'Damn Dirty Apeing': Why Are the Most Memorable Lines the Hardest to Deliver?

The famous 'To be, or not to be'1 monologue in Hamlet is often referred to as the most difficult monologue for an actor. When I first heard this, I couldn't think why; it's so well known, most actors will know the majority of it by heart, and most viewers have heard it and understand its meaning, or at least some of it. But that's exactly why it's so difficult: everybody knows it. Because the audience knows this monologue so well it's difficult for an actor to do his job: to make a performance his own. Because the monologue is so popular and known inside-out by every theatre critic, and almost every casual theatre-goer, it is difficult to add something audiences have never seen before without making it strange or jarring. It's hard to be original. Conversely, it's hard to keep it 'classic' too. If it sounds too different, or is performed in too strange a way, audiences may react unfavourably to it. These are just a few reasons as to why such a monologue is so, so difficult; I haven't even mentioned the emotional aspects of the monologue.

And it's not just Hamlet that has these very difficult lines. To take another example from Shakespeare (he's coming across as quite the tricky minx in this post), King Richard III. I recently watched a film adaptation of the play; Loncraine's Richard III and there was a particular, oft-quoted line, 'A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!'2 When the line was shouted by Ian McKellen himself, it was all me and my friend could do not to burst out laughing, as we happened to be watching it as part of a university seminar. The line sounded ridiculous. The whole film, in my opinion, was bad anyway, but this was really the tipping point for me. I knew from the beginning that this line would be difficult, and I had hoped that McKellen could have pulled it off, but despite the dramatic backdrop, and his having to shout over gunfire, it just didn't land. It wasn't dramatic, it wasn't captivating, it was funny. And this is just the tip of the iceberg...


Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Say what you like about this film, but it took itself way to seriously for what it was. There is absolutely no way they could have ever convinced me that this film was real, that it had gravitas. It was a prequel to Planet of the Apes, for crying out loud. Now I'm not saying Planet of the Apes is a bad film, especially considering I haven't seen it, but I know that it isn't exactly a centrepiece for realistic cinema. From what I can tell it has about as much realism as an episode of Star Trek. I think you know where I'm going with this, so I won't stall any longer. The film, despite being a prequel to the original 1968 film, contains the line 'Take your stinking paws off me you damn dirty ape'.


I. Died.


Myself and the friends I went to see the film with all burst out laughing, along with half the audience in the cinema. I almost missed the equally ridiculous moment when Caesar speaks for the first time, I was laughing so much. Poor Tom Felton, for having to say that line. I liked him in Harry Potter, I really did. I like him as an actor. But my god. I could feel his career take a savage beating the instant the words escaped his mouth. This wasn't an example of a popular line being difficult to deliver because it's popular, it's an example of a popular line being thrown in awkwardly, making it just about impossible to deliver convincingly. They wrote Felton into a corner with this one; there was no way he could have done that line and not looked like an idiot. When that famous line came up in the original film, it had context, it had a certain gravity, and it was also in an older film, made in a time where I suppose more dramatic, campy dialogue isn't quite so out of place. But this was a modern film, made in 2011, and trying very hard to take itself seriously, touching on animal testing, and the effects Alzheimer's has on a sufferer and his friends and family, and then this? No wonder it was so stupid; they put a campy line from nearly fifty years ago into a supposedly serious modern film that was supposed to make us think that the things we were seeing could really happen. This line, like in Richard III, was the tipping point for me; the point where a film that was simply bad became laughably terrible. I actually feel bad about the Alzheimer's thing, because had that aspect been in a better, less stupid movie, they could have really touched some hearts, raised awareness, and maybe even given people some hope. But instead it was just to create the illusion of gravitas in an awful film 'reboot' about talking apes. But, I digress.


I suppose what I'm trying to get at here is that well-known lines are dangerous territory. Any writer, filmmaker, what have you, should be sure to use extreme caution when handling them, as that dramatic line will often at best sound strange, and at worst ruin a much-loved line from an adored franchise. And that will not serve you well. Maybe just stick to writing your own dialogue, or coming up with new concepts, instead of trying to remake everything under the sun? Just a thought.

1 - W. Shakespeare, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth  Editions Limited, 2007), Act III, sc. i
2 - W. Shakespeare, King Richard III (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth  Editions Limited, 2007), Act V, sc. iv


I might well do a post in the future about films using sensitive subject matter to try and add drama, as it's something I've come to feel quite strongly about.

No Soap, Studio Audience

Listening to an episode of Radiolab about laughter, the section about studio audiences, or rather 'professional laughers' caught my interest. At the beginning of the episode Abumrad and Krulwich asked why we laugh, what laughter is, and why it's so great. Aristotle claimed that laughter is the one defining thing that separates humans from other animals. He even believed that laughter ensouled a baby, turning it from a human to a human being. They then made a very interesting point: laughter is social. It is a cue we give to others that essentially says 'as friends, we both understand something'. Laughter only occurs when two or more people are involved, even if the other person is in the mind (e.g. a character in a television programme, or a hypothetical person to tell a joke to). It got me thinking about studio audiences, and why I used to hate them before I allowed them to grow on me, or at least stop grating at me.

The reason I didn't like studio audiences for such a long time was that I didn't like being told when to laugh, which is how it felt most of the time. I still don't like being told 'that's funny, laugh at the funny thing,' especially since some jokes just aren't funny to me, even if they are to others. So the studio audience can pose a few problems in this respect. But I noticed something very weird about studio audiences, something which reminds me of the social experiment No Soap, Radio, in which you tell a joke, the punchline of which is a total non sequitur such as 'no soap, radio' that has nothing to do with the rest of the joke, tell some friends beforehand to laugh at the nonsensical joke, and see if others laugh too. Often the person's subconscious will create a meaning for the joke and make the person laugh, or else they will simply laugh to feel as though they aren't out of the loop, because other people are laughing. The use of a studio audience creates a similar effect; the studio audience laughs, therefore you realise something apparently funny has transpired. So even if you don't get the joke, you might still laugh because either you feel you should, or your brain makes some kind of connection between the event on screen and the laughing response.

Back to the problems studio audiences can create. I found myself watching an episode of Two and a Half Men (my opinion on this show is biased because I am a woman and I have self-respect) and I really listened to every line carefully, analysing it on a basic level while I watched, and very often I found myself thinking, after the studio audience laughed, that a line just wasn't funny. Sometimes 'funny' lines came across as just hateful. And yet the studio audience still laughed, and so did some viewers at home. This is something I find quite troubling, because the show comes across to me as intolerant and narrow-minded about basically anything outside the apparent norm of macho heterosexuality, and its use of the studio audience 'tricks' viewers into laughing at something frankly damaging or offensive, if you'll excuse my dramatic phrasing. It's not all bad though; sometimes it's just a form of corner-cutting for writers. For example, some shows use a studio audience to make viewers believe a joke has been told when in reality it hasn't. Although I like The Big Bang Theory it is a serious offender of this. A trend on YouTube has popped up, where clips of sitcoms are posted with the laugh track taken out, and doing so with The Big Bang Theory makes it easier to pick out when a lengthy scientific explanation, or simply the mention of geek pop culture, has been disguised as a joke.

Try it out next time you're watching a sitcom with a studio audience; really listen to the lines being spoken, and see which ones you genuinely find funny, and which you simply laughed at because you wanted to conform, if only on a subconscious level. In the end, we can't help laughing at something we don't understand from time to time; we're social creatures, and apparently that's what laughter is: a social communication. Think about that the next time you snort milk from your nose after your friend does his Michael McIntyre impression.