My year 10s are tasked with transforming an act or scene from Othello into another text type and, as I was explaining the assignment to them today, I mentioned that you could play around with genre as well as form. So, in preparation for tomorrow’s lesson I thought I’d provide a brief example of what they are expected to do – it’s rushed and imperfect but it’ll do.
Here it is, a twisted take on Act 5, Scene 2 re-imagined as part hard boiled detective story, part satire:
She was dead. That much was obvious. In fact, those present at the scene of the crime swear that she came back to life briefly just to say “A guiltless death I die” before passing away again. That raised a few eyebrows but what mattered most to Emilia Watson was finding the guilty party before they could kill again.
Certain that the immediate surroundings were bound to contain clues, Emilia searched the bedroom. The bed itself was draped in silken sheets generally reserved for weddings and other special occasions. Tangled in the linen was the victim herself, a wad of fabric stuffed into her mouth. The exact cause of death was unknown; there was no bloodshed so it wasn’t a stabbing, and the foul stench associated with common poisons was nowhere to be smelled.
‘Perhaps,’ thought Emilia, ‘I should have had some training before opening up my own detective agency.’
Not one to give up at the slightest sign of trouble, she continued her search. Not far from the bed Emilia found a dark skinned man hunched in a ball on the floor.
‘Strange. Why didn’t I notice him before?’ She pondered this as she inspected his appearance.
She followed the tears from his eyes, down his cheeks and onto his neck. Nothing unusual there, that’s the direction tears normally take. Further down she noticed scratch marks on his arms – that was unusual. Most strange, however, were the words spewing from his mouth. Emilia knelt down to listen closely.
“O, she was foul! Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp’d: I know this act shows horrible and grim.”
The man was clearly upset but, as Emilia didn’t speak Shakespearean, nothing he said made sense. As he continued to mumble away, the only words she understood were handkerchief and whore which she doubted were useful in helping her crack this case. No, this man would only sidetrack her from the task at hand.
Emilia continued to search the room but the interior decorator was clearly a minimalist. Fortunately, the lack of clues was offset by the arrival of her husband and some other men. For the most part, Emilia decided that most of these men weren’t worthy of her attention (although one was a bit of a spunk). That said, the smile on her husband’s face was a bit disconcerting.
“Iago,” she questioned. “Why do you smirk?”
“Smirk? I do not smirk.”
“You do, and you are.”
“Perhaps I am just happy to see you,” he replied.
“Unlikely,” she retorted but checked his crotch anyway. Indeed, he was not happy to see her. As she eyed him off further she noticed characteristics she hadn’t paid attention to before; among these were his elongated chin, pencil moustache and penchant for black clothing.
“Why do you look at me so, woman?”
“I’m starting to think you are not what you are.”
“Are you saying, then, I am the villain?”
Iago seemed quite shocked at this accusation but Emilia was certain he was up to no good. It was then she found her biggest clue:
“What is that bag you are holding, husband? Why is it marked with a large dollar sign?”
Iago neared. “It is Roderigo’s fortune. I have acquired it from him.”
“Really? Well then, if we are now rich I don’t need to work anymore.” And, with that, Emilia threw her empty notepad aside and strolled from the room dragging her husband behind her. “Come,” she said. “We have shopping to do.”
“What about the murder you were trying to solve?”
“Oh, I’ve got no idea who did it. I’m as confused about it now as I was when I started.”