Camp Richard III and the Burdens of (Stage/Film) History

Abstract

As the twentieth century concludes, the burdens of its history — and of what was made of its historical inheritances — have been more and more overtly thematized in several art-forms. One hallmark of postmodernism is a detached playfulness with history: wry quotations of the past appear as isolated architectural elements, as recontextualized figures in visual works, as characters haunted by lost (but tantalizingly ‘present’) connections with source-texts in narrative. The enormities of this century provide sufficient rationale for such detachment; if the earnestness of high art is no longer conceivable in the West after the Holocaust, then understated disengagement offers a welcome refuge. An alternative path, though, is a heady immersion into the unsettling stuff of history, a wilful involvement with the passions as well as the trappings of the past. Such a passionate approach may still entertain ideas of performativity as well as sincerity; Shakespeare’s historical tragedies regularly depend upon both. In his dispute with readings that ignore this volatile mixture, Jonathan Dollimore has argued that a Shakespearean playtext such as Antony and Cleopatra is predicated upon what he calls ‘the profound truth of camp, the “deep” truth of the superficial: if it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing’.¹