"But, I know you’ll protest that Shakespeare’s language, though elegant on the page, becomes heavy and purple onscreen and that otherwise likable actors become bloated and declamatory when they’re forced to speak it." Actually, I would argue the opposite: that, yes, Shakespeare's language is elegant, but on the page it reads rather heavily, so bogged down with words that have fallen out of favor (I suppose "cock-a-hoop" had to go if the OED was gonna make room for "thingamabob"). While I get a kick out of all those old words, it doesn't always make for an easy read, checking the footnotes every few lines... which is why Shakespeare feels so alive and so relevant when transposed to screen (and stage, of course). Hearing the cadences, coupled with visual cues, the language stops feeling faintly foreign. The comedies, especially, I think, benefit from being loosed from the page. I wasn't very familiar with Shakespeare's comedies prior to this little experiment of ours (I've only read Much Ado About Nothing). After weeks of cramming the tragedies – one after another after another – all that murderous plotting and tortured speechmaking had sent me into something of a tailspin of dour, which is why it was such a blessed relief to watch two modern takes on the comedies.

I know I’m a snob. In my defense, I came by it honestly. My father was a snob; his father was a snob; his father’s father was a snob, and on and on, traversing time and space, to Brooklyn, to Minsk, to Russia, to Palestine, through vast history to the Garden of Eden, which a relative of mine chose to leave because it “lacked imagination.” Speaking of snobbery, I’m here, at this late hour, to introduce round three, in which our heroes battle it out over the relative value of tragedy versus comedy. Being a snob (and a morbid soul) I’ll be defending tragedy, which would seem, in the case of Shakespeare movies, to be the lighter load, as I don’t know anybody – anybody – who likes Shakespeare’s comedies. But, since you’ve been brave enough to take the burnt side of this particular piece of toast, the least I can do is provide you with fodder for your morning post. And here it is:

Actually, I said I’d rather watch 10 Things I Hate About You over Zefferelli’s Taming of the Shrew, and I stand by that statement – for the reasons I mentioned earlier, about the sometimes-tedium of slavish adaptations high on their mightiness, and also because I’m more interested in watching how a modern film explores through humor a teenaged girl’s budding feminism in a genre too-often consumed with the particulars of how a teenage boy gets his cherry popped – and the crowd goes wild! – than sitting through another rehash of an utterly antiquated, utterly misogynistic play. The Taming of the Shrew was of a certain time – a long, long time ago, I might add – and why would anyone want to faithfully re-create that? 400 years on, can’t we do something a little more interesting than that? But no, my larger complaint is with your “Take note, world! Kim Jones likes crappy teen comedies!” I don’t have any insecurities about my taste, or my ability to differentiate between quality moviemaking and a more disposable entertainment. But I’m not gonna sniff at the value of plain old entertainment – I’m just going to feel especially blessed when the twain do meet. And since you asked: Say Anything, Fucking Amal (Show Me Love), Igby Goes Down, Brick, Flirting, Running on Empty, Murmur of the Heart, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, Pleasantville, Heathers, Stand and Deliver, Hoosiers, Splendor in the Grass, Pump up the Volume, Hoop Dreams, But I’m a Cheerleader, Breaking Away, and – wait for it – Can’t Hardly Wait All ten fingers, and almost ten toes. You, sir, are a snob. Isn’t this fun?

Real quick: Kim and I are always looking for ideas for future Film Fights, and we'd love to hear any suggestions you might have. So please send us your ideas via the "comment" link at the bottom of each entry, and if we use one of them, I bet there'll be something in it for you. Not something you want, probably, but still ... Now, back to barracks ...

It would be hard to sit here and argue against Throne of Blood and say that simply because Kurosawa chose to ignore Shakespeare’s language, his movie isn’t as good as it could be. Throne of Blood is so beautiful and so terrifying and so intense and so dark and dreary and so totally idiosyncratic that to take a position against it would be pure folly. Not that I’m against pure folly, mind you. In fact some of my shining moments have been acts of pure folly (in fact, most of my moments in general have been acts of pure folly). But I’m no sucker, and I try not to walk into punches if I can avoid it, so I’ll leave Kurosawa alone. But that doesn’t mean that other, mere mortal filmmakers can take the storyline of a Shakespeare play and hope it will provide the framework for great entertainment. Like I said earlier this afternoon (when I was young), Shakespeare the storyteller leaves a lot to be desired, so it’s best when adapting his work to the big screen to rely on Shakespeare the poet, get yourself some actors who know what to do with his words, and go from there. It’s the surest way to glory. But, I know you’ll protest that Shakespeare’s language, though elegant on the page, becomes heavy and purple onscreen and that otherwise likable actors become bloated and declamatory when they’re forced to speak it. Which, of course, is true. But let’s face it: Any writer’s language is insufferable when the wrong actor is using it. Remember watching Kenneth Branagh stumble and stutter his way through Woody Allen’s Celebrity, trying vainly, and with all his customary classical bombast, to capture the stuttering New York wit and self-flagellation of the classic Allen schlemiel? It was as excruciating as listening to Keanu Reeves botch up Branagh’s own Much Ado About Nothing five years earlier ... and not half as funny.

First of all, Kim, let me say that it’s a dirty trick using what a man tells you in confidence against him on a public blog … and I applaud you for it. But now I have to take back my applause back because I don’t know how else to show my disappointment with someone who’d rather watch 10 Things I Hate About You than Romeo and Juliet. You’d rather watch 10 Things I Hate About You than Romeo and Juliet. I’m not even sure what to do with a sentence like that except hope it’s actually some foreign language I’ve never seen before. I’d like it written somewhere in the official record that Kim Jones – film critic, film fan, Film Fighter – likes 10 Things I Hate About You, a movie that stars Julia Stiles. Surely that’s got to be worth 15% of today’s vote in my favor. As for that scene you chose to broadcast, I can’t decide if it’s a bigger slander on Shakespeare or Frankie Valli. I’m going to say Frankie Valli because Shakespeare can take care of himself and because Frankie Valli could use the press. And also because “Sherry” is a fantastic song. As is “Rag Doll.” And because I’m big enough to look past “Grease.” To make matters worse, the scene takes place in a high school, and high school movies, I’ve decided, are the lowest rung of the cinema ladder, the dregs of the medium, right behind movies starring little kids. In fact, I think I could count the number of good high school movies on two hands if I had to. Which I guess I now do: Rushmore, Election, Rebel Without a Cause, Risky Business, Friday Night Lights, Back to the Future, Welcome to the Dollhouse, Blackboard Jungle, Dead Poets Society, Donnie Darko, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and Dazed & Confused. All right, two hands plus two fingers. And I challenge you, and I challenge anyone reading this, to come up with any others. If anyone can make the argument that there are 10 more good high school movies out there, I’ll gladly concede today’s round; plus I’ll sing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” on the floor of the Texas State Senate dressed as Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club. Which reminds me: John Hughes movies don’t count … because they’re John Hughes movies and you all need to grow up.

After reading your snarky cut-down of West Side Story – and, jeez, what did Russ Tamblyn ever do to you anyway? – I thought long and hard about whether or not it was ... hmmm... sporting of me to take things that you've mentioned, whether in casual conversation or the strictest of confidences, and then use them against you here in this public forum. In short: to exploit our friendship in an attempt to win a silly little thing called Film Fight. Do you really need to ask which side I came down on? Thusly: Don't be an asshat, Josh. I know you love West Side Story. And I think our readership deserves to know, too.

Did you really just respond to my calling you out by referencing a movie starring Richard Beymer, whose greatest role since has been as Harry Williams in a one-episode story arc on The Man From U.N.C.L.E.? I mention Ian McKellen, and you come back with Russ Tamblyn? I speak of Shakespeare, and you reply with Sondheim? Here’s the thing. Shakespeare didn’t tell particularly good stories. Try as I have during my life to defend every part of Hamlet and Othello, the simple fact is that there are enormous narrative holes is Shakespeare’s plays that he fills in with absurdity. Remember Act V of Hamlet? The house of cards is on the table and ready to fall: Hamlet knows Claudius killed his father, Claudius knows Hamlet knows, and Hamlet knows Claudius knows he knows (and little lambs eat ivy). Hamlet has killed Polonious (which everybody knows) and in response Ophelia has killed herself by excessive clothes-wearing (which everybody but Hamlet knows). Laertes – knowing all of the above – wants to kill Hamlet, and Claudius – knowing Hamlet knows he killed his father, has tried to kill Hamlet using Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who don’t know anything. So … Hamlet is out to kill Claudius, Claudius is out to kill Hamlet, Laertes is out to kill Hamlet … and everybody knows everything. The perfect time for an all-out brawl (or "rumble," if you prefer), right? So what do they do?

First of all, you're too quick to belly-ache -- you're winning, bucko. Back to business: So, yes, with West Side Story, I opened with the big guns. But I've got more ammunition, so here goes. Let's remember we're not arguing the merits of Shakespeare, per se, but rather the films adapted from Shakespeare. Do I think the script for 10 Things I Hate About You is superior to Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew? Of course not. Would I gladly watch 10 Things – a surprisingly sparky little teen comedy – over Zefferelli's shrill, theatrical version any of the day week? You're damn right I would. How about Macbeth? I haven't yet been able to track down Orson Welles' take, nor have I seen Polanski's version since high school (all I remember, with a shudder, is a decapitated head), so I can't say much of anything about either. But I have seen Kurosawa's Throne of Blood, which shifts the action to feudal Japan, adopts its aesthetic from Noh theatre, and doesn't include a lick of the original Shakespearean language. Is it a lesser film for it? Or a more inspired one? (By the way, do you think Kurosawa's stand-in for the three witches – a spooky dead warrior spinning a sewing wheel – inspired Wanted's doofy Loom of Fate?) And what about some more contemporary takes on ye olde Bard? The BBC's Shakespeare ReTold series rejiggered Macbeth to riff on cutthroat kitchen culture. And the terrific, totally underappreciated indie comedy Scotland, PA transposed the action to a Seventies-era fast food restaurant and crafted, in Maura Tierney's oversexed, foul-mouthed Lady Macbeth, the sexiest scheming-bitch portrayal of Lady M I've seen.