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Theatre Journal 54.1 (2002) 139-143



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Performance Review

King Lear

Howard Katz

[Figures]

King Lear. By William Shakespeare. Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, London. 1 August 2001.

Howard Katz. By Patrick Marber. Royal National Theatre, London. 24 July 2001.

To talk about "tragedy" these days is to speak a language of the dead, literally as well as metaphorically. Given the twentieth century's displacement of classical paradigms, its hollowing out of tragedy's metaphysical foundations, and its refusal of the self-transcendent gesture, perhaps no term feels as archaic, as historically bound, and in some sense as discredited for the contemporary theatre. "I was Hamlet," begins the speaker/protagonist of Heiner Müller's Hamletmachine, the "ruins of Europe" behind him. His declaration, at once evocation and disclaimer, reflects a historical relegation of tragedy in terms of traditional social and economic formations, ideologies, and modes of subjectivity. At the same time, of course, the performance of tragedy continues to thrive on the modern stage. Two recent London productions--King Lear, directed by Barry Kyle at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, and Howard Katz, written and directed by Patrick Marber on the Royal National Theatre's Cottesloe stage--suggest the extent to which tragedy continues to compel attention both in its classical forms and in its contemporary appropriations of it.

Presented with Macbeth and Cymbeline as part of the Globe's "Celtic Season 2001," Kyle's King Lear is a starkly theatrical interpretation of Shakespeare's vast tragedy. The Globe stage is reduced to its forestage playing area, and the backdrop of its set is built out of weathered boards. In keeping with the production's scenic severity, what few props there are contribute to the effect of roughness and plainness. Lear's kingdom has a totalitarian feel to it: the men of his retinue are clad in boots, and their clothes (a mixture of the Jacobean and the modern) are neo-fascist in appearance. Carousing on stage, kicking a soccer ball as they make their way through the audience, they resemble a gang of thugs.

Julian Glover's Lear, the presiding authority of this world, is a stern and volatile figure, assured in his power over his kingdom while given to outbursts of rage and violence. When Cordelia refuses to gratify his ego, he hurls her roughly to the stage floor. As the consequences of his decision to partition his kingdom and disinherit his youngest daughter play themselves out, Lear becomes increasingly volatile; Glover delivers his 2.4 tirade at Goneril ("Dry up in her the organs of increase") with sadistic fury. At the same time, impressive though his performance is, Glover's is not among the most commanding Lears of recent decades. In truth, it is hard not to feel that the production works against him in some ways. The storm scene, so crucial to our understanding of the King's inner turbulence, is staged with minimal dramatic impact. Lear and his Fool stagger across the stage, joined by a rope, but their physical gestures are the primary scenic evidence of the force of the storm they are combatting. The scene is given minimal sound accompaniment (unlike the final battle scenes, which are staged with drums and other noise resonating from different parts of the building). Glover's Lear is also not helped by Tonia Chauvet, who gives a verbally awkward, physically inhibited performance as Cordelia. Chauvet's inability to establish a human moral presence and to convey any convincing claim to her father's affection makes clear how much an audience's perception of Lear depends on his relationships to those who love and care for him.

The occasional mutedness of the play's central plot owes something, of course, to the Globe environment itself and the fact that the performance I attended took place on a bright (and hot) Wednesday afternoon. Such conditions mitigate against the modes of audience absorption that we are accustomed to in the controlled environments of modern [End Page 139] [Begin Page 141] theatre buildings. Spectators mill about, come and go, and talk to one another--the...

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