I can't stop thinking about this play.

I've missed the point completely with Coriolanus. I was so wrapped up in mocking him for being a douche that I lost sight of the reality of the play: everyone is a douche.

And that's what makes it brilliant.

See, this play is different. In every. single. other. Renaissance tragedy, we have clearly defined characters, and at any given point we know who we should be rooting for. We know that in the beginning of Edward II, for instance, we should be firmly behind Mortimer Jr., then Clarence, then Edward II, and finally Edward III. Whether we like the character or not, whether we agree with their prior actions or not, it's pretty evident which character should be viewed in a sympathetic light. And by the end of the play, everyone has received their just desserts.

But not Coriolanus. You see, all the characters are douches. Sure, you might think that Coriolanus is being screwed over by the tribunes, but he brought it on himself with his arrogance and peevishness. And you might think that the tribunes are petty and nasty characters, but they're right. Whatever their motives, Coriolanus is indeed an almost tyrannical figure who clearly despises the people of the city. And Aufidius? He's a total and completely envious backstabbing tool, but he's also entirely justified -- Coriolanus saw no problem in pushing Aufidius, hero of his city and worthy combatant, aside at the first opportunity. The vain mother, the icy wife, even the fickle mob -- not one of these figures receives even a single moment of sympathetic treatment.

And then there's that ending, that ending where nobody receives what they should. The only person who dies is Coriolanus, but by the time of his death he's no more the Coriolanus that we started the play with -- he's different, older, wiser, defeated by the monstrosity of the action he had contemplated, defeated by conscience and mother.

Coriolanus:
O mother, mother!
What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!
You have won a happy victory to Rome;
But for your son,--believe it, O, believe it,
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
If not most mortal to him.

Coriolanus knows what going back to Corioli means, and he doesn't care. He expresses this almost Christlike resignation towards death. And when Aufidius makes his move on Coriolanus, Coriolanus is prepared -- if he's going to die, it'll be on his own terms:

CORIOLANUS.
Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,
Stain all your edges on me.--Boy! False hound!
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli:
Alone I did it.--Boy!

And so he dies, calling for the knife as if he was trying to attract the attention of a negligent waiter. And in his death, even the mob that moments prior bayed for his blood find no joy. Even the man he wronged, who led the plot that took his life, found the act meaningless.

AUFIDIUS.
My rage is gone;
And I am struck with sorrow.--Take him up:--
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.--
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully;
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,h
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.--
Assist.

There is no struggle, no hatred beyond the fleeting passions of a moment -- just the acknowledgment that a deed must be done, and that some men must do it. We are left with a bleak, almost dystopian, picture of the society that remains. The good are not rewarded, the base are not punished -- rather, the actions of both good and evil are ignored, with the only one to suffer having brought it on himself. There's an almost terrifying lack of motive for most of the events of the play. What I mean is that in Othello, the plot moves at the dictates of Iago. In The Revenger's Tragedy, Vindice is the puppet master. In the Spanish Tragedy, each segment of the play involves the machinations of a different character. But in Coriolanus, things happen just because -- there is no external personality driving the course of the play, just people doing things. It's unique.

And even though I loathe the characters, even though I yearn for a more complete resolution, even though I hate having to say this, Coriolanus is without a doubt the most original and best constructed play that Shakespeare ever did. I just wish it wasn't so darned depressing. But, as a faceless extra says at the end of the play, let's make the best of it.