Dead Dreams

Senator Edward Kennedy dies at age 77

Not overly surprising as most victims of brain cancer (as the article points out) die within a year. I am saddened for his family but I'm not going to be one of those lionizing him. I had serious issues with most of his political views and there was just something about the man that irked me.

I saw Camelot at Goodspeed Opera House earlier this summer. I've been listening to the musical on my ipod and thinking alot about that era - the 1960's - and the mythology surrounding the Kennedy's. Many point to the lies of the Nixon administration as when ordinary, middle-of-the-road Americans started losing faith in their government but I wonder if they knew, sensed, the lies of Camelot. It would explain the explosion of rage that was the late 1960's. People just knew they were being lied to all along and with the murder of the dreams they just... exploded.

It's true! It's true! The crown has made it clear.
The climate must be perfect all the year.

A law was made a distant moon ago here:
July and August cannot be too hot.
And there's a legal limit to the snow here
In Camelot.
The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order, summer lingers through September
In Camelot.
Camelot! Camelot!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre,
But in Camelot, Camelot
That's how conditions are.
The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

Camelot! Camelot!
I know it gives a person pause,
But in Camelot, Camelot
Those are the legal laws.
The snow may never slush upon the hillside.
By nine p.m. the moonlight must appear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

It's the reprise that is most haunting:

ARTHUR:
Each evening, from December to December,
Before you drift to sleep upon your cot,
Think back on all the tales that you remember
Of Camelot.
Ask ev'ry person if he's heard the story,
And tell it strong and clear if he has not,
That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory
Called Camelot.

Camelot! Camelot!

Now say it out with pride and joy!

TOM:

Camelot! Camelot!

ARTHUR:

Yes, Camelot, my boy!
Where once it never rained till after sundown,
By eight a.m. the morning fog had flown...
Don't let it be forgot
That once there was a spot
For one brief shining moment that was known
As Camelot.

Richard Burton, who could not sing, does a brilliant job of conveying the pain, the anguish, the soul-crushing weariness of Arthur before he dies. You are almost happy for him that it is over and he can find peace. I would imagine that being a myth, or being part of one, must be a burden almost impossible to bear.

"The disadvantage of my position," he told an interviewer, "is being constantly compared with two brothers of such superior ability."

May you find peace in the Summerland Edward.