In 'The Motives of Eloquence', Lantham describes Shakespearean drama as the art of “overlay”. One action arc is performed over the others so that "the [d]ramatic motif is stronger than the 'real' and serious motif." The justification of a character's action occurs as theater. “Drama, ceremony, are always necessary to authenticate the experience.” In a morally ambiguous play, characters dramatize their motivations to justify their actions. While Lantham argues that this dramatization occurs at the level of the play text, it is my intent to argue that there is a similar mechanism operating at the level of the play itself. Shakespearean comedy in particular seems to offer a preferred mode of justice, what I will call comic justice. Comic justice is the feeling that the play will come to a “justified” ending – that “true love” will prevail and evil characters will be punished for their actions. This comic justice acts to bring the work to its obligatory and happy conclusion. In this sense, overlap occurs when other characters offer subjective justice: systems of justice that arise from a character's needs rather than a dramatic need. Although these subjective judges never triumph in a play, they are rarely the subject of moralization. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original EssayThese alternative judges make themselves evident in the production due to their flexibility; simple directorial decisions can accentuate these judges, remove them, or radically reposition their rule. In both Max Reinhardt's and Michael Hoffman's adaptations of A Midsummer Night's Dream, the character of Egeus is significantly underplayed. While the potential for subversive justice exists, both directors cast him as an irrelevant villain; it's little more than a plot mechanism. Reinhardt's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" introduces audiences to a rebellious Hippolyta. It presents a strongly constructed alternative justice. This alternative is never dominant and is ultimately absorbed into the comic discourse of the film. However, the film can claim to preserve the "overlap" present in the work. This contrasts with Michael Hoffman's adaptation of the same play. In his film, Hippolyta's justice is reconstructed to act as a function of comic justice. Of all the films discussed in this article, the most radical adaptation occurs in Michael Radford's Shylock in "The Merchant of Venice." Like Egeus, it is possible to characterize Shylock as a disposable comic villain, lacking justification. It is equally possible to imagine Shylock as a variation of Hippolyta, a minority justice peripheral to the play. However, Radford chooses to undermine the comic thrust of the play and accentuate Shylock's tragic potential. There is comic justice in the film, but its execution can only be achieved at Shylock's expense. Ultimately, the happy ending required by the form is undermined by Shylock's suffering. A figure from classical mythology, Shakespeare's Hippolyta is prefigured with history and character. Her relationship with Theseus in the play is always clarified by reference to his capture and forced marriage. Theseus admits in the first scene: "I wooed you with the sword, / and won your love by harming you." Reinhardt's portrayal of his character heightens this tension. In contrast to Theseus' cheerfulness, Hippolyta appears disdainful, even vindictive. Teasdale's costumes make Hippolyta an emblem of violent, Amazonian power. The serpent draped over her shoulders recalls Evetemptress and her headdress makes her appear serpentine herself. In a further nod to classical mythology, Hippolyta keeps her right breast covered throughout the first scene. This serves to remind the audience of the "story" behind Hippolyta's character and explain her discontent.From the beginning of Reinhardt's film, we see a tragic figure out of place in a comedic context. Reinhardt's portrayal of Hippolyta aligns with the tone of the opening scene and the play in general. It implicitly draws attention to her suffering and the injustice perpetrated against her. The way Teasdale delivers the lines "Four days will quickly dip into night..." makes it clear that Hippolyta wants nothing to do with Theseus. Here Reinhardt rearranges the text so that these lines come after the lovers' introduction rather than before. This further highlights Hippolyta's inconsistency with the lightness of the other characters. Reinhardt's Theseus may feel justified, but he clearly operates under a system of justice to which Hippolyta does not adhere. His characterization in the opening scene is a representation of the play's dissatisfaction with the prevailing justice. Although her supposed righteousness remains unacknowledged, Reinhardt never gives the audience any moral reason to deny Hippolyta. Its justice is subservient to the culture of the film, but it still remains a valid alternative. Hoffman's film adaptation of the same play treats the mythological story of Hippolyta very differently. The change of setting from classical Athens to Mount Athena in 1800 softens his character considerably; Reinhardt's Hippolyta is angry and powerful while Hoffman's is more innocent and playful. When Marceau speaks the opening lines of Hippolyta, there is no trace of the contempt that Teasdale's performance shows for Theseus. This Hippolyta is clearly attracted to Theseus: even her rejection of his sexual advances is flirtatious. Overall, it seems more congruent with the comedic tone of the play. However, it is clear that Hoffman's Hippolyta is also at odds with Athenian legality. Hippolyta's reaction to Aegeus' plea is silent but clearly sympathetic to Lysander and Hermia's plight. Later, he shows his disapproval of Theseus' sentence when he dismisses his boast of "the music of [his] hounds." Interestingly, despite the change in setting, Hoffman retains Theseus' references to the classical foreshadowing of Hippolyta. As a result, the relationship between the two is more equivocal, although happier than Reinhardt's interpretation. Perhaps Hoffman is suggesting an arranged marriage between Theseus and Hippolyta, not unlike that between Demetrius and Hermia. If so, his defense of Hermia can be read as a projection of his desires. In any case, it is clear that Marceau's Hippolyta is, like Teasdale's, at odds with the dominant justice of the play; both postulate a version of justice superimposed on the justice of Athenian law. Despite this, both characters have different roles in their respective films. The justice of Hoffman's Hippolyta always works and contributes to the happy ending of the work. Reinhardt's portrayal of the character works against the comedy. His justice is alternative, rather than true or false. The former's concept of justice is aligned with the true justice of the play: justice that works towards the comic ending. In contrast, the character of Egeus in the same play is very much aligned with the prevailing legal system. As a father, he is entitled to “the ancient privilege of Athens” of arranging Hermia's marriage. His portrayal in both films is quite simple. He is an elderly man, whosemotivation to patronize Demetrius seems rather weak. Lysander goes unchallenged when he describes himself as "...just as derivative as [Demetrius], / just as well possessed...". Critics have suggested that Aegeus' preference for Demetrius might be motivated by homoerotic desire. Lysander mockingly suggests to Demetrius: “You have his father's love, Demetrius: leave me Hermia's; you marry him." However, neither Hoffman nor Reinhardt make any clear reference to this reading in their films. He is reduced to a disapproving father who serves as a plot mechanism, in the vein of Capulet, Brabantio and Polonius. It is therefore possible to call his motivations justified , as they are represented in the films? In my opinion it is, but only in part, Egeus draws attention to the distinction between legalistic justice and moral or "true" justice. which brings the play to its conclusion. However, unlike Reinhardt's Hippolyta, Egeo claims a justice that is not alternative but simply false. There is the potential for a similar reading of Shylock in “The Merchant of Venice”. whether the character is portrayed “as a repulsive clown or… as a monster of unrelenting evil,” he exalts false justice Palmer suggests that even in the most desperate moments, there is always the potential for grotesque comedy in the jokes of Shylock. The concept of legality as an obstacle to justice is a recurring theme in the show. Portia's chest prevents her from marrying as she chooses, and Antonio's relationship threatens to undo a happy and comical ending. Legalism in the play is always overcome through presumption, justified only by the comic tone of the play. Portia provides a hint to Bassanio through rhyme in the music and resolves Antonio's relationship through a questionable loophole. In these interpretations of the play, Shylock is comparable to Egeus: misguided and vindictive rather than justified. There is always the possibility, however, of a sympathetic reading of Shylock. It is difficult to imagine an interpretation of his “A Jew has no eyes?” speech that fails to evoke a certain degree of sympathy. The film adaptation of Radford's work adopts a variation on this interpretation. In this film, Shylock's potential as a comic villain is ignored and he is repositioned as a tragic figure. The film begins with a montage that demonstrates the cruelty of the Christian population towards the Jewish inhabitants of the city. Palmer notes that all of the characters in "The Merchant of Venice" display questionable moral judgment. Bassanio and Antonio appear to exist in an unhealthy state of co-dependency. Portia's harsh treatment of Shylock contradicts her earlier references to the benefits of mercy. Radford then chooses to emphasize these elements of the play and complicate the vicarious happiness of the main characters. In this film Shylock's justice is not a false justice like that of Egeus. Nor is it an alternative justice competing for validity as in the case of Reinhardt's Hippolyta. In Radford's film, it is Shylock's justice that has the best claim to validity, despite its lack of comedy. In the films discussed above, the directors explore the characters' conflicting notions of justice and resolve this conflict in different ways. Reinhardt's Hippolyta is an example of a character whose subversive justice has been repressed and realigned with the justice of the play. Teasdale's presentation of the character bears little resemblance to the dark Amazon of the film's opening scene. She appears satisfied with her situation and no longer appears uncomfortable at Theseus' side. His change of heart is further represented by hischange in customs. While her initial dress emphasized her violent "otherness", her flowing wedding dress makes her appear more congruous with the other characters. With both breasts seemingly intact, she openly confronts the other characters in their mockery of the workers' game. At the end of the film Hippolyta and Theseus become just one of “three couples”. Little is known about the drastic change in this Hippolyta's behavior. If it goes against the principles of psychological realism, we can accept it because it is dramatically correct. This is not to say that a radical interpretation of Hippolyta as a tragic figure is impossible. Reinhardt simply chooses to do something different; the comedic nature of the film demands that Hippolyta submit and so she does. However, his character has already foreseen the possibility of an alternative justice, neither false nor dominant. This Hippolyta conforms, but could still say like Laertes: “I can rant like you.” In a reversal of roles, Hoffman demands that not Hippolyta submit but Theseus. The conflict between Hippolyta and Theseus is reduced to an obstacle to the lovers' plight. In this film, it is suggested that Theseus subverts legal custom as a concession to Hippolyta. Whatever tension exists between the two evaporates and the comedic needs of the narrative are satisfied. Both Hoffman and Reinhardt end the film with three similar relationships. Despite sharing a similar outcome, the different representations of Hippolyta create two completely different processes. Hoffman's Hippolyta subverts legality rather than conforming to it and acts as the film's champion of "true" justice. The film thus creates a single, homogenized justice system that denies the possibility of Reinhardt's alternatives. TS Eliot states that unity in Shakespeare can be found in its lack: “Unity in Shakespeare but not universality.” For its purposes, this film creates the universality of justice where it is missing in the play. Egeus can be equally problematic for a director who (like Reinhardt or Hoffman) seeks to end the work with a light-hearted manner. Reinhardt seems to completely ignore Egeus in the second half of the play. Having fulfilled his function of instigating the action of the play, he quietly disappears. For Reinhardt, Egeus is more of a plot mechanism than a character with any pretense of psychology. Hoffman deviates only slightly from this formula. This Egeus has a character but only as a trope. He is dismissed by Theseus because the latter forgives Hermia and Lysander; he later expresses his disapproval by giving up the wedding celebrations. His subsequent characterization in Hoffman's film only works to heighten his resemblance to the father figure archetype discussed above; he is subsequently dismissed as a comic villain. However, an accentuation of the homoerotic reading discussed above would create an entirely different character and ending. This Aegean would be more closely comparable to Reinhardt's Hippolya: an "other" excluded from the film's comic discourse – in a word, "tragic." It is this type of character that we see in Radford's "Merchant of Venice". While Reinhardt's Hippolyta always threatens to undo the film's comedy, Radford's Shylock actually succeeds. While his justice acts in opposition to the film's comedy, it also establishes a secondary, tragic reading. The final scene brings Shylock's tragic arc to its climax and conclusion. Lynn Collin's portrayal of Portia-as-Balthazar is confident and comfortable. She exalts the benefits of mercy, "above the scepter" and begs him to "break the bond". However, Collin's Portia never seems to show any hope that Shylock will accept her terms. He knows what the outcome of the trial will be and, 2004.