Word: queen
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Indeed, the play wastes little time in settling on its basic narrative unit of barbarity and misfortune: It barely gets started before Titus, a Roman army general, commands that the Goth queen Tamora’s eldest son be sacrificed to the memory of Titus’ own dead sons (all 21 of them). Quickly following this incident, Titus cuts down one of his few remaining sons, in a perhaps extreme display of patriarchal authority. And so we proceed, until the play’s infamously bizarre ending. Suffice it to say that there are lots of deaths, and none...
...wine god Dionysus, abandoning their babies in the cradle and their weaving on the loom to run off into the hills for nights of wild drinking and dancing, further enlivened by the women's enthusiastic dismemberment of any living creatures they came upon. At one point the queen mother, in her wine-addled frenzy, rips apart her own son, the king, leaving the audience with one clear lesson: keep the women indoors and those wine-filled amphoras tightly sealed...
...that Britain wants to stand for . . . something safe, sane, stable and as everlasting as the Tower of London." And as reassuringly familiar. Generations from now, her performance in that most deceptively difficult of jobs will be the standard by which the world's remaining monarchs are judged. The Queen Mother blended a sense of majesty and a sense of fun so comfortably that national feeling and natural feeling chimed. In the end, she made royalty seem human and humanity downright regal...
Elizabeth, the Queen Mum, never ceased to think of herself as a country lass from Scotland. She spent each August at the Castle of Mey, listening to her bagpipe records and fishing for salmon with Prince Charles. Sometimes she would simply tramp through the rain, chatting with the locals. Once, it is said, she noticed a farmhand struggling to herd his lambs into a pen. Instantly she clambered over a stone wall to help out. It seemed, she later said, the neighborly thing...
...images that lodged in the British heart were of the Queen Mum singing gaily as a chauffeur whizzed her through Rhodesia in 1960, pottering around her beloved garden in baggy trousers, following the fortunes of her racehorses on a telephone results service used by bookies...