The tradition of adapting the play has been continued in the theater with versions such as Edward Bond’s radical rewriting, Lear (1972) and the Women’s Theatre Group and Elaine Feinstein’s feminist Lear’s Daughters, as well as Jane Smiley’s novel, A Thousand Acres (1997). On film, there were early silent versions in America and Italy (1909–10). A number of stage productions have been filmed, including Peter Brook’s, shot in a stark black-and-white style that intensified the existential bleakness of his stage version. Grigori Kozintsev (1970) produced a beautiful, deeply moving version featuring the sufferings of Russian peasants. It was based on a translation by Boris Pasternak and used haunting music by Dmitri Shostakovich. Akira Kurosawa’s Ran (1985), set in feudal Japan, substantially reworked Shakespeare’s play so as to eliminate Gloucester but incorporate the subplot material in a version in which Lear’s daughters become his married sons. It played a major part in stimulating renewed western interest in epic eastern cinema.
AT THE RSC
Lears for Our Time
Our own century seems better qualified to communicate and respond to the full range of experience in King Lear than any previous time, save possibly Shakespeare’s own.17
In post–Second World War England, King Lear has been performed more times than in its entire prior performance history. The play speaks with special power to the contemporary psyche. In a violent age when atrocities, murders, poverty, and acts of self-destruction are commonly seen on television, the violence in the play, and its concerns about human rights, seem particularly apposite. However, Lear is so vast in its conception that, as well as societal concerns, it deals with very fundamental philosophical thoughts about what it is to be human in a godless world, or in a world where faith plays little part in the absurdity of human behavior.
Jan Kott’s influential book entitled Shakespeare Our Contemporary (1964) was of great inspiration to late-twentieth-century directors. His thoughts about King Lear as a play about “the disintegration of the world” prompted a landmark production of the play by Peter Brook, which would alter the way the play was conceived and the characters performed to this day:
In the 1950s it became apparent that the world might destroy itself through accidental nuclear warfare, and the plays of Samuel Beckett achieved international fame: Waiting for Godot (1953) showed a world of absurdity, Endgame (1957) a world without meaning at all. Soon afterward the Polish critic Jan Kott wrote an influential essay, “King Lear, or Endgame,” which viewed Shakespeare through the spectacles or blinkers of Beckett and emphasized the element of grotesque tragicomedy in the play.18
Brook was also heavily influenced by the dramatic theories of Bertolt Brecht, with his desire to “alienate” the audience by breaking down the illusions of realism. Brecht’s influence was especially evident in the bare staging of Lear. Two large flats at either side of the stage moved in and out at angles to create internal and external spaces. The storm was created by three large rusty thunder sheets with a vibrating motor behind creating a hint of rumbling thunder. The lighting was deliberately bright and constant, only dimming for the storm scene and Gloucester’s blinding. Everything was seen with clarity, leaving no room for the dramatic signaling that darkness evokes. There was no background music. Brook firmly believed that Lear should be staged with no music at all. Music almost always controls our emotional reaction to a scene, and Brook was particularly keen to block any easy audience response.
J. C. Trewin described the set:
Visually we are taken to a terrifying world, a place of abstract symbols, a rust-flaking world, harsh and primitive. There are tall, coarse gray-white screens; metal shapes that might have been dredged from the sea-bed: things ancient, scaled with rust. As the night moves on, the stage grows barer and barer until nothing is left but the screens, and Lear and Gloucester play out their colloquy on a bleak infinity of stage; two voices at the world’s end.19
Brook wanted this Lear to be a Lear of its time. He designed the production himself and wanted to create a totally believable society, both barbaric and sophisticated. It is notable that this production took place just after the Cuban missile crisis. He wished to create a nihilistic vision, to remove the sympathetic responses of the audience and blur the lines between good and evil in the play. As a result of this he was accused of distorting Shakespeare’s tragedy to enhance his own directorial viewpoint.
Brook’s interpretation meant that productions of Lear would never be the same after this point. Indeed, there have been very few productions since that have not followed his lead in some regard, whether their focus be political, metaphysical, or domestic.
Critics and directors of the Left have been quick to seize on Lear’s demand that the ruling class expose themselves “to feel what wretches feel, / That thou mayst shake the superflux to them” and Gloucester’s wish that “distribution should undo excess, / And each man have enough” as evidence of the play’s critique of existing political structures, and much recent criticism has discussed King Lear as a political drama reflecting the ideological concerns that were to divide England during the seventeenth century.20
This trend in recent criticism has been reflected in performance. Set pre-First World War, the RSC’s 1976 production made reference to the conditions of those disenfranchised by war. One page of the program featured hundreds of faces of workhouse children; on another there was a bleak landscape with two figures in the distance, presumably working a land that yields little or nothing. In this production Donald Sinden’s acclaimed performance as Lear
5. “What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes”: the bleakness of Peter Brook’s 1962 production with Paul Scofield (left) as Lear and Alan Webb as the blinded Gloucester.
chronicles the process by which suffering turns self-pity and self-love into outward versions of themselves. In practice this means that Lear learns to identify with the poor and downtrodden, classes never far from the drab, pockmarked, nineteenth century face of this production. Indeed, the three-man directorate of Trevor Nunn, John Barton and Barry Kyle … do all they can to bring period penury to our attention, gratuitously introducing a troupe of vagrants to trot round the stage between scenes, and transforming Michael Williams’s Fool into a bald scrofulous relic, a seedily eccentric song-and-dance man who might have stumbled out of Bleak House … determined to stress that Lear is a social as well as an elemental play.21
The setting for the 2004 production directed by Bill Alexander was of a postwar world in which the country was in a flux of insecurity, distinctly modern in feel but without reference to a specific time:
This Lear appears at times to be set in a crumbling mental home, backed by the scaffolding and half-destroyed brick walls of Tom Piper’s bleak setting. It suggests that a nuclear bomb has already fallen on Lear’s kingdom and the survivors are left wandering about trying to work out—post-Apocalypse—who they are and what has happened and above all where the hell they are supposed to be going next.… There is a bizarre timelessness here—so that in a post-Victorian world, when the old King comes on dressed like a mad deserter from the First World War, there is no real surprise, just the feeling that Alexander and his cast have had yet another disturbing thought about the many insights into madness and identity-crisis offered in the play.22