Reviews for Cymbeline

The average rating for Cymbeline based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2007-05-12 00:00:00 Claudia Harrison I've read this play three times, and I've found that the longer since I last read it, the better I imagine it to be. In theory, it's a great play: the political situation, involving the tribute an emerging British nation must pay to a "Roman" empire has interesting Jacobean parallels in continental politics involving a "Roman" Church; the theological implications, the way Shakespeare finds a place for compassion in the merciless world of Lear's gods and flies, is instructive and attractive; and the cavalier manner in which the bard treats stage conventions--from the anonymous two lords in the first scene who only exist to present the necessary exposition to the eventual appearance of a literal "deus ex machina" in the person of Jupiter--shows a master of form thumbing his nose at his own expertise for his particular metaphysical purposes. Sure, this all sounds great in retrospect, but the characters themselves are petty and cold and and when they are fresh in my mind they--with the exception of Imogen--fail to move me. Iachimo ("little Iago") is too pathetic and irresolute in his villainy, Posthumous Leonatus is too easily persuaded of his love's infidelity and too abruptly murderous in his intentions, and even Imogen is much, much too ready to forgive. Also, the play is so full of misunderstandings that it takes one of the longest final scenes in Shakespeare merely to straighten out all the loose ends. And yet. . . Cymbeline is full of marvels and immortal poetry (including a "dirge" that is one of the finest lyrics in the English language) and it is graced with a heroine--Imogen--who is as admirable, lovable and brave as any the poet has created.

Review # 2 was written on 2016-06-19 00:00:00 Anton Schrama "Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke: Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finished joy and moan; All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Nothing ill come near thee! Quiet consummation have; And renownéd be thy grave!"