For my dramatic literature class, I am reading The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.
It’s not the first time I’ve read this play; it won’t be the last. I have, as you all know, long been intrigued by English matters of all sorts, and literature is no exception. This play was introduced to me during my early teens, when a good family friend took me to see the just-released movie with Colin Firth and Rupert Everett.
It changed my life. Image from here.
I immediately procured a copy of the play’s text and devoured it in hours, or less. I found myself underlining and earmarking nearly every page—it got to where my markings meant nothing, so abundant were they in quantity. I could not fathom the wit one person must have developed in order to write such a masterpiece. To this day, a huge section of my “Favourite Quotes” list is compiled of one-liners from The Importance of Being Earnest.
Lines like…
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
“If I am occasionally a littler over-dressed, I make up for it be being always immensely over-educated.”
“It is very vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn’t a dentist. It produces a false impression.”
“I have always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing.”
“Everybody is clever nowadays. You can’t go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left.”
And those are only in the first act—imagine!
But there was a line I must have missed when first I read the play back in my high school days; leastwise, I may have caught it, but its truthfulness didn’t register until now, years later. Observe:
ALGERNON: The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if it were, and modern literature a complete impossibility!
JACK: That wouldn’t be at all a bad thing.
ALGERNON: Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. Don’t try it. You should leave that to people who haven’t been at University. They do it so well in the daily papers.
“You should leave literary criticism to the people who haven’t been at University”—what a delightful notion. Now, if only I didn’t have to critique this particular literary work for a paper at University.
I know, I know…it was only last week that I committed myself to bearing through school with a dignified silence, keeping my mouth closed when questioned how I like my classes. Well, as it happens, I have the self-control of a turnip green, or perhaps a massive turd. Whichever you choose, I have found my new close-lipped attitude excruciatingly painful. It’s like trying to keep a secret when you know—you KNOW!—you are the first to know the news. Plus, it’s really hard for me to produce decent posts when I deny myself of cynicism. {It’s my fall-back, you know.}
So allow me to vent just this once, and then I’ll recommit myself to the noble cause.
I am majoring in English because I thought it would be a good credential for an aspiring writer. An aspiring writer of fiction…novels…humour columns in the local paper… Not, however, a writer of literary criticisms. I don’t care for formal essay-writing methods. I dread writing research papers. It’s ironic that, on my path to become a writer, I am met with so many tasks of loathsome writing.
My life is one giant, tangled, coughed-up hairball of ironies. I slay myself. Literally.
Anyway, since I’d much rather be reading the play or watching the movie than writing an essay on it, I’ve decided to share with you one of my favourite (though indeed, there are many) bits of the 2002 film production. If you’ve seen it, have a good laugh for a second time. If you haven’t seen it…you really ought.
To those of you sneakily reading this post from a cubicle at work, I’m sorry to have posted a video clip. I know it’s annoying. But do try and watch it at some point before the day is through—it’s charming and lovely and embodies everything about this play that captured my heart those seven years ago.
Seven years? Geeze louise, I’m getting old.
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