Sic Semper Tyrannis
What Shakespeare knew about human nature.
A few years ago, as the first misbegotten Trump administration hurtled to what we hoped would be its last gasping breath, a friend asked me: which character from Shakespeare is he, do you think? There are plenty of good choices:
Julius Caesar: In the summer of 2017 the New York Shakespeare Festival mounted a controversial production of Julius Caesar in Central Park: Caesar the bombast in a blue suit, too-long red necktie, and odd off-blond coiffeure. It was a not-subtle commentary — protected by the First Amendment — but of course the MAGA crowd went crazy, insisting that anyone who defended the conceit was intolerant of different views. (Free speech for me, but not for thee!) In literature Caesar is a kind of ur-despot, a war hero turned dictator — a life (and a run as emperor) cut short when his friends shivved him on the Ides of March in 44 BCE.
Richard III: A man so confident in his villainy that he breaks the fourth wall and addresses the audience directly to pat himself on his crooked back. The Duke of Gloucester, consumed by jealousy of anyone with a better claim to the throne, plots to whack them all — and off them he does, one by one, to seize the crown for himself. His court is consumed by turf wars and petty jealousies. Civil war erupts to eject the usurper; Richard fights to the last and — like all usurpers — comes to a bad end.
Coriolanus: Roman general who, much like Caesar, is elected to Consul; like Caesar, his elevation is ill-considered. He loathes the common people — taking himself much too seriously, really; he is tried, convicted, and exiled. He returns and attempts to take Rome by force, then negotiates a peace. Since he has now betrayed both sides… well, his demise is a swift and unhappy one. (The Red Bull Theater performed a fine production in the fall of 2016, just before the election that year.)
Macbeth: Swashbuckling war hero turned usurping regicide. We all know this story: warty fortunetellers tell Macbeth he’s going to be king, so he and his wife decide to hurry it along. Scotland plunges into civil war. The snowballing mental unraveling of Cawdor and his wife begins slowly enough, then quickly gathers speed and mass. One has the feeling that Macbeth might have made a decent enough king, if he’d just waited things out; of course, if he’d waited things out he’d never have been king.
So who, in this rogues’ gallery, most resembles the self-crowned king today? Which court or retinue most resembles the viper’s nest in the West Wing?
Caesar might be the obvious choice: historically, he chose to be “dictator for life” rather than earn reelection in the Senate. Macbeth has it all — palace intrigue, spiraling mental health, a country divided. But for my money, the winner (if we can call him that) is (and was, when the question was first posed) Richard: he’ll burn it all down before he’ll watch someone else take the prize.
Falstaff?