Robert Menzies as Lear. Photo: Brett Boardman
An epic play and an epic performance from Robert Menzies as the cantankerous, incredulous and increasingly befuddled old monarch who loses his grip on his mind as he gives away his kingdom. The play was first performed in 1606, in the very early years of James I of England’s reign (it would hardly have been politic to portray the divvying up of kingdoms in his predecessor Elizabeth I’s reign, Scotland being such a pestiferous neighbour for such a long while. As it was, James I united England and Scotland, and primogeniture reigned again (for a short while). The original King Leir (on which Shakespeare’s play is based) was set in Britain around 800BC, but the Bard brings it into his Jacobean world, especially with references to planetary influences.
In this polished production, directed by Peter Evans, the action takes place in the round underneath three massive brass spheres, set (and costume) designer Anna Tregloan’s clever representation of the planets and what’s more there is a black hole in the centre of the otherwise glossy stage. So even before the play begins, expectations are raised high in the intimate Neilson Nutshell and the opening speech from Gloucester (James Lugton) warns that all is far from well in Lear’s kingdom. He alludes to the influences and alignments of the stars, but goes against the (prevailing contemporary) grain by insisting he loves his bastard son Edmund (Darius Williams) as well as he does his legitimate offspring Edgar (Alex King).
Edmund’s first monologue, performed in the middle of the black hole, shows him go from fawning and humble to mightily aggrieved at his ‘half-blooded’ status. It is a excellent performance from the about to-be-dastardly Edmund, and Williams begins as he goes on – very strongly indeed.
Nearly everyone who goes to see King Lear knows what happens next. The king is about to split his kingdom between his three daughters, Goneril (Lizzie Schebesta), Regan (Tamara Lee Bailey) and Cordelia (Melissa Kahraman). Goneril and Regan fall over themselves in praising their father (‘dearer than eyesight’ declares Goneril, foreshadowing events to come) but Cordelia refuses to be sycophantic. What can she add to her sisters’ fulsome words. ‘Nothing,’ she says, insisting her love is everything it should be, constant and dutiful. Lear, in the way of despotic monarchs used to hearing only what he wants to hear, is outraged, disinherits Cordelia (who leaves to be become the wife of the King of France (also played by Alex King), and names Goneril and Regan as his successors. Blind Freddie could see this would not end well, but only Kent (Janine Watson) steps up to remonstrate – and of course is banished for his pains. And so the tragedy of Lear begins.
Of the fine performances in this production, five stand out. Menzies, as already mentioned, is an impressive Lear. His journey from outrage to painful enlightenment is engrossing; his first realisations that he is losing his mind are made poignant. Also strong are Watson in the role of the good servant Kent (who, refusing banishment, disguises himself as a servant to Lear); and Lugton as Gloucester, who remains loyal and steadfast even as he is bamboozled by his bastard son’s evil machinations. Williams is totally believable throughout as Edmund (although I was expecting something of a jaunty nod of appreciation when, in the later scenes, he is elevated to an earldom). And then there is Kahraman: as Cordelia she is sweet, if astonished, and (in the last scene) very affecting as the reunited and tearful daughter; as the Fool she is wonderful. She dances around the stage, with Shakespeare’s words tripping playfully off her tongue, at once taunting Lear and telling him truths that no one else will. In a tragedy as dark as Lear, a little light relief is required from time to time, and Kahraman delivers it in spades.
Speaking of dark and light, Benjamin Cisterne’s lighting is integral to the various moods and scenes, and so too are some great sound effects from composer Max Lyandvert. The famous storm scene is a suitably dramatic end to Act 1, heralding much doom, along with cataracts and hurricanoes.
The costumes are minimal, little more than stage blacks, leaving the way clear for our own interpretations of a pagan world but, even so, when Lear first appears he is still the undisputed king, and so his minimalist circle of a crown and nothing in the way of regalia seems a bit lacking. Likewise, the newly elevated Goneril and Regan, selfish and proud as they are, would surely liked to have something more showy to wrap around themselves. Those new to a play as richly layered and intricately plotted as Lear might appreciate a little more in the way of visual clues. (On the night I went, there was a family including two very young children. They stayed until the end, but I did wonder what the little kids thought of it. I hope they weren’t expecting the Lion King!) No doubt they enjoyed the expertly choreographed fight scene (credit here to movement director Nigel Poulton) between Edgar and Edmund.
The appeal of Lear continues because, as the program says, it is ‘a domestic crisis wrapped in a political crisis inside an existential one’. And, as director Evans, says, ‘Shakespeare expresses the political in the personal.’ These days, gouging an unwanted courtier’s eyes out isn’t acceptable (at least not in the UK, as far as I know), but the issues of greed and self-interested ambition, family quarrels and despotic rulers (and/or politicians) are still alive and well. There are so many quotes from Lear that are part of the lexicon now and it is tempting to remember many of them here. Better though to go and see this Lear. It is 2.45 hours (including interval) but it cracks along and lingers in the memory.
In Sydney until 20 July; in Melbourne from 25 July to 11 August
Tickets: $40-$110
www.bellshakespeare.com.au
