THE TEMPEST

Medical school was a snap compared to commuting in Washington, D.C. I soon learned to make the most of my daily hour-long commute. Whenever I took the bus that ended up on Arlington Boulevard, it would pass by the northeast corner of the National Archives Building. Robert Aitken’s 1935 statue, Future, is located there—unless it has been removed or destroyed by some crowd of history-rewriting-donkeys. Engraved on the statue is—WHAT IS PAST IS PROLOGUE. I really did not like the commute, but I learned to enjoy contemplating that inscription, not realizing at the time that it was a quotation by William Shakespeare from his play, The Tempest, Act 2, Scene 1. Years later, I took MK to San Francisco to see Les Mis. It was sold out and when MK’s mother and my father joined us at the last minute, we gave them our tickets to Les Mis and found that we could go see The Tempest at the inauguration of the newly renovated Geary Theater when it re-opened after being severely damaged by the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. The last-minute switcheroo gave me no time to study the play, and I was unprepared. After Act 1, I was so steamed at the goofy play and cast that I almost walked out. MK told me to cool my jets and reminded me that I was being disruptive. Act 2 changed everything. To me, the play was ridiculous imagary of a shipwrecked crew scheming murder while trapped on an island. Ariel, a nuanced nearly-nude fairy-twit, flits around spurting annoying innuendos. Just what I needed after a busy day and late afternoon flight from Idaho to California--Ariel. This irritating little weirdo made me want to set my hair on fire. Then I heard “WHAT IS PAST IS PROLOGUE.” I quickly recalled my bus rides during medical school and recalled contemplating that phrase--The Tempest came to life. I realized that I was at the source. As I tuned in, I sensed that this was not about theatrics, it was about the words. It also turns out that this was truly great acting, but I was so self-absorbed that I couldn't see past my the end of my nose.

By intermission, my hair was no longer on fire and I was so engrossed that I had to see how it ended. I have never been so blown away by a theatrical performance -- so moving personally, that I felt The Tempest was about me and that I was the one giving the Epilogue. But no, it was Prospero standing on the darkened stage, the curtains open, revealing the maze of stage equipment, curtain banks, high-tech monitors, electrical cables, ropes, and props. The other actors moved the theatrical trappings aside and left the stage. Prospero was left alone, one spotlight illuminating him -- broken and trapped, his faults thoroughly exposed, quietly pleading with the audience for forgiveness and for their applause: EPILOGUE Spoken by Prospero: Now my charms are all o’erthrown, And what strength I have ’s mine own, Which is most faint. Now ’tis true I must be here confined by you, Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got And pardoned the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell, But release me from my bands With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant, And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer, Which pierces so that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardoned be, Let your indulgence set me free. He exits. And so it was I came to understand that if I could indulge Prospero and forgive Ariel and these goofy actors for making me want to set my hair on fire, perhaps, just perhaps, I might be pardoned for my faults, as we may we all be pardoned, learning from forgiving -- echoing the words spoken by the Master as he prayed about forgiveness during the meridian of time. You will not find this assessment of The Tempest in Cliff Notes or Shakespearian reviews, but you will find it in the Island Park News. Ever vigilant, RT