"Macbeth" by William Shakespeare: Macbeth and Banquo, two valiant Scottish generals under the reign of King Duncan, are returning victorious from battle, having just beaten back the dreaded Norwegian hordes, when they encounter three witches. The sorcerous sisters confront the conquering heroes, making predictions of good fortune. They address Macbeth as the Thane of Cawdor, meaning the "Lord of Cawdor," although Macbeth is merely the Thane of Glamis. They proclaim Macbeth will be king and that Banquo will beget kings, although he will never hold the throne himself. Before the men can fully comprehend these weighty words, the witches vanish. Soon after, a messenger arrives informing Macbeth and Banquo that the Thane of Cawdor turned traitor during the war, forfeiting his title and land. King Duncan has named Macbeth the new Thane of Cawdor. Insert spooky music here.

Macbeth is quick to send a letter to his wife, telling her all about his unexpected promotion and the strange encounter with the witches. Lady Macbeth takes particular interest in the part about her husband becoming king. She knows Macbeth, not exactly a conniving, power-hungry sort, may not seize the opportunity before him. Thankfully, she has enough ambition for both of them. Actually, she has more ambition than the cast of "Fame." If Fate has destined her husband to be king, Lady Macbeth can't see much sense in waiting around for the inevitable. When Macbeth returns home, she suggests they give Fate a helping hand in the shape of one measly little homicide. Gotta love her initiative.

King Duncan is scheduled to spend the night at Macbeth's castle, Dunsinane Hall, providing the perfect opportunity for murder. After much planning and prodding on the part of Lady Macbeth, the new Thane of Cawdor does the deed, making sure Duncan doesn't sees the next morning. Two of Duncan's servants are framed for the crime, and Macbeth silences their tongues forever in a fit of feigned revenge. Duncan's sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, fear for their own lives and head for the hills. Their rapid departure leads many to suspect they were involved in their father's grisly demise, allowing Macbeth to assume the throne. The witches' second prediction has come true. If only they could pick horses.

Seizing power is nowhere near as hard as sustaining it. The crown is barely on Macbeth's head before he remembers what the witches predicted for Banquo. His friend is clearly a threat. This time, Macbeth doesn't need any prompting from his wife. He secretly arranges for Banquo and his son to be murdered. The rising body count begins to take its toll. Visions of his crimes haunt Macbeth, as unrelenting guilt and wanton paranoia carry him to the brink of insanity. Lady Macbeth attempts to cover for her husband's strange behavior, but her own guilt soon proves overwhelming, causing her to wander in her sleep, compulsively washing her hands and demanding, "Out, damn spot!" It's interesting, but I always thought the line was "Out, out, damn spot!" But it's only one "out." I, for one, favor two. The more outs the better, as far as I'm concerned.

Macbeth consults the witches again and is treated to three more predictions, a different ghastly apparition delivering each one. An armed head tells Macbeth to beware Macduff, the Thane of Fife. The second apparition, a bloody child, tells Macbeth he has nothing to fear from any man born of a woman. Since that would seem to rule out all men, Macbeth feels a lot better about that Macduff fellow. The final word of warning comes from a crowned child who says Macbeth will never be vanquished until the Great Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane Hall. Since forests that size seldom move, Macbeth sees clear sailing ahead. This whole sequence seems to have inspired "Taxi" episode No. 67, "Jim the Psychic," in which Reverend Jim Ignatowski tells his best buddy Alex Rieger that he's had a dream foretelling Alex's imminent death. Jim rattles off a list of bizarre occurrences that will befall Rieger in the days leading up to his tragic end, even going so far as to say death will knock on Alex's door while he's dancing the Can Can in a green shirt and a catcher's mask. It all sounds ridiculous, but everything happens just as Jim says it would, right up to the fateful knock placed while Alex is dancing the Can Can in a green shirt and a catcher's mask. So, while Macbeth may not believe a forest can march on his castle or that such a man exists who wasn't born of a woman, it's really only a matter of time before he ends up dancing the Can Can in a green shirt and a catcher's mask.

When I review plays for 70 proof, staging, production, and performances go out the window; all I concern myself with are the written words on the page. And there's certainly plenty to admire in "Macbeth." The lead characters are extraordinary, the conflict involved is timeless, and memorable speeches and quotes abound, from the aforementioned "Out, damn spot!" to "Is this a dagger which I see before me" and the immortal "If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly." I did get the feeling that things were a bit rushed, almost as if there was a scene missing, but it's still a wonderful achievement and deserves a place among the very best Shakespeare, perhaps a slight tick below the likes of "Hamlet," "Julius Caesar," and "Romeo and Juliet." And it's almost as good as "Jim the Psychic." Almost.

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"The Tempest" by William Shakespeare: Prospero was enjoying the good life as the Duke of Milan until his brother Antonio came along and usurped his dukedom. And I think we all know how painful that can be. The last time I had my dukedom usurped I couldn't walk for a week. Prospero and his daughter Miranda barely escape Antonio's treachery with their lives, being left to die at sea only to wash up on a deserted island.

Ah, but this isn't any ordinary deserted island. While it lacks a Skipper and Gilligan, it does have plenty of magic and fairies and whatnot. As the years go by, Prospero learns to wield the magic and fairies and whatnot to exact revenge upon his enemies. Magic is cool like that. He summons a storm to capture a ship carrying Antonio and the King of Naples, who acted as a cohort in the usurping, and deliver it to the shores of the island. His plans for hateful vengeance, however, hit a snag when Miranda falls in love with the King of Naples' son, Ferdinand. Oh, those crazy kids. There's also an attempt at comedy involving three drunken servants who wander the island trying to kill Prospero. Yeah, that's great. You know what would have made it even better? If it were funny.

"The Tempest" really is a whole lot of nothing. The stuff that's supposed to be funny is just dumb, and the stuff that's supposed to be significant is just, well, dumb. About the only redeeming quality I could find is that the work provided names for two old-school X-Men characters. The fairy who perpetrates all of Prospero's magical monkeyshine is named Aerial, which, of course, is what Kitty Pryde was first called when she joined the X-Men. And one of the drunken servants trying to kill Prospero is a deformed creature named Caliban, a moniker later adopted for one of the mutant Morlocks who dwelled the sewers underneath New York City. Oddly enough, Caliban first came to prominence in the pages of "The Uncanny X'Men" when he wanted to marry Kitty Pryde, prompting the Morlocks to kidnap her. It should also be noted that the name "Morlocks" was borrowed from the H.G. Wells novel, "Time Machine." Wow, comic book writers sure liked to "borrow" things. But the point is that a large portion of my childhood would have been different had "The Tempest" never existed, so for that I'll give it one shot. But your time will be better spent reading back issues of X-Men. Remember that one when they fought the Hellfire Club? Aw, that was great, that was fun.

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