Summarize this content to 2000 words in 6 paragraphs in Arabic \u201cIt must have been in about 1979, I was in New York on holiday. I was sitting up with a friend, and we were both stoned as owls.\u201d Jane Wymark was retelling her brush with a piece of theatre history. She recalled the sound of a telephone cutting through the sour, rising smoke. Wymark answered. Distant and absurd on the other end of the line, a telegram message from her mother. \u201cIt said something like: \u2018Wonderful job. Hamlet, please come home.\u2019\u201d After several minutes of laughter, it occurred to Wymark that the call might not be a joke. \u201cSo I rung my mother up, and said \u2018I\u2019m really sorry if I\u2019m waking you up in the middle of the night for no reason, but is this real?\u2019 And she said, \u2018Yes, come home right now, because they want you to play Ophelia.\u2019\u201dWymark was being parachuted into a production of Hamlet that was being talked about as among the best of the century. Derek Jacobi, a Shakespearean actor then in his forties and recently made famous by his star turn as the Roman emperor in the television series I, Claudius, was in the title role. In some quarters, Jacobi\u2019s poetic, volatile performance was being talked about as the Hamlet of his generation. A film of the production would be broadcast in America and viewed by more people at once than any in history. When The New York Times asked Jacobi how he felt knowing that a generation of viewers would come to consider his interpretation definitive, he replied: \u201cThat way lies madness.\u201dOne night, Wymark recalled, the cast were taking their bows in the furnacelike auditorium. \u201cBy the time we got to the end of the show we were pouring sweat,\u201d she said. \u201cWell I wasn\u2019t, because I\u2019d been dead for a while, but Derek and the guy playing Laertes were just sopping. We\u2019d done all the usual curtain calls and everything, and then Peter O\u2019Toole comes wavering on to the stage.\u201dO\u2019Toole, then almost 50 and skeletal-gaunt, was carrying in his hands a little red book. As the audience hushed he explained that the book was given to the actor who was considered the definitive Hamlet of his generation. When O\u2019Toole had played the part in 1963, the actor Michael Redgrave had given him the book. Redgrave had been given it by someone else, a great actor of the previous generation, and now O\u2019Toole was passing it on to Jacobi, who in turn could give it to whomever he pleased.The notion that each generation has its definitive Hamlet is a critical will-o\u2019-the-wisp that has dogged the play almost since it was written. The Edwardian essayist Max Beerbohm called Shakespeare\u2019s most famous part \u201ca hoop through which every eminent actor must, sooner or later, jump\u201d, but only one actor in thousands gets to \u201cgive\u201d his or her Hamlet in a professional production. \u201cEveryone \u2014 great, good, bad or indifferent \u2014 wants to play Hamlet,\u201d the actor Christopher Plummer once said.Why? The question feels redundant. If you are someone who needs to perform, you are someone who needs to perform Hamlet. In Withnail and I, the 1987 cult comedy film about actors and their ambitions, the bloated, fey, lecherous character known as Uncle Monty has a short speech on the subject: \u201cIt is the most shattering experience of a young man\u2019s life when, one morning, he awakes and quite reasonably says to himself, \u2018I will never play the Dane.\u2019 When that moment comes, one\u2019s ambition ceases.\u201dEarlier this year, I set out to find the red book. As a trophy, a tradition, a secret succession, it seemed to embody some of the most romantic ideas about the part. I felt that in mapping its passage from player to player, I could trace a shadow history of the thing that has been driving the whole theatrical world for centuries: ambition. This is what brought me to ask the retired Wymark about her encounter with the book. And this is how I eventually came to be standing outside a rambling, gabled cottage in north London, uncertain about whether to ring the bell until a vast Shakespearean sneeze told me I was at the right place. The door opened and I shook hands with a neat, elderly man who looked just like Derek Jacobi. The living room, decorated with antique furniture and hung with flower paintings, left an impression of a precisely chosen life. I said that I wanted to ask him about a red, leather-bound book, handed down from actor to actor, that had passed through his hands decades ago. I said he might be the oldest living actor to have held it in his hands. He furrowed an alpine brow and fixed his pale blue eyes on a tiny point just past my left eye. \u201cOh God,\u201d he moaned, in an agony of remembrance. \u201cIt was a little copy of Hamlet\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009\u201dOf course, there is no definitive Hamlet. This is true, and so obviously true that people have been saying it for hundreds of years. \u201cThere is no such thing as Shakespeare\u2019s Hamlet,\u201d wrote Oscar Wilde. \u201cThere are as many Hamlets as there are melancholies.\u201d This is true! Hamlet is sour, obedient, suicidal, sarcastic, self-indulgent, flip and outright murderous before the end of his second scene. Modern scholarship has been wincingly keen to stress the heterogeneity of possible responses. As I once heard a professor say in a university seminar, should we be speaking of Hamlets, rather than Hamlet?Perhaps. But we should also be honest: that sucks and we hate it. We also can\u2019t ignore the genealogy of great Hamlets that exists, stretching all the way back to Richard Burbage, Shakespeare\u2019s star performer and business partner, for whom the role was written. That the character and the play are both radically unstable and look totally different in different hands seems to have made us more eager to pinpoint a single actor\u2019s performance as the one. Producers, theatre managers, actors and journalists have connived to reinforce that idea. Hamlet does offer an actor a scope and centrality that no other part does. \u201cIt\u2019s the great personality role in Shakespeare,\u201d Jacobi explained when we were sitting down, his hands conducting the silence around him as he spoke. He had settled in a winged leopard-print armchair, like a portrait of himself. On the side table was an Olivier Award, a small bronze sculpture of the great Laurence Olivier himself, the man who won both Best Actor and Best Picture for his 1948 film of Hamlet, and then launched the National Theatre in 1963 with a production of the play. \u201cYou use much more of your own personality as Hamlet,\u201d Jacobi said, \u201crather than becoming Hamlet by going out and acquiring things.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009Hamlet will look how the actor looks, sound how he sounds, move how he moves. You play yourself as Hamlet.\u201dJacobi first came to prominence as a teenage Hamlet, in an eye-catchingly serious schoolboy production at the Edinburgh festival fringe. In his early twenties he joined the germinal National Theatre and played opposite O\u2019Toole\u2019s Hamlet as Laertes. In his forties, he was given the red book by O\u2019Toole, filmed in the role and toured the world. He was sworn to revenge under sheets of pelting rain outside the real Elsinore castle in Denmark. He soliloquised and played mad by the Egyptian Sphinx as the sun set. A particular challenge of playing the part, Jacobi told me, is delivering lines so famous they risk breaking the audience\u2019s suspension of disbelief. In his production, the second act began with Hamlet\u2019s most famous soliloquy. Unusually, it was played as a speech delivered to Ophelia, rather than on an empty stage. In Sydney, at the end of the tour, Jacobi was waiting nervously in the wings. \u201cI thought, \u2018This is probably the most famous line in all drama. What if I forgot it? What if I went on and my mind went blank?\u2019 And I went on, and I started\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009\u201cTo be, or not to be, that is the question\/ Whether \u2019tis nobler in the mind to suffer\/ The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune\/ Or\u2013Or\u2013Or\u2013Or\u2013\u201dBlinded to the astonishment of a thousand spectators by the force of the footlights, Jacobi realised he\u2019d dried. Dried completely. It wasn\u2019t like he\u2019d forgotten the words. It was like he\u2019d never known them. An entire minute of silence passed, until he was audibly given his line by Ophelia. Somehow, he got through the performance and the rest of the run. Afterwards, Jacobi didn\u2019t go on stage again for two years. When I mentioned the incident, his eyes turned tight and hooded. He asked to talk about something else. Sensing my cue, I returned to the red book.\u201cOh God. Rich!\u201d he called into the next room. \u201cWho did I give the book to?\u201d\u201cYou gave it to Ken Branagh,\u201d called Richard Clifford, Jacobi\u2019s partner, from offstage.\u201cKen! I gave it to Ken,\u201d said Jacobi. Then, calling back: \u201cWho did Ken give the book to?\u201d\u201cTom Hiddleston!\u201d\u201cTom! He gave it to Tom.\u201dI asked how he had received the book himself and he went back into the trance of remembrance. \u201cNow, I was playing Hamlet at the Old Vic. And at the curtain call one night, Peter O\u2019Toole came on to the stage with this book and gave it to me. And he had originally been given it by\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009Oh\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009\u201d He trailed off, unable to remember Redgrave.\u201cOh!\u201d cried Clifford from the kitchen.\u201cOh!\u201d cried Jacobi in the living room.Johnston Forbes-Robertson. That was the name of the first owner of the red book. Forbes-Robertson was a legendary Victorian actor who played Hamlet into his sixties. The book itself was a Temple Shakespeare, a handsome reader\u2019s edition of the play printed around the turn of the century and bound in red leather. He probably bought it in a West End bookshop, pacing around between rehearsals. Or so I\u2019m told by Russell Jackson, an emeritus professor at the University of Birmingham. \u201cIt would have been instantly recognisable,\u201d he told me. \u201cYou can hold it more or less in the palm of your hand.\u201dIn 1996, Jackson was working as a script consultant on a film of Hamlet directed by Branagh, who was then in the middle of a hurtling, flame-tipped ascent to near-unprecedented eminence among Shakespearean actors. As a leading man who had run his own theatre company and could direct and star in internationally released film adaptations of the plays, there was no one to compare him to but Olivier. He was now at work on a princely four-hour fantasia, shot amid fake fallen snow at Blenheim Palace with himself in the starring role.He had cast his old hero, Jacobi, as Hamlet\u2019s murderous uncle Claudius. On his last day of shooting, after the traditional applause that follows a final take, Jacobi asked for silence. Jackson kept a diary at the time: \u201c[Jacobi] holds up a red-bound copy of the play that successive actors have passed on to each other, with the condition that the recipient should give it in turn to the finest Hamlet of the next generation. It has come from Forbes-Robertson, a great Hamlet at the turn of the century, to Derek, via Henry Ainley, Michael Redgrave, Peter O\u2019Toole and others. Now he gives it to Ken.\u201dHamlet had been a pivotal document in Branagh\u2019s life. As a teenager in 1977, he had seen Jacobi play the role at the New Theatre in Oxford. In his memoir, he remembers it as one of the moments that inspired him to become an actor. \u201cI didn\u2019t understand it at all, but I was amazed by the power of it because it seemed to be affecting my body. I got the shakes at times.\u201dTwo years later, Branagh went to interview Jacobi, who was then playing Hamlet at the Old Vic. \u201cI got a note from someone called Ken Branagh, saying, could he interview me for Rada\u2019s magazine?\u201d Jacobi told me, referring to the prestigious London acting school Branagh attended. \u201cHe was a personable young man. He asked good questions. As he left, he said: \u2018I\u2019m going to be playing Hamlet one day, and you\u2019re going to be in it.\u2019\u201d\u201cKen,\u201d Jacobi added with a smile, \u201cwasn\u2019t slow in coming forward.\u201dIt was no secret that Branagh had set his sights on matching, even reanimating, Olivier\u2019s career. With his movie of Hamlet, he was threatening to run away with the crown. But while the film won plaudits from some critics, it made back only around a quarter of its budget, and Branagh was nominated only for best adapted screenplay at the Oscars, a curiously backhanded compliment for a Hamlet that advertised itself as the complete text. Branagh held on to the book for more than 20 years, passing over several acclaimed Hamlets (David Tennant\u2019s agonised spectre foremost among them) in that time. \u201cI took special pains to make sure it was preserved,\u201d said Branagh, who was reached with written questions via an agent and an aide during the shooting of his new film. \u201cI felt the book was something rather treasured and private, and not something that you in any way crowed about. You were a temporary custodian.\u201d In 2017, he finally handed the red book on to the actor sometimes thought of as his prot\u00e9g\u00e9, Hiddleston.So there it was. Redgrave to O\u2019Toole to Jacobi to Branagh to Hiddleston. But still, something wasn\u2019t adding up. I began desperately ringing round old actors asking for snippets of information about the red book, and started reciting the list of names from Jackson\u2019s diary entry: Forbes-Robertson, Ainley, Redgrave, O\u2019Toole, Jacobi, among others. Every time I read the list, everyone said the same thing. Where the hell is Olivier?Here is a story about Laurence Olivier. Once upon a time, in the early 1800s, there was a great Shakespearean actor called Edmund Kean. He was the Hamlet of the Romantics. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote that watching him was \u201clike reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning\u201d. Kean was also renowned for playing Shakespeare\u2019s other great soliloquist, Richard III. As the hunchbacked villain, Kean would rage and swagger and strut about, swishing a great sword in his hand. That sword was passed to William Chippendale, a member of Kean\u2019s company. Chippendale gave it to an actor called Henry Irving, who gave it to the great Ellen Terry who, we understand, gave it to her great nephew. His name was John Gielgud. Gielgud gave the sword to his contemporary, Olivier, telling him to pass it on to the great actor of the next generation. And Olivier kept it.He is rumoured to have been buried with it. Certainly, the sword has not been seen since his death. (One of the last people to see it was Jacobi, who confirmed to me that Olivier still had it as a very old man.) Is Olivier really lying in his grave with no tongue between his teeth and Kean\u2019s sword beside him? If he is, it feels like a little parable about the sharp, inward points of ambition. Here was a man who got everything and more from a life in the theatre. But he couldn\u2019t bear to part with a prop sword.The question of why Olivier never received the book becomes more pressing when you read the letters he received playing Hamlet from the Edwardian actor Henry Ainley, the book\u2019s second owner. On opening night, January 5 1937, Ainley telegrammed Olivier in his dressing room: \u201cTHE READINESS IS ALL.\u201d Later that night he wrote: \u201cYou, my sweet, are the Mecca\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009Pay no heed to the critics, they do not know. You are playing Hamlet; therefore you are a king [\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009] You rank, now among the great.\u201dAinley\u2019s hornily free-associating letters seem to imply a physical affair at times. \u201cLarry darling, I have been tossing (now now) about at night thinking of you,\u201d he writes in one of the letters, currently kept by the British Library. \u201cWell, you know what you did. I can\u2019t walk [\u2009.\u2009.\u2009.\u2009] And the child has your eyes.\u201d Yet it is Olivier\u2019s fame that Ainley most obviously covets. \u201cSoon you will be like [me],\u201d he writes in another. \u201cYour public, your following all gone, dear old boy! The harlequinade. We do not endure!\u201d There is no mention in their correspondence of the red book. Whether Ainley had already given the book away, or felt compelled to hang on to it, or simply had forgotten it, remains a matter of speculation.It\u2019s not the only agonising gap in the archive. In 1963, an older Olivier cast Peter O\u2019Toole in the production of Hamlet that would open the National Theatre. O\u2019Toole had already played a wild, revelatory Hamlet at the Bristol Old Vic in 1958, in which he famously climbed the proscenium arch mid-performance. It was an interpretation that harnessed the young actor\u2019s modernity. \u201cHe\u2019s a lean, lank, individualist Teddy Boy!\u201d one reviewer enthused. But in 1963, Olivier had other ideas. \u201cIt was very strange,\u201d remembers Si\u00e2n Phillips, O\u2019Toole\u2019s then wife, now aged 91. \u201cLarry [Olivier] had talked him into this terrible costume. He looked like Little Lord Fauntleroy, with a Peter Pan collar and clean, beautifully cut dyed blond hair.\u201dPhillips thought Olivier seemed to want to trim the edges off her husband. \u201cLarry had this new kind of concept of a very tidy Hamlet, which was the opposite of what [O\u2019Toole] did best. But he had such regard for Larry, who was flattering him enormously. He just did everything asked of him.\u201d Phillips had put her own starry career on hold to let O\u2019Toole have the spotlight. She did his filing and kept track of gifts he had been given, making sure people were thanked, which was why she found it strange that she\u2019d never heard of the red book. Together, we wondered if the unhappy production had made it a sore point for her husband. \u201cThe thought did cross my mind once or twice that Olivier might be trying to sabotage him,\u201d she said. \u201cBut how could he want to do that on the opening night of the National Theatre?\u201d On the other end of the phone, I thought of Kean\u2019s sword.Perhaps this is harsh. Perhaps we can understand the desire to have and hold on to a physical token of fame, strength, adulation, applause, youth \u2014 the things that slip away from even the greatest artists. All performers live in fear of unemployment and redundancy, and even the successful ones are loved, fiercely and temporarily, for being someone they\u2019re not. \u201cToday kings, tomorrow beggars, it is only when they are themselves that they are nothing,\u201d wrote William Hazlitt, the English essayist. \u201cBritish theatre has traditionally privileged innovation,\u201d the Shakespearean scholar Michael Dobson told me. In France, he explained, you could see Ph\u00e8dre performed with the same gestures, the same intonation, for hundreds of years. \u201cThe British are always inventing new things, like gas lighting and ways of doing ghosts with mirrors. It\u2019s never the old, boring Hamlet your parents used to like. It\u2019s always got this young, original, absolutely real actor in it, instead of those stylised old geezers.\u201dIn which case, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories about great actors who fell from fashion. It was Burbage who first delivered Hamlet\u2019s acting advice to the players: \u201cO\u2019erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as \u2019twere, the mirror up to nature.\u201dUntil the modern day, actors didn\u2019t play big roles just once or twice in their careers, in a long run of performances. They performed them frequently. Even in Shakespeare\u2019s time, actors became associated with certain parts in the minds of spectators. Burbage died in March 1619, and the funeral baked meats were hardly cold when he was replaced by another actor, Joseph Taylor. An unreliable but enticing story has it that Burbage taught Taylor, and Taylor taught the next great Hamlet, Thomas Betterton. Betterton was the Hamlet of Restoration theatre, among the first to play opposite women. Confronting his father\u2019s ghost, Betterton\u2019s Hamlet could \u201cturn his colour\u201d, as though his face had drained of blood with fright. Betterton made his face \u201cpale as his neck cloth\u201d. Betterton died in 1710, immortality assured. Within a few decades his reputation had been all but vaporised by the greatest actor of the century, David Garrick. Garrick was almost a religion among theatregoers. \u201cThat young man never had his equal as an actor, and will never have a rival,\u201d was the poet and critic Alexander Pope\u2019s verdict. Garrick was both a shameless showman and pioneering realist. He played Hamlet in a mechanical fright wig that made his hair stand on end when activated.Garrick was replaced by John Philip Kemble, a severe and statuesque Hamlet. In the early 19th century, Kemble was outmoded by Kean, whose ascendant star was quickly selling out theatres. \u201cPlaces are secured at Drury Lane for Saturday, but so great is the rage for seeing Kean that only a third and fourth row could be got,\u201d wrote Jane Austen, struggling to get seats. Out with the old. Next came Samuel Phelps, the actor-manager who first made a point of performing the original texts of Shakespeare\u2019s plays. He was toppled by Henry Irving, a drawn and gothic actor. Irving was supposedly the inspiration for Dracula; his theatre manager was Bram Stoker. Enter the melancholic, effeminate figure of Forbes-Robertson, the first owner of our red book. His Hamlet, first performed in 1897 and still being revived into his sixties, was in some ways the last definitive stage performance in this unofficial, highly debatable but surprisingly enduring tradition. \u201cNothing half so charming,\u201d George Bernard Shaw wrote of his performance, \u201chas been seen by this generation.\u201d Orson Welles described one recording of Forbes-Robertson as the most beautiful Shakespearean verse-speaking he ever heard. You can still listen to it on YouTube, uploaded from an ancient LP.\u201cThe next reference to the actor\u2019s art,\u201d creaks the old voice above the hiss of imperfectly transcribed sound, \u201cis Hamlet\u2019s advice to the players, written, obviously, by an actor who has complete command of his calling.\u201d In a voice ponderous with time but still capable of lightness and precision, he begins the passage in which Hamlet gives notes to a theatrical troupe. \u201cSpeak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue.\u201dForbes-Robertson would have seen more clearly than many of his successors how rapidly the galaxy of theatrical ambition was expanding. He was the first great Hamlet to play the part on film, in a lumpy silent production in 1913. If that film looks stagey and stylised to modern eyes, then looking back at these nested revolutions in realism, it\u2019s also obvious that old actors have always looked that way in the eyes of their successors. Naturalism is just the style each era brings with it. Hamlet\u2019s advice was itself part of this reach towards the endlessly receding goal of the real. To an Elizabethan audience, the travelling troupe with their heroic verse and stagey couplets would have seemed obviously to belong to a previous generation of players, one playwrights like Shakespeare, and plays such as Hamlet, were making redundant. Hamlet says to the players what the theatre is always saying: be young, be modern, be new.You can\u2019t ask too much of very famous actors. Basic professionalism demands that they don\u2019t tell you anything too interesting. They live like criminals, travelling under pseudonyms and booking the front seat on aeroplanes. We abhor in their personal lives the basic human latitude we praise in their work. \u201cI am myself indifferent honest yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me,\u201d Hamlet says to Ophelia. \u201cWhat should such fellows as I do, crawling between heaven and earth?\u201dI had hundreds of questions for Hiddleston, the 43-year-old star of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and current holder of the red book. Unfortunately, Hiddleston is not an easy man to reach. As the man who plays Loki in the Marvel series (global gross about $30bn), he has been watched at his craft by an unimaginable number of human eyes. He does his work in green-screen and widescreen settings that would also have been unimaginable to 90 per cent of the people named in this article. Where Burbage played Hamlet without an interval, Hiddleston\u2019s fame is a postmodern mosaic, put together in franchise films with an average shot length of two seconds. Given that he commands multimillion-dollar fees for these acts of cinematic pointillism, you may imagine his time is precious. I was able to reach him by phone for 15 minutes during press week for Loki season 2\u2019s Emmy campaign. \u201cGood morning,\u201d he said, dialling in from Los Angeles. \u201cI mean, sorry, good evening.\u201dHiddleston played Hamlet in a fundraiser production for Rada directed by Branagh in 2017. He told me how he had left drama school and joined Declan Donnellan\u2019s Cheek by Jowl theatre company, standing out as Cassio in a somewhat legendary modern Othello, in which Ewan McGregor played Iago opposite Chiwetel Ejiofor in the lead. Branagh saw the production and persuaded Marvel studios to let him cast this relative unknown in Thor, which then grossed almost half a billion dollars. Afterwards, they sat down for lunch and Branagh suggested Hamlet. \u201cAnd I said, \u2018I would absolutely love to do it with you. What an honour.\u2019\u201dThe production played for three weeks in Rada\u2019s tiny theatre, with tickets that were won by lottery. Among the critics, Michael Billington, Britain\u2019s most decorated theatre writer, was one of the few to have got a seat. \u201cIf I had to pick out Hiddleston\u2019s key quality, it would be his ability to combine a sweet sadness with an incandescent fury,\u201d Billington wrote in his review. On Saturdays, Hiddleston remembered, there were gala performances for graduates and theatrical somebodies. \u201cI think at the first one almost everybody with the last name \u2018Attenborough\u2019 in the UK was in attendance.\u201dOn one of these evenings, a glass was clinked with a spoon. Jacobi began to speak, explaining something about a book that had passed from actor to actor. \u201cAnd then Ken was at the microphone, explaining that the responsibility of the keeper of the book is that they pass it on to the next generation. And suddenly Ken said, \u2018I\u2019d like to present it to Tom.\u2019\u201dWe were 10 minutes into our 15. I looked at my list of questions \u2014 on frontispieces, annotations, signatures, printing quirks \u2014 about the red book. Hiddleston was in LA. The book was in London. He was not contractually obliged to talk to me, as he was to the other journalists who were waiting on iPhones all over the world. All that was sustaining this conversation was the actor\u2019s private enthusiasm for the kind of acting he is rarely, if ever, able to do anymore.Hiddleston began to talk at length. He said the gift of playing the part was to be presented with the most beautiful, profound poetry written in English about the question of being alive, of death, of the possibility of spiritual life after death. An email arrived saying our time was up. \u201cIt has the effect of making me feel more alive,\u201d Hiddleston was saying. \u201cLearning and internalising those great soliloquies, and having to perform them, there is no escaping those big questions of what it means to be alive,\u201d he went on, the minutes ticking by. \u201cAnd actually I find it very reassuring to ask those questions. I find it repetitively reassuring to say those words. Because it actually makes your life mean something.\u201dFollow @FTMag to find out about our latest stories first and subscribe to our podcast Life and Art wherever you listen<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Summarize this content to 2000 words in 6 paragraphs in Arabic \u201cIt must have been in about 1979, I was in New York on holiday. I was sitting up with a friend, and we were both stoned as owls.\u201d Jane Wymark was retelling her brush with a piece of theatre history. She recalled the sound<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[65],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-94307","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-culture"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/94307","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=94307"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/94307\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":94308,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/94307\/revisions\/94308"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=94307"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=94307"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/globetimeline.com\/ar\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=94307"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}