The 1964 Shakespeare exhibition

This year is the 400th anniversary of the publication of Shakespeare’s first folio. This was prepared by two of the late bard’s colleagues, and includes the text for 36 of his plays. This anniversary has been celebrated by programmes on television but is not the first or most important commemoration of Shakespeare’s life that I remember. In 1964, the 400th anniversary of his birth was marked by an exhibition in Stratford-upon-Avon, located on the meadows in front of the Memorial Theatre. This was an easy journey from my home at that time, and I visited the exhibition several times. ‘Several times’ because I found it an overwhelming experience.

The exhibition followed the life of the great man describing his life in the first person. Attendance meant walking through a series of rooms, each prepared by a different set of artists. Two rooms in particular stay in the memory. The first was a long gallery, decorated in Elizabethan-style wood-panelling with portraits on one side and a view through windows of the City of London across the Thames. The second was a reproduction of the Globe Theatre, with the voices of famous actors reading select speeches from the plays.

A modern version of this exhibition would no doubt use CGI and other technologies to impress its audience. But the exhibition in 1964, like theatre itself, reaches us through our imagination and through the power of words. Many years later, I went to a performance of The Tempest in Vancouver. This may have been Shakespeare’s last play, and there is speculation that he himself acted the role of Prospero. Near the end of the play, this character reviews life and art thus:

“Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And — like the baseless fabric of this vision -
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep…”

I found this speech, like the exhibition all those years ago, emotionally overwhelming. Our little lives pass into history, but some words live forever.