility and villainy, ambition, and hubris. They play out on a grand scale with real steaks. Shakespeare’s tragedies are sublime. But, damn it, pretty as they are, his comedies are just silly, frothy little things. I’ve seen Rom-Coms with more heft than As You Like It.

Nothing about this play was convincing for a moment. The evil villains (Oliver de Boys, Duke Frederick) were figures of convenience — their motivation for the extreme antipathy to our heroes isn’t well established, because they are nothing more than plot hooks to move things along. At the end, when both villains repent in the general love-fest and go without transition from devils to angels, it is no more explained. The various romances and the ways they play out are even more frothy and ridiculous — I won’t even go into it.

My only question in rating this play is whether Shakespeare’s oh so pretty language was worth three stars or just two. Even in his silly efforts, the Bard could sure turn a phrase, so, on the strength of that alone I’ll give this nonsense three stars.