Morrissey And Hamlet

[chetthespian]

Hey everybody

Tomorrow morning (this morning) I am pitching my final paper idea in which I compare Morrissey's "public persona" to Hamlet. Saying that they were similar, without Hamlet there could not be Morrissey, et cetera. I have a lot of quotes from songs which I am connecting to parts of the play, but I am wondering if any of you had brilliant ideas that I might not have thought of. Interview quotes, things Morrissey's done, loose connections with Hamlet that you have ever considered. It would be a huge help, considering this woman doesn't know who Morrissey is and therefore wants me to pick a character from a MOVIE or something.

I'd much rather just spend my time listening to Morrissey and writing a paper about it.

 

[Worm]

• 'Kill Uncle"
  
• Rosencrantz and Guildenstern = Joyce and Rourke (more of a Stoppard bit I suppose)
  
• Polonius' speech to Hamlet = "Dial A Cliche"
  
• "How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable/Seem to me all the uses of this world!" = "I've Changed My Plea To Guilty"
  
• "Frailty, thy name is woman!" = "I've lost my faith in womanhood"
  
• Hamlet's unstated love of his mother = Morrissey's strong affections. (Okay, maybe "~" rather than "=".)
  
• "Alas Poor Yorick" = "Cemetry Gates"

I'm sure there are lots of others.

Personally I don't see much of Hamlet in Morrissey. Hamlet isn't quite sure who he is or what he's capable of, and doesn't so much fear the consequences of his actions as wonder if it's even worth it to act at all. Morrissey, in my view, is someone who has already "acted" because he cannot be other than what he is: his life is a negotiation between himself and life after his "tragic" individuation, not before, as with Hamlet. If both men are led through despair to philosophical examinations of the world's ills, Hamlet is more existential than Morrissey, first of all, and Morrissey is much more resigned to the way things are than Hamlet ever becomes.

I suppose you could argue that Morrissey, like Hamlet, is haunted by the unavoidable obligations of maleness, transmitted by the patriarchy, which he struggles to live up to. His story is a drama in which he must come to terms with his father's demands, a problematic existence which shallower onlookers believe is due to his suffering from typical adolescent bullshit or outright insanity. Unlike Hamlet, he does not succumb to the stifling rules of maleness, and yet the difficulties remain and cause a "tragedy" of sorts to unfold anyway, with the loss of a girlfriend, old friends, family, etc. Perhaps you could make a leap and say that Morrissey, like Hamlet, creates a role for himself and acts a part, but whereas the Danish prince has a certain end in mind, Morrissey does not exit the part. His escape from binding maleness is to become an actor, casting himself as the lead in a play within a play (pop music within life), and hitting the road to escape those domestic troubles in which his absent father and protective mother have played defining roles.

Anyway, I would think Morrissey is closer to Richard II, the "actor king", a quintessentially English exile trapped in his own country, possessed of a gift for vivid self-dramatization, a prisoner who may have more power than his captors, each of his dolorous laments as much a play for freedom as an inert expression of melancholy. Of course, being royal is a problem. But I'm talking more about their essential personalities.

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.​

If you wanted to strike a Mark Simpson note you might go with Rosalind, but I like Richard better.

 

[Yann]

Hamlet is not tragic enough for being compared to Morrissey.
I mean : his life, not his creation.
This is like Emily Bronté and Moz comparison i've seen somewhere : the only connection I see could be the Moor but Moz is far from sharing a gothic style (even if he enjoyed reading Wuthering Heights).
The litterary inspiration in life style and creation is too obvious to be mentionned.

 

[Anaesthesine]

This is like Emily Bronté and Moz comparison i've seen somewhere : the only connection I see could be the Moor but Moz is far from sharing a gothic style (even if he enjoyed reading Wuthering Heights).

Morrissey may not be Emily Bronte, but he is currently the closest thing we have to a living Rochester, her sister Charlotte's creation.

Think about it - a brooding, isolated man, greying but still magnetically virile. He has a (metaphorical) secret which he obsessively hides from the world, causing him to be paranoid and overly self-protective.

He (Rochester) is widely misunderstood - seen to be arrogant, difficult and romantically unwinnable. His relationship with Jane is antagonistic and cruel, characterized by power plays and jealousy. In reality, of course, Rochester is a gentle, overly-sensitive soul who has been cruelly treated by life and circumstance. His angry, preemptive posturing only hides the fact that he feels damaged, betrayed and unlovable.

It is my favorite litgirl fantasy, and I must thank Morrissey for providing such a wonderfully Byronic template these days.

 

[Yann]

Well... I am afraid that is not enough : if you go that way Moz could probably wear any shoes from characters of Dostoievsky or Huysmans. It is interesting to draw parallels but i wonder how you can estimate the very influence of Charlotte on his life and creation. For Wilde or Delaney, it is obvious : he used to often pay tribute to his inspirators and in few of his songs refered to them by making nods.

 

[nightandday]

Hamlet is not tragic enough for being compared to Morrissey.
I mean : his life, not his creation.
This is like Emily Bronté and Moz comparison i've seen somewhere : the only connection I see could be the Moor but Moz is far from sharing a gothic style (even if he enjoyed reading Wuthering Heights).
The litterary inspiration in life style and creation is too obvious to be mentionned.

Morrissey may not be Emily Bronte, but he is currently the closest thing we have to a living Rochester, her sister Charlotte's creation.

Think about it - a brooding, isolated man, greying but still magnetically virile. He has a (metaphorical) secret which he obsessively hides from the world, causing him to be paranoid and overly self-protective.

He (Rochester) is widely misunderstood - seen to be arrogant, difficult and romantically unwinnable. His relationship with Jane is antagonistic and cruel, characterized by power plays and jealousy. In reality, of course, Rochester is a gentle, overly-sensitive soul who has been cruelly treated by life and circumstance. His angry, preemptive posturing only hides the fact that he feels damaged, betrayed and unlovable.

It is my favorite litgirl fantasy, and I must thank Morrissey for providing such a wonderfully Byronic template these days.

Well, I've often thought of Morrissey as a larger-than-life Brontesque character. In any case, he really likes "Wuthering Heights" and "Jane Eyre". That's more than I could say of "Hamlet" - I don't know if he even likes Shakespeare.

I've read that article with comparison between Morrissey and Emily Bronte, it's from http://www.prettypettythieves.com/


Happiest When Most Away: Emily Brontë and "Satan Rejected My Soul", by Helen.

I'm not sure about the Morrissey/Emily Bronte comparison, but I like Helen's Morrissey/Heathcliff comparison. Particularly this part:

"Catherine and Heathcliff recognise that they are kindred spirits, soulmates of the deepest kind - to the point where Catherine declares, "Nelly, I AM Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."

"The passionate performances on stage, where singer and fan love and are loved - how many fans have thought to themselves, "Nelly, I AM Morrissey!" "

This is what I do agree with. However, I don't agree with some of Helen's comments on "Wuthering Heights" (my favourite novel, BTW):

"Their love is amoral; asexual in fact.

Wuthering Heights is often cited as one of the world's most passionate love stories, but their love is never consummated. It's as if they don't need to have sex to be close to each other - they already are each other. "

Asexual love? They don't need to have sex with each other?! Yeah, right. I've heard that theory before, and IMO it just shows that some people can't put things into context. Remember the time and place when the novel was written. It was not written in 1987 or 1947. It was published in 1847, in the midst of the Victorian Age! Even if Emily Bronte had wanted to describe Catherine and Heathcliff having sex, she definitely could not have done it!!! Any Victorian writer who wanted their work to be published and considered serious literature could not even dream of describing sexual desire directly, let alone a sexual act - you could not go further than a kiss, and even that was considered very bold! Anything more would have belonged to the field of pornography. And characters don't have to engage in the actual sexual act for their relationship to be felt as very passionately erotic. I would rather say that there is a strong sexual undercurrrent to "Wuthering Heights", more so than in any other Victorian novel I can think of (although "Jane Eyre" comes close). Finally, in their last scene together - when they meet just before Cathy's death, and very passionately hug and kiss - their relationship between them doesn't seem 'asexual' at all! Rather than being restrained, that scene in itself very bold for a Victorian novel - especially considering that both characters are married to someone else at that point! What more would you expect? That Emily would have described them having sex right there? In her husband's house, in front of Nelly Dean? With Catherine being both heavily pregnant and very ill?! That would have been very cheap even if it was written today, and in that day and age it would have send the novel right into pornographic literature. And after all, isn't the tragic feeling of the story stronger when a passionate love remains unconsummated?

 

[drunken goldfish]

[*]Rosencrantz and Guildenstern = Joyce and Rourke (more of a Stoppard bit I suppose)

Interesting post as usual . I'm a big fan of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and I'm curious how you see those two as similar to Joyce and Rourke.

 

[Worm]

Interesting post as usual . I'm a big fan of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and I'm curious how you see those two as similar to Joyce and Rourke.

More of a joke, really. The two benighted courtiers who are superficially involved with the great and the powerful yet in any deeper sense marginalized almost to the point of existential nothingness. A sneaking suspicion they're along for the ride but too dim to figure everything out. This would describe their days in The Smiths; I recently read a description of an important meeting at the Wool Hall's kitchen in which their splits were discussed. Just envision them running around the Wool Hall ("the castle") asking after Morrissey and Marr (each a Hamlet), confused and anxious about the tension between them, the two musicians befuddled as to much they make, how much they ought to make, how much they can rightly ask for, what the future means without The Smiths, and so on. Their information would come in mere scraps from Morrissey and Marr, who tell them everything on a "need to know" basis and probably manipulate them, to boot, or from third parties (Street, Travis, EMI) whom they nervously interrogate every chance they get to find out what, exactly, the future has in store for them. They'd be obsessed with words, too-- for four years Joyce and Rourke were defined as "The Drums" and "The Bass Guitar", but now the group is dissolving. What does it make them if they no longer perform those functions, exist as part of that collective identity? You could even throw in a scene where Joyce and Rourke pore over the account books, of which they can make no sense whatsoever. Pure Stoppard.

After 1987, when circumstances detriorated quickly, their counterparts would of course be Vladimir and Estragon.

These comparisons are probably mean, and in any event not perfectly suited to the texts, but when I look at pictures of the band, especially in light of the trial and the true arrangement of power in the group, I can't help but associate them with those two pairs of unfortunate fellows.

 

[Worm]

That reminds me, I thought of another angle for The Tragedy of Mozlet, Prince of Stretford.

I think it's obvious that who we think of as Morrissey is really "Morrissey", a creation of Steven Patrick Morrissey's. Not that everything is fake, just that we get a distorted projection of his real self. The epigraph to "Peepholism" sizes up the man with that wonderful paradox of a man acting with total fidelity to his heart but, for all that, still an actor on a stage.

Thus Morrissey stands in the same relation to "Morrissey" as Shakespeare* does to "Hamlet".

If this is acceptable, then you could talk about how Shakespeare constructed his play from previous incarnations. Hamlet's story comes from Norse legend, circa 1200 AD, in a story of a certain prince Amleth, and in the late sixteenth century made its way to the London stage courtesy of Thomas Kyd. In using a drama which already existed in another form, Shakespeare essentially took a pre-existing structure and recreated it in his own inimitable way, giving to a stock revenge tragedy the full range of his powers: all of his depth, color, dramatic sense, and superb language. The astonishing thing, of course, is that he accomplished this feat in a play written as a popular entertainment. In short, in "Hamlet" we have a work of art intended for mass audiences completely transformed by the genius of an author whose singular gifts successfully maintained its populist roots while, at the same time, transcending them to bring his work into the realm of high art.

Substitute Morrissey for Shakespeare in the above paragraph, and pop music for drama, and you've got an interesting parallel between "Morrissey" and "Hamlet", not just Morrissey and Hamlet.



*I put "Shakespeare" in quotations because we all know that the author of "Hamlet" is really Sir Francis Bacon.

 

[nightandday]

*I put "Shakespeare" in quotations because we all know that the author of "Hamlet" is really Sir Francis Bacon.

LOL What! You're telling me it isn't Christopher Marlowe? Or Queen Elizabeth?? Or both??

I don't think that even Mark Simpson could make a connection between Morrissey and Rosalind , since they have absolutely nothing in common. I don't really see your Richard II parallel either.

Your Morrissey/Hamlet comparison was great, but you missed some of the crucial links... besidethe fact both of them are very skillful with words, and able to use ambiguous speech to keep people guessing and maintain a certain control, both seem to be obsessing over the same issues:

Hamlet:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Morrissey:

Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I'm tired and I
I want to go to bed
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
And then leave me alone
Don't try to wake me in the morning
'Cause I will be gone
Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I will feel so glad to go
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore
Sing to me
Sing to me
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore
Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I really want to go
There is another world
There is a better world
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Bye bye.

Hamlet:

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant for my cause,
And can say nothing. No, not for a king,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha, 'swounds, I should take it, for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should ha' fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must like a whore unpack my heart with words
And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
A stallion! Fie upon't, foh!

And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action

Morrissey:

"Is there a fear now then, of sex?"
No, not fear... I wouldn't quite say that, but...something...not fear...
"How would you describe it?"
Slighly... perhaps just two much thought, too much anticipation... perhaps I don't really care enough.

I'm obsessed by the physical, in the sense that it almost always works. It's a great power to be very physical, to be able to storm through life with swaying shoulders, instead of creeping and just simply relying on your Thesaurus. It doesn't work! I've had so many conversations with people trying to convince them of a particular point, and although I find words central to my life...
"You'd like to be capable of violence..."
Nothing shifts or stirs people like a slight underhand threat. They jump. But most of the friends I have are very verbal and cross-legged individuals and not very demonstrative in any way. So I've never belonged to any physical set.

I find that people who have very simplistic views of the world tend to live better, and get on, and do more. Don't you find?

Won't somebody stop me
From thinking
From thinking all the time
About everything
Oh, somebody
From thinking all the time
So deeply, so bleakly ?
So bleakly all the time
About everything ? (Who I am, how I ever got here)
Somebody stop me
From thinking
From thinking all the time
So bleakly, so bleakly
So bleakly all the time

 

[Worm]

I'm sure there are lots of others.

Like I said.

And you ought to read the "To sleep, perchance to dream" lines more closely. Hamlet's fear is that he doesn't know what comes after death. The person singing in "Asleep" is 'glad to go' and sure the next world is a better world.

 

[nightandday]

Like I said.

And you ought to read the "To sleep, perchance to dream" lines more closely. Hamlet's fear is that he doesn't know what comes after death. The person singing in "Asleep" is 'glad to go' and sure the next world is a better world.

I said that they were obsessing over the same themes. I never said that they came to the same conclusion. The narrator in "Asleep" obviously thinks that another world - whatever it is like - must be better than this one, unlike Hamlet, who is too afraid of the unknown and prefers the evil he knows.

At least that's what the song "Asleep" suggests - what exactly Morrissey thinks about it is another question... He said several times that he has great respect for people who commit suicide, but fortunately he has never carried it into action, so I don't know...

 

[CharlieFairhead]

I always preferred Morrissey and Marr....i can't remember 'the Hamlet' era.

ta taa x