Com'st' Thou To Beard Me In Denmark?: Facial Hair And The Tragedy Of Hamlet

Continuing in the mission of shining the light of day on EVERY half passable piece I ever wrote, here's one I did for an English class all the way back in 1998:

Insanity is a very hard label to pin on someone; no two people can totally agree on what its parameters are. Moreover, someone can be insane in one aspect yet totally sane in others -- what than is this person, mad or not? Thus, it is of course impossible to with any certainty decide whether or not Hamlet, the main character of William Shakespeare’s famous The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark is mad. A character as complex as Hamlet’s would be difficult to correctly diagnose in a person-to-person analysis, let alone through the filter of a play written about him.

However, impossible to ascertain or not, it is my contention that Hamlet did indeed go mad, or at least delusional, for a short period of time, as the result of sudden and extreme psychological stress in his life. Why do I feel that this is the case? For numerous reasons, as all supported throughout the text.

For one, Hamlet’s mood changes abruptly throughout the course of the play. His behavior throughout the play, especially towards Ophelia, is exceptionally erratic. He claims to be the only one who truly loved Ophelia, during the fight with Laertes in her grave (I.ii.216-218), but he tells Ophelia herself that he never loved her, when she returns his letters (II.iii.116). Also, on the subject of the fight with Laertes in the grave, Hamlet instigates the fight because Laertes said none loved Ophelia more than he, which Hamlet disagreed with. As quantitative love is a purely subjective matter, this is hardly grounds for a quarrel, at least not in the judgment of a sane person. But in my opinion the strongest evidence of Hamlet’s growing insanity is in Act III, scene iv. First, in what he later admits to be a state of madness, (V.ii.197) he kills Polonius, thinking him to be the King Claudius, and when he discovers his mistake, shows little remorse. Even worse, while conversing with his mother, he sees again the vision of his father’s ghost. Now, every other time the ghost has appeared, others have seen it as well (I.i, I.iv). However, in his mother’s room, he is the only one to see it. Is it possible that Hamlet is by this point mad, and is merely hallucinating the apparition? In of itself, this instance could be interpreted numerous ways. But when weighed with other evidence, this is indeed clear proof of Hamlet’s derangement.

So, Hamlet is insane, if only temporarily. Why than is he insane? Numerous reasons can be cited as possible cause. The sudden death of his beloved father, King Hamlet, followed soon after by the marriage of his mother to his uncle. This makes Hamlet uncomfortable, and his only escape, his school at Wittenberg, is denied him. Which is followed soon after by the appearance of his father’s ghost, who tells Hamlet of the treachery surrounding the King’s death, and sets Hamlet on his course of vengeance, which makes Hamlet paranoid and trusting of no one. This in turn makes Hamlet decide to pretend to be mad, in an effort to properly exercise his revenge; and when one acts mad, one often finds themselves becoming that which they pretend to be. Hamlet’s girlfriend Ophelia suddenly spurning and ignoring him must have been another blow to his psyche as well. Finally, on top of all of this, there is the threat of war with Norway.

I believe these elements all were indeed factors in Hamlet’s temporary loss of reason. However, I do not believe that even this series of traumatic events could have felled the mind of a man as grounded as Hamlet were it not for some other, deeper factor. And that factor is this: facial hair. I believe that Hamlet the play is infused with the subtext of Hamlet’s desire for a better beard.

That Hamlet thinks beards are an important aspect of a man’s character is undeniable. In his soliloquy in Act II, scene ii, lines 474-533, in which he berates himself for his inability to express his emotion, he says "Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? … Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? (lines 497-499)" The implication here is that his beard is being plucked, metaphorically, because his cowardice makes him unworthy of having a beard. Plus, when Polonius demonstrates cretinous behavior by complaining about they player’s speech in the same scene (line 434), Hamlet responds by saying "It shall to the barber's, with your beard." In other words, cretins such as Polonius aren’t worthy of their beards.

Looking closer, we see Hamlet as a man obsessed with beards. When told of his father’s ghost’s appearance, practically the first question he asks about the ghost is "His beard was grizzled- no? (I.ii.240)" He obviously had great veneration for his father, and the good king’s beard, surely a majestic and regal one. When King Hamlet died, there was an immense beard gap in Elsinore, one hardly filled by the loathsome Claudius or the youthful Hamlet. Thus, the greatest beard in Elsinore now unfortunately goes to the King’s counselor, Polonius, a "tedious old fool" in Hamlet’s estimation (II.ii.211). When the ghost appears to him, it only reminds Hamlet that a great beard is gone, and the present King’s is no match, nor is Hamlet’s. This unsettles Hamlet to the point where all he can think about is beards. He thinks that Ophelia is spurning him because of his beard’s inferiority to her father Polonius’s, in of itself an upsetting notion. Also, in his talk with his mother (III.iv), Hamlet shows his mother pictures of the brothers Hamlet and Claudius. Why else but to compare King Hamlet’s regal beard, "A sable silver'd (I.ii.241)," with Claudius’s lesser one, "..like a mildewed ear… (III.iv.64)."

Amid all the other stress in his life to this date, the pressure to have a good beard and live up to his father’s is great. He cracks under the stress. Why would he pretend to be insane to find his father’s killer? How would that help? No, he tells Horatio that he is going to feign an "antic disposition, (I.iv.172)" and convinces himself that he is merely pretending to be mad, to cover up for the fact that he obviously is going insane from the stress to grow a better beard than he is currently able to. Horatio notices it early on, referring to Hamlet as speaking "wild and whirling words (I.v.133)." In pretending to be mad, Hamlet slowly does go mad, culminating in the murder of Polonius. However, Hamlet becomes more or less totally sane again after his return from England — it follows that with Polonius dead, Hamlet has the best beard in Elsinore, thus making him able to live up to his father’s bearded legacy. The stress to have the best beard has been lifted off of Hamlet’s over-burdened shoulders, and his reason returns.

Alas, it is too late for Hamlet. By the time his much-vaunted bearded status comes, he is already soon to be a victim of the plot machinery his madness helped set in motion. He dies, and in his dying breath tells Horatio that the crown is to go to the Norwegian Prince Fortinbras. Thus, Fortinbras must have had a pretty impressive beard as well, which Fortinbras himself remarks upon, citing it as his right to the throne of Denmark. "I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me (V.ii.354-355)."

The beard has long been associated with masculinity; as only the males of a species can achieve one. The pressure in a male-dominated society to prove one’s manhood is great indeed. However, besides Hamlet I can think of no great works of literature in which the fatal flaw of weak facial hair plays so central of a role.

Peterpanarchy

I am still in this phase where I look like I am still in my 20s, passably, and I can most easily relate to people in their 20s or late teens over the boring compromising hypocrites my age with their sad little hobbies and their domestic "bliss." And it's like one of those movies -- if I ever get out of that phase I will all of a sudden age those decades INSTANTLY -- and you'll be like, the revolution is happening, Noel, and I'll be like, oh no, what will that do to my 401k? Or, oh, I can't come to the communal melding of minds into one godlike being, guys, the wife says it's romantic movie night. But would you like to see some pictures of my kids while I drone on about every thing they do like it is seriously the most fascinating event in human history? I would hope someone would have the decency to put me down. I have done everything I could while I was younger to sabotage that future before it could happen by accident. Dropped out of college. Burned bridges. Drove away anyone dumb enough to want to mate with me. Drifted from shitty job to shitty job. No stability. No comfort. Which is what happens: they get comfortable and their minds shut off. And they get old.

Everyone Is Out To Get Me (a charming ditty)

everyone is out to get me
and i don't know what to do
everyone is out to get me
for what i've got no clue
everyone is out to get me
don't deny it's true
so are you
so are you

everyone is out to get me
and i don't know why
everyone is out to get me
'till the day i die
everyone is out to get me
and it ain't no lie
so am i
so am i

Outlier Blues, Now With 100% More Line Breaks

i have so many things only happen to me
that sometimes i think
the reason i am here
is for statistics
so all those things that have to happen to someone
will happen to me
weird, outlying stuff
that only happens to me
like somehow i am balancing the cosmic books
DAMN IT
other times i think everyone has weird shit that only happens to them
and i am the only one that talks about it

A Leg For A Leg Leaves Everyone Lame (an expansion on a theme that needs no expansion)

See, it's like this. Someone kills you. So I kill them. So then their brother kills me. So then Attila kills that guy. And his son grows up and kills Attila. So the MOB pound that kid out and dump his body somewhere. And his peeps come looking for the MOB. So now Kidd-Dogg and T-Owl are out looking for those guys. Pretty soon everyone is in a state of perpetual vendetta, a pyramid scheme that can end only when everyone is dead. Study the first five minutes of The Godfather Part II or the last five minutes of Hamlet. It's a flawed philosophy.

I Don't Vote

I get so mad when I see people say ignorant things like "If you don't vote, you can't complain" and other similar bumper-sticker slogans. By my thinking, it is exactly the other way around. If you DO vote, if you pull the lever that signifies your endorsement of a corrupt, rigged system --

-- and let me stop right there for some expounding. Exposition. Whatever. When I say the system is corrupt and it is rigged, I am not speaking (only) about the current United States political landscape. I'm not talking about how this isn't a true democracy but an elitist republic. I'm not talking about particular individuals running for particular offices, or whatever particular parties they belong to. I am beyond all that shit. Waiting at the finish line, chirp chirp. When I say the system is corrupt and rigged I mean literally, the SYSTEM is corrupt and rigged. The very concept of government is FLAWED AT ITS CORE. I have made this argument so many times in so many places that you can go look it up and stop bugging me. Made sense thousands of years ago, sure, now it's time for something new. Don't know what that something new is. Just trying to remind people there's options.

So I guess what I'm saying is, lead yourself. If you pick someone else to make decisions for you -- and this is what government is, make no mistake. Look up "social contract" theory sometime. I don't agree with the social contract either but even there it is implicit that the individual cedes their individual liberties and their individual responsibilities to the government. Made sense thousands of years ago. And sure, democracy (or whatever this is) at least allows you to CHOOSE the person you allow to be lorded over you. But still. If you choose someone to lord over you, and it doesn't work out, THAT'S YOUR FAULT. Shoulda done for delf. Burned the whole thing down and started over. The system is rigged and corrupt and everything it does it does to benefit the system and never you. But hey, at least you contributed with your vote, right? Wrong. If you pick someone else to make decisions for you, you have no right to complain when they make decisions you don't approve of. And before you say "But I voted for the UDDER guy!" remember this is more complex then simple political parties and empty campaign promises. If, with your vote, you buy into a system that allows some people to be lorded over some other people, it doesn't matter whether it's "your" guy or "their" guy that gets in. Someone's gonna be doing some lording. If you accept this, you are part of the problem and have no right to complain. Period.

One for you, one for me, one for the kids (3 things I wrote today)

My Scandal In Bohemia

She's my scandal in Bohemia.
Doomed, damned and beautiful.
And I, her guilty secret.
She loves me.

A Terrible Liberation

I don't know if I hate the world because I don't belong, or if I don't belong because I hate the world. Either way, I hate the world, and either way, I don't belong. It's a terrible liberation. But at least it's mine.

These Things Called Seasons

See kids, when I was a little boy, we had these things called "seasons." There were four of them. And each one had a specific temperature range and weather pattern. Like, you know how it goes from 70 degrees one day to 40 degrees the next day and then 60 degrees a day later? It was sort of like that... except it took MONTHS.

The Restaurant Bit

Another good piece that I cut loose:

HART
How was work?

PAULIE
It was crap. Jehovah's Witnesses are the cheapest people ever.

HART
Please not this again.

PAULIE
No, no, let me finish. Everyone says Jews are cheap, and that Indians are cheap, and, okay, yeah, sure, you know what? They are. But Jehovah's Witnesses? Make them all seem as frugal as Paris Hilton!

HART
I can't take you anywhere.

PAULIE
I'm serious! The cheap bastards don't want to pay for room service, and they don't want to pay the tip at the restaurant, so they all come down at once and line up to order their meals to go. All at once. The kitchen was total chaos!

SKIP
Paulie, you are like the klutziest person I ever met. How do you even work in a kitchen without falling onto the knife rack or landing face first in a burner or something?

PAULIE
In the kitchen I am as graceful as the majestic swan.

(He attempts a pirouette and knocks something else over.)

Shaggy Doggerel

I'm filled with trepidation
My soul brims with dread
I need it like trepanation
Get it? A hole in the head.

Time To Hate On Breast Cancer Awareness...

I feel like being inflammatory, so let's go to a topic that everyone seems to love this time of year: breast cancer. Why the fuck is breast cancer so important? Name another cancer that gets an "Awareness Month". Name another cancer that gets its own color.

And before you come in and tell me, Noel, did you forget that July is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month, or, certainly you must know that chartreuse is the official color of Brain Tumor Awareness, or some other dumb facts you may pull out to back your argument up, allow me to make it clear that I could give a flying fig about the facts. All I'm saying is, if another cancer is as big-time and hoopledy-hoopla'd as breast cancer I must have missed it, because I never heard of it and I can't AVOID breast cancer awareness. The stupid Facebook memes about the bra colors. The special pink version of products. The pink ribbons. The entire fucking month of October. Just saying.

And why breast cancer? The most cynical hypothesis would of course be because it's the cancer that WOMEN get, angled just right to stimulate the save-the-princess section of the primate brain -- and then the reason why it's breast cancer and not ovarian cancer or the-gift-of-life cancer or always-right cancer is because men like breasts, breasts get their attention. Makes sense, in a cynical and awful way.

Except.

Because believe me, I already hear you revving up to dump a whole lot of boring facts and percentages on me. Lame! But I already KNOW that it's not just women that can get breast cancer. Men do too -- and not just fat guys with big floppy moobs, either, so you know it's real. But then... why is breast cancer singled out to be so fucking important?

Look, all I'm saying, because really I know breast cancer is a serious thing and right now I am in perilous danger of some breast cancer survivor chiming in with a creakily boring story of hope and inspiration who will make me look like I'm Darth Hitler for daring to doubt the serious nature of breast cancer -- all I'm saying is, lung cancer. Melanoma. Leukemia. Bad shit. They kill people too. Heart cancer. Did you even know heart cancer is real? Says here that it's rare -- but rare STILL HAPPENS. Bad shit. Where's Heart Cancer Awareness Month?

And then what about salivary gland cancer?

Colon cancer?

Retinoblastoma? I have no idea what that even is but it sounds pretty fucking hardcore. I wouldn't want to fuck around with some retinoblastoma, s'all I'm saying.