King Lear: "And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world"
5 Sep 2022

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Dahlia Katz

Shakespeare's King Lear is an epic tragedy and Soulpepper has done it proud by setting it contemporarily in all but language. This family, as they smoothly pose for the paparazzi in the opening minutes, is ready for their own reality TV series. It is King Lear as envisioned through Dynasty or Succession. Passions run high, there is a sordid love triangle, and the body count is significant. Huge monolithic, seemingly hewn from stone, towers framing forbiddingly tall doorways are spun to create the backdrop to different scenes. But they always stare down balefully at the poor characters below who "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport." This is further emphasized by blinding bursts of light beyond the capabilities of the paparazzi, a blood red colour scheme, and a sound design by Thomas Ryder Payne (Other People, Buffoon, Hamlet, We Are Not Alone, Blood Weddings, The Gay Heritage Project, and many more)  that adds deep electronics to surging strings seemingly sampled from Madonna's melodramatic masterpiece "Papa Don't Preach." It is gripping, exhilaratingly theatrical, and even though the majority of the audience is well-versed in the plot, keeps one on the edge of their seat dreading, anticipating, what might be to come.

King Lear is also about aging. And what to do with those who are aging. Tom McCamus plays Lear as an affable DILF who is struggling with either the beginnings of dementia or shock at his plan going so badly awry. He is a party boy grown older and when he is shorn of his power, his spectacles and his designer suit, Lear becomes vulnerable but far from pitiful. McCamus has a firm grip on Shakespearean prose and his deep, sonorous tones ring through the theatre, a quality that some of the rest of the cast struggles to match. But early on an odd twist occurs. Jonathan Young enters and, speaking directly to the audience across the fourth wall, takes us into his confidence. Defying the gods he implores us that "My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing." Young has a seductive reptilian physicality that as he struts and slithers, his emotions radiating off his skin, this production U-turns into The Edmond Show. No matter how wise and erudite the elderly may be, they can't compete with the exuberance, even evil exuberance, of youth. 

Or, a cruder analogy, there is a reason that Joan Collins became the breakout star of Dynasty. Pure glamorous evil done with style is more fun to watch than the noblest suffering. Damien Atkins (Caroline, Or Change, We Are Not Alone, The Gay Heritage Project, London Road, Sextet, Mr Burns) suffers excessively as Edgar, wide-eyed and dithering, until he is so moved by his father's strength that he transforms into a swashbuckling hero. It is very moving as an empathetic counterpoint to dealing with infirmity. The three sisters are not so empathetic. They're roles are somewhat schematic which is a shame with such high voltage actresses. I hope they will get their opportunity in Queen Goneril which is running in repertory and I have yet to see. In King Lear, Virgilia Griffith (Iphigenia and the Furies, Harlem Duet, Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, The Wedding Party, They Say He Fell) and Vanessa Sears (Is God Is, Alice in Wonderland, Caroline, Or Change, Mary Poppins, The Wizard of Oz) skulk sultrily in designer duds and scheme deviously. When they do finally confront each other, it is electrifying but alas too brief, Shakespeare dispatches them quickly.

Helen Belay is a kewpie pie Cordelia who transforms (offstage) into a military commander replacing her high slit and low cut gown for fatigues. There is solid work from stoic Sheldon Elter (Bears) and Oliver Dennis (A Streetcar Named Desire, Rose, La Bete, Animal Farm), and Breton Lalama is the ultimate shifty bureaucrat who, when not delivering desperate or duplicitous missives in briefcases, is glued to their phone. Nancy Palk (Wormwood) is a surprisingly muted clown but with all the rushing about by the large supporting cast and their defining physicality, word play and comedy have a hard time competing. This is a faithful Shakespeare and the tarting up makes the first act fly by and the second act end with a shocking (even though we know it is coming) cliffhanger, the third act is let down by the text. The propulsive momentum has to slow for some crucial and deliciously delivered speeches that alas, after three hours plus, begin to drag. Fortunately there is catharsis at the finale. Lear's grief and regret are palpable as he collapses on a stage littered with corpses and the gods are satisfied. As is the audience.