In “The Motives of Eloquence,” Lantham describes Shakespearean drama as the art of “superposition.” An action arc is carried out over others so that "the dramatic motif is stronger than the 'real' and serious motif". The justification for a character's action takes place in the form of theater. “The drama, the ceremony, are always necessary to authenticate the experience.” In a morally ambiguous play text, characters dramatize their motivations to justify their actions. While Lantham argues that this dramatization occurs at the level of the text of the play, my intention is to argue that there is an analogous mechanism operating at the level of the play itself. Shakespearean comedy in particular seems to offer a privileged 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 the wicked characters will be punished for their actions. This comic justice acts to bring the play to its obligatory, happy conclusion. In this sense, overlap occurs when other characters propose subjective justices: systems of justice that arise from a character's needs rather than from a dramatic exigency. Even if these subjective justices never triumph in a comedy, they are rarely the target of moralization. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an original essay. These alternative justices manifest themselves in production thanks to their flexibility; Simple directional decisions can accentuate these judges, push them aside, or radically reposition their dominance. In the adaptation of A Midsummer Night's Dream by Max Reinhardt and Michael Hoffman, the character of Egeus is visibly underestimated. Although there is potential for subversive justice, both directors presented him as an inconsequential villain; he's little more than a plot mechanism. Reinhardt's A Midsummer Night's Dream introduces the audience to a rebellious Hippolyta. It presents a powerfully constructed alternative justice. This alternative is never dominant and ends up being absorbed into the comic discourse of the film. However, the film can claim to preserve the “superposition” present in the piece. This contrasts with Michael Hoffman's adaptation of the same play. In his film, Hippolyte's justice is reconstructed to act according to 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 also possible to imagine Shylock as a variation on Hippolyta, a minority justice peripheral to the play. However, Radford chooses to undermine the comic character of the play and accentuate Shylock's tragic potential. There is a comic justice in the film, but its execution can only come at Shylock's expense. Ultimately, the happy ending demanded by the form is undermined by Shylock's suffering. A figure from classical mythology, Shakespeare's Hippolyta is prefigured with a story and a character. Her relationship with Theseus in the play is always referred to by reference to her capture and forced marriage. Theseus admits in the first scene: “I wooed you with the sword,/and I won your love by hurting you.” Reinhardt's portrayal of his character accentuates this tension. Unlike Theseus' cheerfulness, Hippolyte appears disdainful, even vengeful. Teasdale's costume establishes Hippolyta as an emblem of violent, Amazonian power. THEsnake draped around her shoulders recalls Eve the temptress and her hairstyle makes her appear serpentine herself. In another nod to classical mythology, Hippolyta keeps her right breast covered throughout the first scene. This serves to remind the audience of the "story" behind the character of Hippolyta and to explain their discontent. From the beginning of Reinhardt's film, we see a tragic character displaced in a comic setting. Reinhardt's portrayal of Hippolyta aligns with the tone of the opening scene and the play in general. Implicitly, she draws attention to his suffering and the injustice perpetrated against him. Teasdale's delivery of the lines "Four days will quickly fade into night..." makes it clear that Hippolyta wants nothing to do with Theseus. Here, Reinhardt rearranges the play text so that these lines occur after the introduction of the lovers rather than before. This further highlights Hippolyta's incongruity with the lightness of the other characters. Reinhardt's Theseus may seem justified, but he clearly operates under a system of justice that Hippolyta does not adhere to. His characterization in the opening scene is a depiction of dissatisfaction with the prevailing justice of the play. Even though his supposed justice remains unknown, Reinhardt never gives the audience any moral reason to deny Hippolyta. Its justice is subject to film culture but nevertheless remains a valid alternative. Hoffman's film adaptation of the same play treats the mythological story of Hippolyta in an entirely different manner. The change of scenery from classical Athens to Mount Athena in the 1800s softens its 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 disdain that Teasdale's performance shows toward Theseus. This Hippolyta is clearly attracted to Theseus – even her rebuff to his sexual advances is flirtatious. In general, it seems more in keeping with the comedic tone of the piece. However, it becomes clear that Hoffman's Hippolytus is also at odds with Athenian legality. Hippolyta's reaction to Aegeus' appeal is silent but clearly sympathetic to the plight of Lysander and Hermia. Later, she shows her disapproval of Theseus' decision when she rejects his boasts about "the music of [his] dogs." It is interesting to note that despite the change of setting, Hoffman retains Theseus' references to the classical foreshadowing of Hippolytus. As a result, the relationship between the two is more equivocal, albeit happier, than Reinhardt's interpretation. Hoffman may be suggesting an arranged marriage between Theseus and Hippolyta, much like that between Demetrius and Hermia. If so, his defense of Hermia can be read as a projection of his own desires. Whatever the case, it is clear that Marceau's Hippolyte is, like Teasdale's, at odds with the dominant justice of the play; both posit a version of justice superimposed on the justice of Athenian law. Despite this, the two characters play different roles in their respective films. The justice of Hoffman's Hippolyta always works and contributes to the happy ending of the play. Reinhardt's interpretation of the character flies in the face of comedy. Its justice is alternative, rather than true or false. The former's concept of justice is aligned with the play's true justice – the justice that works toward the comic ending. In contrast, the character of Egeus in the same play is entirely aligned with the current legal system. As a father, "the ancient privilege of Athens" of arranging Hermia's marriage belongs to him. Itsrepresentation in both films is rather simple. He is an elderly man, whose motivation for associating with Demetrius seems rather weak. Lysander remains unchallenged when he describes himself as being "...as well derived as [Demetrius],/As well possessed...". Critics have suggested that Aegeus' preference for Demetrius may be motivated by homoerotic desire. Lysander mockingly suggests to Demetrius: “You have his father's love, Demetrius: let me have Hermia's; do you marry him. However, neither Hoffman nor Reinhardt clearly refers to this reading in their films. He is reduced to a disapproving father acting as a plot mechanism, in the vein of Capulet, Brabantio and Polonius. Is it then possible to characterize his motivations as justified, as he is represented in the films? In my opinion, it is only partly so. In this role, Egeus draws attention to the distinction between legalistic justice and moral or “true” justice. He is certainly opposed to the system of “real” justice which brings the play to its conclusion. However, unlike Reinhardt's Hippolyta, Aegeus claims a justice that is not alternative but simply false. There is potential for a similar reading of Shylock in “The Merchant of Venice.” Whether the character is interpreted “as a disgusting clown or… as a monster with irrepressible evil”, he advocates a false justice. Palmer suggests that even in the most desperate cases, there is always potential for grotesque comedy in Shylock's lines. The concept of legality as an obstacle to justice is a recurring theme in the play. Portia's chest prevents her from getting married as she wishes, and Antonio's bond threatens to undo a comical happy ending. The legalism in the play is always overcome by conceit, justified only by the comedic tone of the play. Portia gives an allusion to Bassanio through the rhymes of the music and settles Antonio's bond with a questionable flaw. In these interpretations of the play, Shylock is comparable to Egeus: misguided and vindictive rather than justified. There is, however, always the possibility of a sympathetic reading of Shylock. It is difficult to imagine an interpretation of his “Has a Jew not eyes?” » speech that fails to generate a certain degree of sympathy. Radford's film adaptation of the play 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 character. The film begins with a montage that demonstrates the cruelty of the Christian population towards the city's Jewish residents. Palmer notes that all the characters in "The Merchant of Venice" demonstrate questionable moral judgment. Bassanio and Antonio appear to exist in an unhealthy state of co-dependence. Portia's harsh treatment of Shylock contradicts her earlier references to the benefits of mercy. Radford chooses to emphasize these elements of the play and thus complicate the vicarious happiness of the main characters. In this film, Shylock's justice is not a false justice like that of Aegeus. 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, even if it is not comic. 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 is repressed and realigned with the justice of the play. Teasdale's presentation of the character bears little resemblance to the gloomy Amazon of the film's opening scene. She seems satisfied with hersituation and no longer seems uncomfortable alongside Theseus. His change of heart is also represented by his change of costume. While her initial outfit emphasized her violent "otherness", her puffy wedding dress makes her appear more in harmony with the other characters. With both breasts apparently intact, she openly engages with the other characters in their mockery of the workers' game. At the end of the film, Hippolyte and Theseus form only one of the “three couples”. Little is said about the radical change in behavior of this Hippolyta. If this 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 Hippolytus as a tragic figure is impossible. Reinhardt simply chooses to do something different; the comedic nature of the film forces Hippolyta to submit and so she does. But its character already suggests the possibility of an alternative justice, neither false nor dominant. This Hippolyta is compliant but can still say like Laertes: “I can declaim as well as you”. In a role reversal, Hoffman demands submission not from Hippolyta but from Theseus. The conflict between Hippolyta and Theseus is reduced to a foil for the fate of the lovers. In this film, it is suggested that Theseus subverts legal customs as a concession to Hippolyta. Whatever tension exists between the two evaporates and the comic demands of the narrative are satisfied. Hoffman and Reinhardt end the film with three analogous relationships. Although they share a similar outcome, the different depictions of Hippolyta create two entirely different processes. Hoffman's Hippolyta subverts legality rather than conforming to it and champions the film's "real" justice. The film therefore creates a single, homogenized justice system that denies the possibility of Reinhardt's alternatives. TS Eliot claims that unity in Shakespeare can be found in its absence: “Unity in Shakespeare but not universality”. For its own purposes, this film creates the universality of justice where it is lacking in the text of the play. Egeus can be just as problematic for a director who (like Reinhardt or Hoffman) seeks to end the play lightly. Reinhardt seems to completely ignore Aegeus in the second half of the play. Having fulfilled its function in provoking action in the room, it quietly disappears. For Reinhardt, Egeus is more of a plot mechanism than a character with any pretension to psychology. Hoffman deviates only slightly from this formula. This Aegean has a character but only as a trope. He is sent away by Theseus who forgives Hermia and Lysander; he later expresses his disapproval by abandoning the wedding festivities. His later characterization in Hoffman's film only increases his resemblance to the father figure archetype discussed above; he is then dismissed as a comic villain. However, an emphasis on the homoerotic reading mentioned above would create an entirely different character and ending. This Aegean would be more comparable to Reinhardt's Hippolya: an “other” excluded from the comic discourse of the film – in a word, “tragic”. It is this type of character that we find in Radford's "The Merchant of Venice". While Reinhardt's Hippolyta always threatens to undo the film's comedy, Radford's Shylock succeeds. If its justice opposes the comedy of the film, 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 extols the benefits of mercy, “above the power of the scepter”, 2004.