The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: King Lear at the Shed NYC
By Ross
With the loud stamping of those weaponized staffs, an impressive circular reveal brings forth a most impressive King Lear. As portrayed here by actor/director Kenneth Branagh, he outlines the territory of earth and sky, drawing out the beginning of one of Shakespeare’s most supreme achievements in drama and tragedy. It’s supremely engaging, this third crowning achievement in what many call Shakespeare’s illustrious “three stages of man“; the young-minded Hamlet marks the beginning, the power-hungry adult Macbeth takes on the middle years, and finally, the aging King Lear, one of the greatest parts for an older actor, is the grand finale. The Canadian television show, “Slings and Arrows.” relished in this formula for three seasons exploring the three stages of man, one per season. (If you haven’t seen this brilliant and funny look at art and commerce within the world of Shakespearean Summer Festivals, find it immediately and dig in.), all of which Branagh has now tackled, one by one, to great acclaim, with this production being no exception.
Underneath the dark swirling clouds of a tempest approaching, the fluttering sound of birds ushers in this slick and almost playful King Lear, a leader of men who looks almost too virile, proud, and imposing to even be contemplating giving up the power that comes from being King. There are no crowns upon these heads, as these trusted souls look more like warriors wrapped in medieval fur than members of some royal court, but gigantic and powerful they do look, standing on that impressive circle of engagement that was designed to perfection by Jon Bausor (Bat Out of Hell) and lit magnificently by Paul Keogan (Cyprus Avenue). It excels in its strong simplicity, unpacking the tragedy in record speed and clarity.
Slabs of Stonehenge-type rocks slide in and away from this grand rotating circle where King Lear all too quickly turns to his daughters and away from his one joy, once she, Cordelia, played effectively by Jessica Revell (RADA’s Twelfth Night), states her infamous response to his request for loving validation, “Nothing, my lord.” And with that framing, the slanted walls shift creating landscapes as barren as they are imposing, as we watch and wait for what just ran through the three sisters and destroys this once great King.
As directed with force and strength by Rob Ashford (KBTC’s Romeo and Juliet), Branagh (“Much Ado About Nothing“), and Lucy Skilbeck (Blue Tongues’ Wolf Lullaby), this King Lear flies itself forward at record speed, clocking in at almost two hours with no intermission. It’s a pulse-pounding but polished run, that never lets up, but doesn’t give anything away. I’m not sure what it would be like for someone unfamiliar with the text, this being maybe my eighth (?) Lear, including Glenda Jackson’s Lear on Broadway, The Royal Shakespeare Company’s King Lear at BAM, and Paul Gross’s King Lear at the Stratford Festival, but the urgency in its efficiency rarely gets in the way of its emotional undercurrent. The diction is pure, and the understanding deep, but the only times I sat back a little was in the three sisters’ response inside the very first pivotal scene. For the first time, as edited down by this crew, Cordelia’s response that followed doesn’t register as harshly unloving as I have experienced it before. Maybe the other two sisters weren’t given the breath to really overwhelm us with their false proclamations of love for their father, making Cordelia’s sincere engagement feel more reasonable, but definitely not as harsh as I have taken it in before.
But beyond that one reframing, Branagh digs into his Lear with a robust understanding that is as flawless as it is powerful. And he surrounds himself with worthy adversaries and supporters. Specifically Eleanor de Rohan (Half Cut’s Much Ado About Nothing) and her sharply edged portrayal of Kent and Revell doing a well-crafted double duty as both Cordelia and The Fool. As Gloucester, Joseph Kloska (RADA’s Timon of Athens) finds a force within that radiates, as he gets conned by a well-formed villain who done him wrong, the impressive Dylan Corbett-Bader (“A Haunting in Venice“) as the diabolical Edmund. But it is his legitimate son, Edgar, played powerfully by Doug Colling (West End’s Dear Evan Hansen), who ultimately pulls us in most nakedly and honestly with his empathetic and determined performance.
The pace does tend to fling away any moments of quiet clarity and interpersonal intimacy, shedding the tender kinship that sometimes resides in the gaps that can hide in the shadows of the play. This is felt the most in the middle of the play as Lear gets thrust out into the heath by his wicked middle daughter and son-in-law. Lear speaks to the heavens that swirl like a storm around him, courtesy of the very impressive work of projection designer Nina Dunn (West End/Broadway’s The Shark is Broken) and sound designers/composers Ben & Max Ringham (West End/Broadway’s Prima Facie), but the moment, along with his fool, is quickly passed through, as if the storm was a brief moment that didn’t carry much wind, rain, or strength.
But the visuals, set in the barbarous landscape of Ancient England, speak volumes and send shivers of anticipatory angst through my nervous system as Edmund’s treachery results in the gouging of his father’s eyes by the deliberately reprehensible Duke of Cornwall, played solidly by Hughie O’Donnell (Cockpit’s Into The Woods) and his wife, Lear’s middle daughter, Regan, powerfully embodied by Saffron Coomber (NT’s The Corn Is Greener). There is a cleverly staged secret kiss, quickly delivered by Coomber’s Regan to Edmund that tells more in that peck than much of what transpires between him and Lear’s oldest daughter, Goneril, played forcibly by Deborah Alli (West End’s Best of Enemies). The quick pace is mostly to blame for the weak ties that bind Edmund to either sister, but for those most familiar with the text, we fill in the gaps between the stones without much pause. But only because we have to, not because we want to.
There isn’t much time to meditate on some of the grander or even the more subtle themes of aging and deception, but as madmen lead the blind into the abyss, a metaphor that feels even more threatening these dark days after the election, this King Lear resonates itself deep into the emotional currents of my heart. I don’t recall the last time I felt as emotionally overwhelmed as I did in the final moments of Branagh’s Lear when Edgar speaks of his father and his betrayal, and when Branagh cradles his now-dead daughter Cordelia. Maybe I felt something similar the first time I saw this play with Peter Ustinov as Lear standing in the middle of the Stratford Festival stage in the 1980s (directed by Robin Phillips) raging against an all too real torrential rain and windstorm that blew this teenage theatergoer away. But in all the productions of this tragic tale since, I never found myself as moved to tears as I was by this marvelously intense unraveling, played out under the eye of a storm, center stage at The Shed.
