I never thought to hear you speak again.
– Shakespeare: Henry IV, part II (IV.v.90)
I was walking back into the arms of a lifelong friend – sadly, one not seen for quite some time. Hence the ferocity, sincerity, and length of the resulting hug. I wasn’t quite sure why I was there, though, to be honest. Although I had enjoyed the plays I had (relatively) recently seen him perform in – Henry IV, part I, Henry IV, part II, and Death of a Salesman – I was not a major fan of Antony Sher; and his presence on stage is therefore usually not enough to pull me in.
This is not why I had avoided his King Lear, though: that was because Michael Pennington’s incredible inhabitation of the role had ‘spoiled’ the play for me: in much the same way as Pippa Nixon’s perfection (in 2013, goodness me!) had ‘ruined’ the RSC’s current production of As You Like It. Which is one reason why a short run of a new two-hander was the occasion for my re-entry into the RSC’s hallowed headquarters – particularly to be enfolded in the arms of my favourite theatre, the Swan – rather than one of Will’s very, very best, in the main auditorium.
With being away from the place for so long, physically and mentally – I had bought too many tickets in the interim, only to cancel them again and again at the last moment because of my health… – I wasn’t aware that Kunene and the King (directed by Janice Honeyman) even existed. However, Michael Billington’s perspicacious review lit a spark deep inside me. Although it would take a while for the kindling to fully ignite.
I first saw the play on 6 April 2019, sat near the front of the stage, in the stalls. The story, writing and acting hooked me instantly; but I knew I was missing many of the subtleties – in a play that hinged on such things: particularly historical ones – because it readily became apparent that my ability to lip-read had waned in parallel with my wellbeing. It therefore felt on this occasion that the drama didn’t flow as effortlessly as it should; that the extremely realistic set wasn’t really necessary (provoking scene-breaks that battled with my concentration); and that the politics was bolted-on, rather than integral. But I wasn’t prepared to give up that easily. Not previously a reader of others’ opinions before committing my own to pixels, I wanted to see what Billington had seen (as well as Gill Sutherland: whose verdict was equally insightful and glowing).
I therefore returned for yesterday’s captioned matinée: this performance seemingly reduced from one hundred minutes to about a quarter of that! Not only did everything “flow” smoother than the best-greased ball-bearing; but both actors drew you in so close to them that it was nigh impossible to disagree with either of their oft-contradictory perspectives. Oh, and those “scene-breaks”? How could I not have realized that the spine-popping singing and playing of Lungiswa Plaatjies – especially her solo rendition of Lear/Sher “Contending with the fretful elements” upon “A heath” – was so much more than the glue which held the three scenes together. It was a vitally necessary framing: one whose absence, as the lights dimmed for the last time, helped break my heart even further….
Every actor looks all his life for a part that will combine his talents with his personality. The Odd Couple (1968) was mine. That was the plutonium I needed.
– Walter Matthau
So this is what people see in Sher, I thought: giving the performance of a – indeed his – lifetime. The references to Lear – running through each energizing encounter as a nourishing river after drought – reinforcing the end-of-career feel; bringing an extra sadness where already both pathos and hilarity sparred hard for their place in the taut writing of Dr John Kani (on stage as blazing “Nursing Sister” Lunga Kunene). But is this the last we will see of Sher at the RSC: just as I finally grasped his wonderment? (And, yes, this is what it is like to battle such unremitting, life-devouring agony: Dr Kathryn Mannix had tutored them well.)
Admittedly, there are autobiographical elements in his portrayal of South African actor Jack Morris (including well-placed posters of real youthful productions; and a lovingly marked-up copy of Shakespeare’s “greatest play” – definitely! – lovingly cradled and kissed by Sher in his proclaiming of such) that rendered this performance so truly immersive. As there must also be with Kani: his soul bleeding brilliantly onto the stage, rendering vicious history tangible – and rightfully so.
[Please read the greatly informative programme if you manage to see the run before it ends in “Stratford-upon-Avon” on that magical date, 23 April. If the struggles against apartheid are not part of your own history, this will help, and give even more context to Kani’s wonderfully wrought writing and acting. (My guess is that such background may be still too present to be required when the drama transfers to The Fugard Theatre, in Cape Town. I also believe that the audiences there will react in different, and much stronger ways. But I only hazard such things having marched as a wide-eyed student in the early 1980s. The power of such drama is to grant us each and everyone our unique perspectives: and render them all valid.)]
A day later, and my body is (also) wracked with the resulting pain of pushing it through something I probably shouldn’t have. But my mind is still on fire from the experience: and thus the positives far, far outweigh the negatives. I would definitely do the same again. In fact, I have been scrolling through the RSC website, looking at all the tempting events I could see! I have also realized that captions make a great deal of difference for me (as they must for so many others) – certainly contributing here to the marked contrast between a good performance and a truly great, never-to-be-forgotten one: truly assisting rather than distracting. Thanks, therefore, to captioner Gethyn Edwards; to Josefa MacKinnon, RSC Assisted Performances Coordinator; and to everyone else who makes such astonishing theatre possible – and then irresistible – for those of us who may not always believe so.
Saturated with quotations from King Lear, Kani’s play might even be an attempt to shadow it: not only is there a storm scene, but also a suggestion that through profound suffering comes enlightenment.
– Michael Billington
All photographs by Ellie Kurttz © RSC 2019
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