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Acting Prime Ministers: The Trudeau Legacy on Shakespeare’s CBC

 

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National Passions

Pierre Elliot Trudeau, likely the most theatrical of Canadian Prime Ministers in recent memory, famously adopted “reason over passion” as his personal motto.  This opposition of personality and politics was precisely captured by artist Joyce Wieland in her colourfully plush Trudeau-inspired quilt.  But clever as it is, Wieland’s visual witticism extends in its implications far beyond a historically specific moment.  It is a response to a complex relationship central to political engagement, signalling one of the struggles at the heart of citizenship -- and, as citizens, signalling our response to and understanding of the political theatre of leadership.

To govern effectively, political leaders, elected or otherwise, need to enjoy at least some support from their citizenry, the lack of this resulting in a de facto loss of authority.  Problematically, maintaining this across a group as diverse as a ‘nation’, particularly a nation as large as Canada, can become a rather artificial exercise.  Even writing about Canadians as a ‘we’, that is, as a group that can be clearly and easily unified, is hugely presumptuous in itself.  Nonetheless, to even address the issue of how politicians ‘enact the nation’ -- how they appeal to the malleable, emotionally-charged icons that we associate with ‘our’ nationhood -- assumes that we have something potent in common: a shared sense of what represents our Canadianness.  Politicians make this assumption too.  It is the stage they perform from when they play for the nation.  Indeed, whether the stakes are electoral success or political security, the Western theatrical tradition, with William Shakespeare as the iconic face of that tradition, infuses the discourse of our leaders as they engage in the spectacle of politics.

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Reason over Passion by Joyce Wieland, 1968

Shakespeare the Politician

As a playwright, Shakespeare articulates the inseparability of entertainment and politics.  Prince Hamlet, in fact, demonstrates exactly this: in the well-known 'play-within-a-play' from Act 3, scene 2 in Hamlet, he uses the device of a play to effect a calculated political response.  By presenting in The Mousetrap an adaptation of his regicidal uncle’s conspiracy to secure the crown and marry Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother, he inspires a deeply personal response from the emotionally overwrought Claudius.  But in so doing, Hamlet also proves a point about the efficacy of theatre as a tool to arouse potent feelings of nationalism.  As Claudius flees in distress he reveals his guilt to Hamlet.  And in this moment of demonstrating apparently unprecedented psychological instability to his court, Claudius simultaneously weakens his own position as monarch through a public display that is effectively another, more spontaneous, example of political theatre.  Furthermore, Claudius not only feels deep personal remorse, but in the subsequent scene laments for Denmark under his rulership, crying out for the “wretched state!” (3.3.67) 

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Daniel Maclise's The Play Scene in Halmlet, 1842

Shakespeare’s awareness of the political potency inherent in theatre, however, extended far beyond the internal worlds of his plays.  His adaptation of the historical personages Macbeth and Banquo from Holinshed’s Chronicles (full text of Chronicles here) was strongly influenced by the common belief during Shakespeare’s lifetime that King James I, the reigning monarch when Macbeth was first performed, was directly descended from Banquo.  In fact, while Shakespeare only suggests that Banquo fosters suspicion of Macbeth’s foul-play, Holinshed reports Banquo’s moral disposition in far different terms:

At length therefore, communicating his purposed intent with his trustie friends, amongst whome Banquo was the chiefest, upon confidence of their promised aid, [Macbeth] slue the King... (Chronicles, as qtd. by Mabillard)

Insinuating that James’s line acquired its royal pedigree through conspiracy and murder likely would not have impressed the sitting king, and may have been dangerous for Shakespeare in a very real way.  But more than that, by implicitly asserting in a public forum that James was of a legitimate and morally-upright genealogy, destined to rule by fate -- rather than descended from a thug who slaughtered his way to sovereignty -- Shakespeare ratified James's sovereignty through an act of theatrical legitimation.  When popular culture asserts the legitimacy of the personification of state power and identity -- the political leader -- state strength is thus fortified.  Legitimacy suggests moral authority, which not only means the citizenry will be less likely, but also less able, according to conventional ethical logic, to scrutinize the decisions of government.  The understandable human tendency to have faith past reason in those relationships we’re born into, like blood and nationality, buttresses the legitimacy of leadership even further.  Faith rallies nationalism and naturalises jingoism.

The Crown Broadcasting Corporation

Reinforcing national identity through media isn’t new -- and isn’t antiquated, either.  James’s influence rewrote history to flatter and defend his own identity, the identity of historical rulers, and through this, the identity of the nation.  And if James were king of Canada, Shakespeare would work for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.  By producing dramatised histories of our own politics and leaders, Canadians engage in exactly the same process of subtly, perhaps even unintentionally crafting images of the past through the biases of our present mind’s eye. 

Although they are perhaps in some ways historically dubious, there’s nothing overtly insidious about films like the CBC’s Trudeau (2002) or Prairie Giant: The Tommy Douglas Story (2005).  These films help galvanise a firm sense of national identity by re-telling the stories upon which Canadians base that identity: they celebrate ‘our’ values and demonise ‘our’ fears.  These easy dichotomies, however,  coax us into a simplified black-and-white understanding of Canada that not only affects the way we imagine our Canadian past and politics, but also has tremendous implications for how we -- as Canadians -- see our future, and act in the present.

Therriault in a promotional still from Prairie Giant
Therriault in a promotional still from Prairie Giant

Like Trudeau and Prairie Giant, the CBC film H2O (2004) documents Canadian politics, capitalising on the talents of a Canadian, Shakespearean-trained lead actor -- in this case Paul Gross to Trudeau’s Colm Feore and Prairie Giant’s Michael Therriault.  H2O, however, is a speculative political thriller documenting an elaborate international business conspiracy to appropriate Canada’s vast fresh water resources and assimilate Canada as a ‘semi-autonomous’ region under the United States’ political auspices.  The reason that this hypothesis is so utterly, terrifyingly threatening to the Canadian sensibility isn’t the relatively far-fetched ceding of our political sovereignty: it’s the annexation of our national identity. 

Invoking a trope historically applied to the Canadian economy, Paul Gross’s fictional Prime Minister Tom McLaughlin asserts that “We are still a nation that hews wood and draws water.”  Whether the insult and condescension of this reference to the Old Testament’s Joshua 9:27 is even still perceptible by modern audiences is beside the point -- beside the point because we care about water.  If our concept of wilderness is deeply important to us -- if it unifies us as Canadians -- then to sell our lakes and rivers amounts to auctioning off our national inheritance and crassly hawking the thing that makes us Canadian as drawers of water.  Without one of the foundational blocks that we’ve built our collective identity on, our carefully constructed sense of what is Canadian crumbles, and we’re left with no identity at all.  McLaughlin’s point is not about whether we are emotionally invested in the idea of wilderness, or even if we’ve ever been canoeing.  Canada, he tells us, is already heavily invested in the profitable industry of extracting, bottling, and selling drinking water, effectively commodifying our nationhood.  In fact, H2O demonstrates an acute awareness of water’s centrality to the Canadian psyche -- and the processes that consolidate and manipulate that conception of our national identity as a function of that commodity.

Canadian Waters

One of former prime minister Pierre Trudeau’s most publicised moments was ostensibly also one of his most private.  Upon his prime ministerial re-election defeat in 1979 by Progressive Conservative party leader Joe Clark, Trudeau retreated to the Nahanni River in the Northwest Territories for a canoe trip, where he reflected on his political future, ultimately deciding to step down as leader of the Liberal Party.

In art, as in life, our political leaders are linked to the wilderness.  H2O’s prime minister Matthew McLaughlin, as eulogised by his son Tom, experiences on a canoe trip the revelatory moment that, for him, captures the essence of Canada.  In a vision that unites stalwarts of Canadian mythology, Tom describes himself and his father sharing a poignant moment on the banks of the Nahanni River.  This remote northern river, a place most of us will never visit, represents a wilderness trope of Canadiana that is reinforced precisely through our leaders’ conspicuously fulsome identification with it.  By embracing that which is most Canadian -- hockey, health care, and canoeing -- real or imagined politicians can assert a cultural legitimacy that not only cements their own ‘right’ to rule, but re-establishes the centrality of these things to our concept of ‘Canadianness’.   

                                                    

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Rabbitkettle Lake, Nahanni National Park

McLaughlin’s ‘Nahanni River eulogy’ is utterly packed with moments that flag it as precisely choreographed political theatre.  In what his mother disgustedly calls “a masterful piece of bullshit”, McLaughlin begins by attempting to prove the heartfelt spontaneity of the emotion he’s about to share: he rejects his script.  This speech, we’re not told, but shown, cannot be political in nature, as it’s both unrehearsed and carries the cultural authority of a eulogy.  Indeed, in intimating the details of father weeping in wonder at symbolism suggesting the overwhelming beauty of Canada, McLaughlin smoothly shifts his language into abstract, malleable, and affectively potent terms that are so personal in their connotation, that they function universally. By then pronouncing that “there are those who live among us -- and they do live among us -- who would say ‘what is so rare about this nation that we should struggle to preserve it?’”, the aspirant Prime Minister redoubles the trenchant emotional support of Canadians by insisting that their own individual Canada is under tacit internal threat.  Director Charles Binamé highlights the broad-reaching seduction of McLaughlin’s oratory with a series of shots that move lingeringly from an apartment, to a street corner, to a truck-stop, to a bar, to a workplace -- all showing Canadians rapt by the stirring of their national pride.

The moment that, very subtly, but utterly unmistakably crystallizes these manipulations lies in Binamé’s cross-cut from funeral to interrogation.  McLaughlin tells us that whenever asked to define Canada, “My father never had to search for an answer because he knew.  He knew that the question itself is the answer”.  Indeed, the film offers someone else who understands the value of this wisdom: in responding to the first question of his lie-detector test, prime ministerial assassin Teddy Jackman replies clearly and unequivocally.  “Yes.  My name is Teddy Jackman.”  As McLaughlin suggests, there isn’t any uncertainty at all.  Truth becomes secondary when the question contains all the information necessary for its ‘correct’ answer.  Just as Jackman will not incriminate himself, McLaughlin will not perform for the electorate any Canada except the one that they already believe in.  And McLaughlin, like Jackman, deftly passes his lie-detector test.

Justin Trudeau and the Political Wilderness

In his 2000 eulogy to his father Pierre Trudeau, Justin Trudeau begins with an anecdote of different purpose, but very similar context to that told by the character Tom McLaughlin.  It is a moment of revelation in Canada’s far north, which signals, once again, that the frontier regions of our country are places of magic that offer opportunities unique in the world and house the most precious iconography of mainstream Canadian culture.

Justin Trudeau's eulogy to his father Pierre Trudeau H2O movie clip - eulogy
Justin Trudeau's eulogy to his father Pierre Trudeau H2O’s prime minister Matthew McLaughlin, as eulogised by his son Tom

Perhaps even more interesting a detail, however, comes as the first three words Justin Trudeau speaks.  By invoking Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar with Marc Antony’s lines “Friends, Romans, countrymen” (3.2.52), which -- within the context of the play -- is less a humble valediction for Caesar than a politically calculated and emotionally manipulative oratory, Trudeau the younger certainly complicates the way we hear his words.  It should not be inferred for a moment that Justin Trudeau’s grief is not genuine; nor should we speculate that, like H2O’s Tom McLaughlin, his motives in publicly mourning his father are political.  By quoting Marc Antony, Trudeau is nonetheless citing -- if not engaging in -- the long tradition of using public performance to political and ideological ends.

The examples of Tom McLaughlin and Marc Antony make it easy to understand that even oratories in the form of a eulogy act as public performances.  Because of their association with grief and loss, many Canadians may consider eulogies to transcend the ‘acting’ of a stage performance.  While, in many cases this may be true, they are still events designed for an audience.  In fact, because of the strong emotional charge they carry, eulogies are often precisely the most powerful performances in our culture.

Tom McLaughlin clearly understands this.  He uses the affectively compelling platform of eulogy to ferment nationalism through the symbology of Canadian wilderness and the patriotism of a freshly deceased leader.  McLaughlin, like Marc Antony, and like our own Justin Trudeau (clad in his father’s signature rose for the public funeral service), kindles political fervour, accruing by proxy the credibility and heady emotions associated with his performative incitement of national values through the dead. 

Uncluttered by any suggestion of irony or qualification, the Canadian news and current events magazine, Maclean’s, directly juxtaposes Trudeau’s eulogy to the “tepid brew of clichés, vague promises and partisan bragging delivered in a passionless monotone” that characterises “the standard political speech” (emphasis added).  Instead, author Jonathon Gatehouse gushes, Justin Trudeau’s thoughts “plucked at our heartstrings and played to our patriotism. At once sorrowful, dramatic and proud: the son captured the public's mood.”  Indeed, Gatehouse was not alone: he quotes in his article the Canadian Press news service as writing “Justin Trudeau hit the national consciousness like a thunderbolt” and the Red Deer Advocate cloyingly chirping “He oozes charm and poise from every pore.”  But perhaps Trudeau’s most concise and complete endorsement came from national daily The Globe and Mail’s article, ‘Je t’aime papa’ [I love you, Dad]: “the speech was by turns electrifying, poetic and politically astute.”

In the spirit of objective journalism, Gatehouse considers what he calls “dissenting opinions”: A columnist for the National Post [newspaper] called it "a treacly overacted embarrassment." Trudeau "gesticulated like a third-rate modern dancer" in a performance that "was far too calculated to be trustworthy." Hate mail and death threats clogged the writer's in-box for months.

Trudeau refines this dedication somewhat in speaking to Gatehouse, explaining that he was articulating “a cri de coeur; a valentine for Canada”.  “Yes,” he elaborates, “it was theatrical.  It was as bad as [the Bruce Willis movie] Armageddon, punching all those buttons. But that's what it needed to do. It wasn't designed to please journalists." 

If we can take Mr. Trudeau’s comments at face value, it seems that -- irrespective of whether his intentions were overtly political -- his public expression of loss at his father’s death was calculated to spike the emotions of Canadians.  He feels, we can gather, that the most appropriate way to memorialise his father Pierre was to enact a fulsome conjuring of iconic values and Canadian nationalism.  Although, Justin Trudeau’s comments can certainly lead one to mixed impressions.  In an article on the CTV News website, he is quoted as saying that the eulogy

needed to live up to dad. I was a little worried people would react a little bit like they did. In the sense that I really wish people remembered that it was more about him than it was about me. And yet everyone seemed to latch on to me...

For his part, however, he immediately qualifies this by suggesting that there may be up-sides to his involuntary and unpremeditated media attention:

But I think in a certain sense this was the first time anyone actually got to meet me and know some of the things that I might be capable of.

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From an Ottawa Citizen newspaper article entitled "A Liberal dose of sex appeal."

The caption to this photograph reads: "The familiar face of Justin Trudeau has been appearing over the shoulder of leadership candidate Gerard Kennedy since the Liberal convention began."

I think it’s crucial at this point to recognise that since the death of his father, Justin Trudeau has accrued significant political capital.  While it may be speculative to suggest that this is due primarily to remarks at his father’s funeral, rather than his ongoing engagement in politics and work as a media personality -- he was, nonetheless an extremely vocal force in the 2006 Liberal Party leadership campaign of Gerard Kennedy, and later, with Kennedy, backed eventual winner Stéphane Dion.  Indeed, with the national newspaper The Globe and Mail’s November 25, 2006 article “The man who would be king”, it is now well within the realm of contemporary political speculation to project Justin Trudeau’s own ascent to the Prime Minister’s office. Indeed, Trudeau announced formally on February 22nd, 2007 his  intention to run for the Liberal Party representative in the Montréal riding of Papineau, a candidacy position he was nominated to by  Liberal Party members on April 29th of the same year (2006 Papineau  information here). And although, in another Globe and Mail article published amidst the fury of popular conjecture about his political intentions, Trudeau decries nationalism as “based on a smallness of thought”, his political appeal to many Canadians is based on exactly that: the emotional capital of nationalistic images.

High-Stakes Theatre

In H2O, acts of political theatre are entirely calculated: a fact that is highlighted by its repeated references that adapt Shakespeare to contemporary Canadian context.   The plot of H2O manages to recall, in complimentary ways, central devices and story elements from Macbeth, Hamlet, and Julius Caesar.  While the assassination of political leaders is a subject far from unique to Shakespeare, the intertextual relationship of Matthew McLaughlin’s unnamed widow to Hamlet’s Ophelia is undeniable. 

Hamlet’s murder of Ophelia’s father, and the implications of this for both their relationship and perhaps even the Danish state (Hamlet is, after all, its legitimate monarch), overwhelm Ophelia with grief.  Indeed, the mumblings and songs of her madness in Act 4, scene 5 are a direct parallel to the fragmented poetry drunkenly recited by the McLaughlin matriarch.  And just as Ophelia’s songs offer clues to the nature of her distress, so do the former’s efforts to recall, and perhaps grapple with the significance of, Robert Herrick’s Upon Julia’s Clothes.

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Harold Copping's Ophelia Drowns, 1897

Roughly contemporary to Shakespeare, Herrick’s poem romances the movement of Julia in silk, ending with the line Mrs. McLaughlin doesn’t speak aloud until until she, like Ophelia, commits suicide in water: “O how that glittering taketh me!”  Just as Banquo tells us the witches’ prophecies for Macbeth “shine” (3.1.7), this ‘glittering’ seems to suggest the enticements of ambition to which Tom McLaughlin has succumbed.  Fed by his mother’s penetrating final words -- “And they took you too” -- this reading of McLaughlin’s ambition accrues even greater heft considered in conjunction with the tone of Banquo’s monologue, which suggests that although the fates have conspired in Macbeth’s frenzied ascent to power, he “play’dst most foully for’t” (3.1.3).

Indeed, the three witches prophesy that “Macbeth shall never vanquish’d be until/Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill/Shall come against him.” (4.1.92-94)  In perhaps one of H2O’s most direct and unequivocal allusions to Shakespeare, it is only when we see the three representatives of the elite, conspiratorial Burnham Woods Compact in the young Prime Minister Tom McLaughlin’s office, that the latter’s fortunes seem to change from star-studded to star-crossed.

The Constitution of Monarchies

Of course, the pragmatic implications of Tom McLaughlin’s decline serve exactly the same necessity as Macbeth’s.  Because they acquired power by treachery, treason, and even murder, it is absolutely essential in these stories performing the national identity through the national politic, that ‘illegitimate’ authority be struck down.  Effectively, both serve as parables for the moral and, they tell us, practical, long-term, impossibility of subverting what’s portrayed as legitimate governance.  These stories are morality tales: they’re designed to renew the populace’s faith and support in political leaders as metonyms for the righteous integrity of our national identity.

Perhaps the greatest irony here is that Tom McLaughlin calculatedly hijacks exactly this concept -- the almost divine ordinance of leaders perceived as ‘legitimate’ -- in order to justify the “necessity” of subverting standard legal protocol by declaring martial law to further his private political ends and secure his legacy.  In keeping with the narrative of legitimacy, this proclamation initiates rioting rather than pre-empts it, further asserting the corrosive effect of wrongful leadership.  Taken to an almost absurd degree, Tom McLaughlin’s regal authoritarianism in declaring Canadian citizens should “watch him” apply martial law as far as he feels appropriate, echoes Macbeth in its presumption.  In endeavouring to disrupt the narrative of legitimacy fated by the witches, Macbeth oozes the authority of his royal influence to contract Banquo’s assassination. 

An interesting intertextual moment, certainly, but perhaps less potent than McLaughlin’s screamingly direct invocation of Pierre Trudeau, who, prior to instituting martial law in response to the 1970 October Crisis, famously commented: “Just watch me."

Video clip of Trudeau's H2O's Tom McLaughlin delivers his

Video clip of Trudeau's "Just watch me" speech

H2O's Tom McLaughlin delivers his "Watch me" speech

The tough-talking language of leadership’s prerogative, however, would seem to only bolster the implicit argument made by H2O character Marc Lavigne: “there was a fanatic one time, an English fanatic.  He said: ‘necessity hath no law.’  He beheaded a king.”  Lavigne is quoting Oliver Comwell, leader of the English Revolution that deposed and executed King Charles I in 1649.  In the ominous tone of his delivery, Lavigne suggests that by committing regicide, Cromwell not only gained power, but perverted the natural order of British society, highlighting the threat of anything but process-oriented political conservatism.  This is disingenuous at best.  Although Cromwell remains a divisive figure, he was nonetheless voted as one of the ten greatest Britons in a poll conducted by the BBC in 2002.  Indeed, the irony that Cromwell was, arguably, just as authoritarian as the monarch he had supplanted, flatly exposes Lavigne’s ideological assumption that governments sanctioned by aristocratic tradition possess an intrinsic righteousness. 

H2O as a specific example of entertainment that performs national identity, directly re-iterates the values that Canadians, or perhaps their leaders, hold dear.  By assigning the attribute of illegitimacy to McLaughlin’s “watch me”, while implicitly (through the logic of the film) endorsing the legitimacy of Trudeau’s “just watch me” -- as both declare martial law -- we distinguish identical actions as having grossly different value.

Indeed, Tom McLaughlin astutely appropriates the images Canadians hold dearest in their national consciousness; he puts these concepts on display as a means to solicit our emotional and political support.  Flaunting the psychological leverage of performing national iconography, McLaughlin’s Nahanni River eulogy draws conspicuous attention to the performative rhetoric that politicians routinely use to inspire our collective political thinking.  Interestingly, H2O simultaneously re-enforces Canadian ‘legitimacy’ of leadership that governments have been slavishly constructing at least as long as Shakespeare’s Macbeth -- often through the simple trope that leaders without the assent of existing leadership are destined to meet the justice of death and dishonour, while legitimacy will inevitably be restored.  Of course, in this narrative the ‘legitimate’ must necessarily be restored, otherwise there are direct implications for the way we, as citizens, are allowed to view our own leaders in the moment.  Not only are these stories necessary for cultural cohesion, they’re absolutely vital for political stability.

But Shakespeare?

But why would Canadians tell stories about their own political narrative -- dreams, deterrents, prerogatives and prejudices -- through Shakespeare?  Shakespeare’s theatrical ideas resonate in the Canadian political landscape to the point where Shakespearean actors playing Canadian political icons like Tommy Douglas and Pierre Trudeau are only the most visible examples of a long-standing and ongoing performance legacy.  From Nicholas Flood Davin’s The Fair Grit, an 1876 partisan politics farce adapted from Romeo and Juliet; to Hamlet, prince du Québec, Robert Gurik’s 1968 re-telling of Hamlet as the story of Québec considering its place within Canada; to The Death of a Chief, the upcoming adaptation of Julius Caesar by Native Earth Performing Arts -- Canadians habitually cast our national political identity in Shakespearean terms.

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A costume sketch of Pierre Trudeau as Laertes from Gurik’s Hamlet, prince du Québec

Whether this is a function of Shakespeare’s own theatrical engagement with questions of political leadership, or an effect of Shakespeare’s status as an icon of ‘high culture’ and the authority and gravity this accords considerations of our nationhood, is unclear.  Indeed, as a paragon of the colonial cultural heritage of many Canadians, Shakespeare is an obvious point of departure for cultures within Canada that want to challenge ideas of high culture and ‘who’ or ‘what’ high culture represents.

But independent of what our motivations may be, Shakespeare is still a potent signifier when invoked by political discourse -- and politicians in particular.  There can be little doubt that, as the most iconic dramatist to write in English, politicians signal an awareness of their own theatricality by citing Shakespeare.  Looking beyond the superficial air of sophistication that these associations might endow, perhaps we should consider Marc Antony’s words with the sceptical acuity that nationalism often precludes.  When Justin Trudeau tells us, as he did in eulogising his father, that “it’s all up to us, all of us, now”, he’s right.  But in ‘lending him our ears’, we must understand that focusing our minds becomes doubly important.  The alternative is that our politics creeps from thoughtful and fresh improvisation to archetypical pantomine, and our political obligations gradually slide from critical patron status to the confirmative emoting of a reflexive standing ovation.

 

Works Cited -- Hard Copy Texts:

H2O. Dir. Charles Binamé. Perf. Paul Gross, Leslie Hope, Guy Nadon, Martha Henry. Whizbang Films/CBC, 2004.

Prairie Giant: The Tommy Douglas Story. Dir. John N. Smith. Perf. Michael Therriault, Kristin Booth. Mind’s Eye Entertainment/CBC, 2005.

Shakespeare, William. Hamlet. Betty Bealey, ed. Toronto: Academic Press Canada, 1963.

- - -.  Julius Caesar. Marvin Spevack, ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988.

- - -.  Macbeth. Betty Bealey, ed. Toronto: Academic Press Canada, 1965.

Trudeau. Dir. Jerry Ciccoritti. Perf. Com Feore, Polly Shannon. Big Motion Pictures/CBC, 2002.

 

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“metonymy.” The American Heritage Dictionary, 4th ed. Bartleby.com: Great Books Online. March 17, 2007. <http://www.bartleby.com/61/75/M0257500.html>

Native Earth Performing Arts. March 17, 2007. <http://www.nativeearth.ca/>

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Trudeau, Justin. “Justin Trudeau’s Eulogy.” The Pierre Trudeau Homepage. March 17, 2007. <http://www.clevernet.net/pierre_trudeau/justin_trudeau_eulogy.html>

“Trudeau: The Man, The Myth, The Movie.” CBC Television. March 17, 2007. <http://www.cbc.ca/trudeau/seriesone/>

"Trudeau Wins Montreal Riding Nomination." CBC News. April 30, 2007. <http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2007/04/29/trudeau.html?ref=rss>

Whitaker, Reg. "Pierre Elliot Trudeau." The Canadian Encyclopedia. March 17, 2007. <http://www.canadianencyclopedia.ca/index.cfm?PgNm=TCE&Params=A1ARTA0008141>

Woods, Allan. “A Liberal Dose of Sex Appeal.” The Ottawa Citizen. 1 Dec 2006. March 17, 2007. <http://www.canada.com/ottawacitizen/news/story.html?id=31eb5948-794c-4d45-946d-3ba43536596d&k=30263>

Wyatt, Nelson. “Justin Trudeau Ends Speculation, to Run in Montréal in Next Federal Election.” CBC News. 22 Feb 2007. March 17, 2007. <http://www.cbc.ca/cp/national/070222/n0222118A.html>

 

Works Cited -- In-Text Video and Visual Sources:

Copping, Harold. Ophelia Drowns. 1897. March 17, 2007. <http://www.leoyan.com/global-language.com/ENFOLDED/YOUNG/index.html>

Gurik, Robert. “[Pierre Trudeau as Laertes sketch.]” 1968. On loan to Macdonald Stewart Art Centre, Guelph.

H2O. Dir. Charles Binamé. Perf. Paul Gross, Leslie Hope, Guy Nadon, Martha Henry. Whizbang Films/CBC, 2004.

“Just Watch Me.” CBC Archives. March 17, 2007. <http://archives.cbc.ca/IDC-1-71-101-610/conflict_war/october_crisis/clip6>

“Justin Trudeau’s Eulogy.” CBC Archives. March 17, 2007. <http://archives.cbc.ca/IDC-1-69-307-1620-11/life_society/justin_trudeau_eulogy/>

Maclise, Daniel. The Play Scene in Hamlet. 1842. Tate Gallery, London. March 17, 2007. <http://www.tate.org.uk/servlet/ViewWork?cgroupid=999999978&workid=9135&searchid=31851>

Moczulski, J.P. “A Liberal Dose of Sex Appeal.” [Reuters Image]. Ottawa Citizen. 1 Dec  2006. March 17, 2007. <http://www.canada.com/ottawacitizen/news/story.html?id=31eb5948-794c-4d45-946d-3ba43536596d&k=30263>

Pakulski, Krzysztof. Nahanni National Park in Northwest Territories. 2005. March 17, 2007. <http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/North_America/Canada/photo148944.htm>

Prairie Giant: The Tommy Douglas Story. Dir. John N. Smith. Perf. Michael Therriault, Kristin Booth. Mind’s Eye Entertainment/CBC, 2005. Promotional Still. March 17, 2007. <http://www.cbc.ca/tommydouglas/>

Wieland, Joyce. Reason over Passion. 1968. National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa.  March 17, 2007. <http://www.cbc.ca/arts/photoessay/that60s-show/index.html>

 

Jonathan Blair Brandon

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