Aesthetes and purists, look away now. Shakespeare's language has been "strangled in his tears". Or so some po-faced journalists would have you believe. A satirist, Martin Baum, has rewritten 15 abridged versions of the Bard's work, updated into modern vernacular. His book, entitled To Be or Not to Be, Innit is described as a "yoof-speak guide to Shakespeare", and contains well-known works such as 'Amlet, Two Geezas of Verona, Macbeff, and Much Ado About Sod All. Instead of Romeo and Juliet, we are regaled with the tale of Romeo and His Fit Bitch, Jools. There is nothing rotten in the state of Denmark - it is, instead, "minging".
Cue a great deal of wailing and gnashing of teeth from traditionalists, who see the decline in standards building an irresistible momentum with this latest setback, and who yearn for the days of an education based on cold baths, classics and the cane. As if the BBC's modernising of Shakespeare and Chaucer wasn't sacrilege enough, some jumped-up joker has come up with this utter bastardisation of Shakespearian language, from his home town of Verwood. In Dorset? I certainly do. (Apologies for a joke almost as old as Shakespeare himself.)
Baum's book does not mark the end of culture as we know it. It doesn't mark anything. It's a joke. The clue is in the job title "satirist". Baum is guilty of no crime at all. Apart, perhaps, from the crime of not really understanding yoof-speak. Take his analysis of the Montagues and Capulets: "And cos they was always brawling and stuff, de Prince of Verona told them to cool it, or else they was gonna get well mashed if they carried on larging it with each other."
Brawling? How frightfully headmasterly a term. And I've not heard the phrase "cool it" since flares stalked the earth. The first time around. And getting "well mashed" is considered a good thing, as is "larging it", to whit: the imbibition of a not inconsiderable amount of alcohol or narcotics. No, if Baum has committed a crime against language, it is a crime against the yoof speak popular with suburban middle class children. If Verwood come to Dunstable, Baum might have had a better understanding of the culture involved.
It's a fun idea, though, and one that needn't be limited to Shakespeare. Let's contemporise all literature. A Tale of Two Cities could begin: "Sometimes it was like winning the lottery with, like, just a scratchcard, but then sometimes it was more like missing the Hollyoaks Xmas special." Thackeray's end to Vanity Fair could go from: "Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out," to "Right, kids, log off from your virtual world, we're done, and your mum's probably got your tea on."
We could be even more economical with language. Why use so many long, flowery phrases, when a mot juste will do? "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife" could become "You're loaded, but got no bird. You some sort of bender?" While, in this less innocent age, you could shorten the end of Harper Lee's classic: "He turned out the light and went into Jem's room. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning." It could just read: "Paedo."
And finally, Animal Farm: "The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again. But already it was impossible to say which was which." New version? "The farmer's lads had pulled a right bunch of mingers in the Red Lion that night."
Now it's over to you, bloggerati. How would you modernise the great lines of literature? A fortnight in Shakespeare's spiritual home, Stratford for the winner. Cotswolds be damned, we're talking Stratford East London. Get me, bro?
