Unbelievable. This play is notoriously unlucky. Productions of it are always plagued with accidents, injuries, even deaths. And, they are rarely successful. In fact, I just read somewhere that, by consensus, the only really successful production last century was Laurence Olivier's in 1955. Actors won't say its name. They call it "The Scottish Play."
Now, I was ready to poo-poo (in a manly way) all this bad luck stuff. In fact, I've written its name several times in the last few posts. But then today, after I started it, I went to the library to pick up a book for Jackie, some more Shakespeare movies to foist on her, and Auden's Lectures on Shakespeare. Everything goes well until I leave. I hold the door open for a little girl, turn around, and really scrape my hand on the handicap door-open button. Okay, it doesn't sound bad, but it bled a bit and it kind of hurts. The point is, I'm in Act One Scene Two of this play and already it's drawn blood. What's gonna happen by the time I get to Act Three?
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