Silicon Valley’s Narcissism On Full Display At Shakespeare In The Park

William Shakespeare via Wikipedia. Public domain.

This year’s Shakespeare in The Park in Cupertino was a disappointment for several reasons.

One is the self-entitlement that is so becoming of anything Silicon Valley. The me-me-me-me and only-me credo is so ingrained into the Silicon Valley psyche that it defies any reasonable explanation. And, the narcissism spans generations.

Case-in-point: the chairs. Many people bring chairs to Shakespeare in The Park. Many of them arrive early to stake out their claim as close to the stage as they can get. Some chairs are large, which isn’t a problem for me because I’m 6’-4” tall and can see over the person sitting in front of me — and I try to stay low enough to not block those behind me (that’s why I try to stay as far back on the grass slope as I can). However, most people sitting behind the chairs have to try to catch a glimpse of the stage in the space between chairs because they are blocked.

Has it ever occurred to event organizers to either ban chairs or make those with chairs sit behind those without chairs? Seems fair, doesn’t it? Well, in Silicon Valley, fair is vanquished by the me-me-me and only-me generations who think of themselves first to last. Why should they be bothered by peasants who didn’t bring chairs? Imagine the chutzpah of those wanting to see the play. I mean, what do they expect from a free event? (Thank you to Shakespeare in The Park donors and the city of Cupertino.)

And, it’s not like the venue is huge. It is small enough that you can hear the dialogue, usually, as good close to the stage as you can higher up on the grass slope.

After going to Shakespeare in the Park for many years, I am convinced there is an arms race for who can have the largest and most-decadent chairs. I’m all for giving the biggest chair-monger a prize next year for having the largest chair that blocks the most views of the stage. Chairs with wine-glass holders are the front-runners.

Then there are the space-hogs. Take for instance the two young women in front of me at Shakespeare (young ladies would not have hogged space because ladies have manners). In a venue where every spot was claimed, these two high school students had a cover over an area that eight people could have sat on — with room to spare, and I’m not exaggerating. Parents sitting nearby had no problem with the homesteaders. Why should they? They were in chairs — of course! They were nonchalantly blocking the view of the stage for the unfortunate people behind them. Really, can’t you just listen to the dialogue? Why do you need to see the actors?

It gets worse. When a couple sat single-file next to the young women, the high-schoolers didn’t budge an inch. Rather, the expression on one teen’s face was utter contempt for this couple having the gall to sit so close to them. It crowded their space.

Then there is the young family that arrived 30 minutes late and created all kinds of commotion. When they finally were settled, many people nearby must have thought they could now hear the dialogue once again. Not so. Out came the potato chips. Never has there been a more dedicated chip-chomping family like this one. Give them the gold medal. They were like chipmunks who hadn’t eaten nuts in weeks. Moreover, they couldn’t eat them fast or loud enough. Doesn’t anyone have manners anymore? What happened to chewing with your mouth closed?

Not to be outdone, the potato-chip-chomping family munch was followed up with a family meeting. The children squirmed, talked loudly, and competed to see who could make the loudest and most-obnoxious sounds. It was like a preschool where the children raided the snack closet and the teacher wasn’t at work. Rather than regain control, the parents began talking to each other and the children. I’m not sure if they realized they were supposed to be watching a play.

The gender-bender role of Ophelia was disappointing for me. After growing up reading and re-reading Hamlet, I just cannot imagine Ophelia as representing anything but the character and gender created by Shakespeare.

To be clear, I don’t care what people identify as regarding gender. It’s their choice and they have every right to make it. Nor do I condone discrimination based upon gender or gender identification.

While many directors, actors and play-goers obviously like adaptations, re-working masterpieces is just not for me. I consider myself a Shakespeare traditionalist and purist who likes the plays portrayed as perfectly as they were written.

Many well-meaning people may consider me narrow-minded and narcissistic myself. Fair enough; however, my preference is borne out of a deep devotion to traditional Shakespeare that dates from the time I was a mesmerized teenager reading Shakespeare for the first time. It reflects my deep love of traditional Shakespeare that was honed in college— where I took every Shakespeare course offered by my university. Even in the present day, I love to occasionally dust off my Shakespeare compilation to read a play just as it was written. For me, adaptations mar the plays’ original beauty.

I’ve only walked out of two plays in my life. This was the second one, having left at intermission.

That said, acting was first-rate and the portion of the play that I saw was well-directed. My personal distaste for the gender-bender should not be construed as criticism of the director’s and/or actors’ performances and/or skills. The actors were well-prepared, engaging and the dialogue was crisp. And, many people enjoyed the play — if they could see it. It just wasn’t for me.

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