U - “Unction”

Shakespeare’s only usage of the word “unction” appears in Hamlet—twice, and with dueling definitions. First, Hamlet chides Gertrude in the closet scene, saying “Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, / That not your trespass, but my madness speaks” (3.4.145-146). Later, Laertes says, in conference with Claudius:

I bought an unction of a mountebank,

So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,

Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,

Collected from all simples that have virtue

Under the moon, can save the thing from death

That is but scratch'd withal… (Hamlet, 4.7.136-141)

The first reference is to an ointment or soothing balm, and the second to deadly poison. Several of Shakespeare’s plays involve balms and poisons, e.g. the magical flower juice in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, or the asp’s venom in Antony and Cleopatra. Most famously, Friar Lawrence in Romeo and Juliet shows his apothecary knowledge:

Within the infant rind of this weak flower

Poison hath residence and medicine power:

For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;

Being tasted, stays all senses with the heart. 

Two such opposed kings encamp them still

In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will…(Romeo and Juliet, 2.3.23-28)

There are a number of possible plant-based poisons from which Laertes’s unction could have been derived, one of which is the English yew tree, which is well known to be toxic and can be absorbed through the skin. But the yew is also a “medicine power” for the Kings of England; the wood was used to fashion powerful longbows, which are historically credited as the main reason the outnumbered army of King Henry V snatched victory from the jaws of defeat at Agincourt in 1415. 

Hamlet is as much concerned with the effects of unctions in man as it is with the body politic. When the Prince sees Fortinbras’ army marching to gain “a patch of ground / That hath in it no profit but the name” (4.4.18-19), he equates Norway to a man suddenly sickened with no external cause:

This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace,

That inward breaks, and shows no cause without

Why the man dies. (Hamlet, 4.4.27-19)

The legendary Battle of Agincourt has been depicted in Olivier’s adaptation of Henry V (1944) as well as Branagh’s version in 1989, with the former colorfully glorifying its triumph to succor nationalistic pride during World War II, and the latter grimly exemplifying the grisly, bloody reality of combat—a cinematic criticism of the wars in Vietnam and the Falklands.

Major Hollywood films in the 40s and 50s almost always glorified war and war heroes, as the studio heads strived to appear patriotic and promote Americans’ support of the Allied forces in Europe and Japan. The McCarthy Era loomed large over the industry, with the senator’s infamous hearings pillorying any and all celebrities who expressed an inkling of dissent against the government, painting them deep red as communists attempting to brainwash audiences. But as the televised conflicts of 60s and 70s piped into homes, and the suppressive hand of the Hays Code fell away, war films became more gritty and realistic, and viewers began to feel unfettered abhorrence. The unction of motion picture propaganda proved both poison and medicine for viewers of opposed generations.

Sources:

Henry V on Film: Oliver vs. Branagh

Wikipedia: Battle of Agincourt

Wikipedia: Hays Code