I find myself again with my dear old friend, William Shakespeare…

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.

The angels forget to pray for us…

It’s time that we began to laugh and cry
And cry and laugh about it all again
– Leonard Cohen: So Long, Marianne

A few days ago, I started drafting a review of what was then the current year: but didn’t really get very far (somewhere around the end of February…). And, now that my deadline has passed (because of a parallel lack of mental momentum and physical health), I was on the verge of conveying those few musty paragraphs to the overflowing dustbin that is my output’s virtual, but permanent, companion. Waking up to a dark, dank day – which quickly infused my weakened joints (and thus my resolve) – did not help. However, after too many semi-comatose, quilt-hidden, guilt-ridden hours, I awoke again to realize that this was just the sort of challenge I needed to face down if I were to survive the next twelve months: a period where tough personal decisions must be made; and where the consequences of last year’s tragic body-political ones would start to make themselves evident – neither of which I could ever justify shying away from: however painful the outcome.

Terminat hora diem; terminat auctor opus.

The trouble with happiness is that the prospect of it ending makes you sad.

– Oliver Burkeman: Can’t always get what you want? Don’t worry

After my most recent viewing of Doctor Faustus, on 11 June 2016, I drafted the following few paragraphs. That they never made it on to my blog (until now) is probably because – with just one precious, fragile visit left – I could not, at the time, reach any conclusion or closure….

Seven heavenly wins…

I had actually lost count of how many times I’d seen this production until I checked my diary… – only then to discover that this, my seventh, was also my penultimate. Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven, That time may cease and midnight never come!

After an absence of six weeks, desperately in need of my next fix of “the very definition of theatre [featuring] two actors at the very top of their joint game” – O, how this sight doth delight my soul! – how on earth (or in hell), I wondered, was I going to survive without it?

Think’st thou that I, that saw the face of God

And tasted the eternal joys of heaven,

Am not tormented with ten thousand hells

In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

It has spoken to me in a way that no other drama has ever quite managed. Therefore, again – Had not sweet pleasure conquered deep despair… – I am worried that “Only the darkness [will] remain… an unremitting nightmare way beyond hope: and which, to me, currently feels all too real.” I understand that I am not addicted to it… – not according to the true, scientific meaning of the word… – but I know that I will suffer from its withdrawal.

[That I bumped into Oliver Ryan, a few days later – and we talked like long-lost friends… – certainly eased my pain. But I shall miss him, Sandy, Nicholas Lumley, Jade Croot, and the rest of the gifted company, in a way I never thought possible…. That I will be away for the last night just compounds the grief. Theatre is so sodding ephemeral. (Even when captured for posterity on DVD, the experience can never be the same.) All that will remain are all those reviews – and my cherished, tightly-grasped memories. But not even those can provide the spark that relights the sheer magic of sitting on the front row, knowing myself to be in Wittenberg, tears streaming down my face in rapturous heartbreak.]

Mephistophilis But Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight.

Faustus O, might I see hell and return again safe, how happy were I then!

And machination ceases…

Similar thoughts emerged, yesterday, sat in a coffee shop in Malvern, grabbing an espresso and a bite to eat before revisiting Michael Pennington’s incomparable “inhabitation” of King Lear. Again, another uniformly stupendous company. Again, a production with direct access to my soul. But, after last night, all I can bring myself to write is that my “business of the world hath so an end”.

This is the last week of the run; and I have exhausted all my opportunities to see it again. (How I wish it were not so.) I cannot even make it to the company’s poetry reading – for Calais Action – on Thursday evening. (But please feel free to go on my behalf…!) Three times was never going to be enough….

All I can say, as I did at the very beginning of this report, was that this was a landmark portrayal; an actor at the very pinnacle of his (and everyone-else’s) very great game. That his genius encompassed all those around him; that his howls as he dragged Cordelia’s slumped body onto the stage haunted my dreams (and will for many a night); that his eyes twinkled, then dimmed, and twinkled once more, before finally fading to naught; that he made us not only see – but feel, taste – that mouse and toasted cheese, those parted curtains; that the roof of the Royal, for one moment, floated heavenwards as we called him back to the stage; that he was, for three hours, Lear – not an actor in increasingly-threadbare clothing – …all these things are sadly not enough to even begin to describe what we saw; experienced; heard; were immersed in….

However much my resultant sadness, it is, of course, tempered with great joy at having been fortunate enough to have witnessed such wonders. And my sorrow is nothing compared to Michael Pennington’s own grief at not being able to launch this tour at the RSC – his “lifelong stamping-ground” – because of apparent intransigence and jealousy. [As much as I love the building, and the many, many generous and inspiring folk that create daily miracles there, it seems that politics stalks even the Royal Shakespeare Theatre’s labyrinthine corridors. Like the referendum result, last Friday – to which there were a few knowing nods in last night’s (again) gripping performance (including the most stunning, heartfelt, sincere rendition of those final lines…) – it seems that even people with intelligence can be immensely shortsighted in the self-awareness department when their own egos require (as they wrongly see it) protecting.]

I knew in my bones that my Lear wouldn’t make it to Stratford, and I don’t suppose Shakespeare will spin in his grave in 2016. However, the door that I found closed on Lear has finished my business with a company with whom I’ve been intimately associated under every previous regime since Peter Hall founded it in 1961.

– Michael Pennington: King Lear in Brooklyn

More gratitude, then – that I witnessed one of the very greatest Shakespearean actors of my lifetime strut the boards of the RST and the Swan (and, many moons ago, probably also in The Other Place – I fear I am not in my perfect mind…) – but heavily tainted with wrath, this time: that I will never see him in my adopted home town again.

Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,

The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?

He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,

And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;

The good-years shall devour them, flesh and fell,

Ere they shall make us weep! We’ll see ’em starved first.

Come.

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows…

Yesterday, sat in the wonderful, Escher-like foyer of the Royal & Derngate, I wrote that I was…

Returning… to see the all-important captioned performance of King Lear (“lured”, this time, by every single member of the company…) – knowing, as always, that there would be elements which had evolved since the preview we saw; as well as moments of magic that I had not entirely absorbed….

Michael Pennington (King Lear) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods,

They kill us for their sport.

This allusion to Escher’s Relativity seems even more pertinent when you consider both the “experimental” language and structure – the texture – of Shakespeare’s lines. Not only, characteristically, do we seem to be stepping between different worlds (ones driven, held together – however flimsily – by madness and sanity; religion and atheism; faith and deception; love and hate; fortune and misfortune; anger – of people of gods, of weather… – and peace (all dark and light, if you will)); but, in this production, in particular, the number of characters addressing us, the audience, directly (even if only for a moment, as in Goneril’s “No”, in Act 5, Scene 1), immerses us in different, contradictory, orthogonally-opposed, world-views (more formally, that wonderful word ‘Weltanschauungen’).

There is one scene (Act 3, Scene 6) – “A chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle” – which will stay with me for a very, very long time (as will the whole night): where Kent, Gloucester, Edgar and the Fool… – all seem to be talking at cross-purposes. Everyone is, essentially, mad; pretending to be mad; professing madness; scared of going mad; or attempting to see through Lear’s own madness (if it is such…). This was given full, chaotic, rein – and reminded me how ‘experimental’, when compared to the majority of his plays, Shakespeare really can be. Not only do we get characters driving on the story with expositional soliloquys; but there was an almost Beckett-like intensity, here. Is this the template for Endgame – 350 years ahead of its time…?

Scott Karim (Edmund) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Seeing it again brought home to me that attempting to multitask (i.e. watching words and action separately/alternately) in this way actually removes you from the action quite a bit: not acting as a barrier, per se; but leading to a lesser immersion (and increased distraction…).

     I wonder whether the captions for King Lear will hamper or assist…?

Although (as above) I have repeatedly questioned the value of captions for those, like me, without much ability to hear, this time they proved their worth, their usefulness: opening up those different spheres – both exploding them, enabling greater forensic examination; and shedding a crystalline light.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to praise Captions, not to bury them.

This may have been down to the Visual Sound Live system used (new to me), and its placement (effectively, two large HD television screens, either side of the stage, level with the actors’ eyes). However, I am also starting to wonder if there is a ‘quality threshold’ in performance: that is, when a production is utterly wonderful – as this one undoubtedly is – the captions become almost subliminal, and add mightily to the experience. If it is not already so involving, then they simply act as that “increased distraction”.

Michael Pennington (King Lear); Caleb Frederick (Knight) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

As well as I know the play, I do think you need this clarity of language to fully appreciate its rich “texture” – and this was helped, here, by the company’s consistently distinct delivery (and in many natural accents – which, for me, added even more exquisiteness and strength: this was a court composed of subjects from the four corners of Lear’s Britain). There were thus quite a few occasions when I realized I had not looked at the captions for quite some time!

Tom McGovern (Kent) and company – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

I therefore did espy many “elements which had evolved since the preview we saw; as well as moments of magic” – the most touching of which revolved around Lear’s love of those who love him. His repeated tight, tender grasp of the Fool – surely one of Shakespeare’s most beautifully-etched relationships – for comfort (of both of them); his gentle kissing of the top of the blinded Gloucester’s bald pate; and, of course, his (and Kent’s) reunion with Cordelia.

When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down

And ask of thee forgiveness.

Joshua Elliott (Fool); Michael Pennington (King Lear); Tom McGovern (Kent) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

There was also more laughter than I remember the first time around – as if both the audience and company had somehow jointly gained in confidence in their exploration of this great work… – bringing yet more contrast; more profundity. Pennington’s energy, as he cavorted from “this great stage of fools”, eluding his captors, was a thing of joy and amazement – and brought the house down!

Then there’s life in’t. Come, and you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.

Shane Attwooll (Cornwall); Reginald Edwards (Servant) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Having listed every member of the cast – “all of whom were equally astounding” – last time, I will not reiterate their strengths here. (I will make amends, however, for not mentioning Alison de Burgh – director of some truly vicious fights – and Karen Habens, “Deputy Stage Manager on the Book” – i.e. the crucial kingpin on which the whole evening revolves; and perfectly so.)

I should also stress how much – even after such an incomparable preview – ‘tighter’ the production feels; how little details (which I may have missed, then) add depth; how the whole performance has, somehow, grown. This is the King Lear to beat (not that I think it can be…) – and I am almost (almost) tempted to return my ticket for the RSC’s production, beginning in August (were it not for Paapa Essiedu as Edmund, and – God be praised… – David Troughton as Gloucester (yay)).

Adrian Irvine (Albany); Sally Scott (Regan); Scott Karim (Edmund) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

So there’s not really much more to be said. This is Shakespeare as (I believe) he should be: uncannily relevant and insightful; with coherently-defined and clear-speaking three-dimensional characters (whose motivations you – eventually – comprehend); and lucid plot-lines that bob and intermingle, diverge and re-emerge, but finally entwine – ensuring that three hours of drama “Holds in perfection but a little moment”.

I have a journey, sir, shortly to go…

Initially lured by the phenomenon that is Michael Pennington, simply being King Lear, I now know that I will be returning to the marvel that is Northampton’s Royal & Derngate many times in the future – purely because of its very own distinct fascination and delight. In some ways similar to the RSC – two auditoriums (but with the added advantage of an 88-seat cinema; as well as the TOP-like Underground spaces) linked by cunning foyer architecture and captivating facilities – there are some major differences (principally derived from my local’s ‘national’ – if not international – status and greater heft) that I feel the RSC could learn from (especially the ‘vibe’ that comes from being in a good regional arts space – itself part of the town’s burgeoning Cultural Quarter).

Returning to Stratford-upon-Avon just over five years ago, when we had decided to make our home here, we were drawn into The Courtyard Theatre (as it was then) not just by our last-minute tickets for King Lear – another unforgettable production: starring Greg Hicks, Kathryn Hunter and Tunji Kasim – but also by the friendly atmosphere of its café, and its substantial heaps of freshly-cooked food. In fact, we ate there most days.

Although now resurrected as The Other Place: bringing back, for me, happy memories of its previous ‘tin hut’ existence… – and it is, admittedly, early days for the refreshed venue… – I feel it currently lacks both the length and breadth of menu, and natural, unforced informality, that made the previous almost-greasy-spoon (a complimentary tag) so welcoming. (And where you could easily find yourself comfortably sat next to the luminaries you were about to see on stage.)

At the R&D, The Wicked Way Café comes so much closer to this ideal of a relaxed and relaxing theatrical eatery – especially with its range of extremely-good-value, quirkily-named, scrumptious Pieminister Pies! – as it combines the best casual bits of the Riverside Café, Rooftop Restaurant and new Susie’s café bar (which, despite my grumbles, has great service, and is a splendid place to sit for a couple of hours, watching the world go by, whilst pretending to author blog posts, fuelled by some of the best coffee and cake in town). Crucially, the R&D also has its own equivalent of Stratford’s famous Dirty Duck – Bar Hygge! (No theatre or concert hall is complete without such a place of respite!)

Michael Pennington (King Lear), centre; and company – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Returning, therefore, yesterday evening, to see the all-important captioned performance of King Lear (“lured”, this time, by every single member of the company (as well as the prospect of a toothsome dinner…)) – knowing, as always, that there would be elements which had evolved since the preview we saw; as well as moments of magic that I had not entirely absorbed… – I decided that I should review the R&D’s access provision as well as the play itself (especially as I find myself relying increasingly on such amenities).

But I nearly fell at the first hurdle… – the theatre’s website indicated that I could not book a table in the café without the use of a telephone! (As much use to me as a fashion magazine; or a margarine cafetière!) However, the @RoyalDerngate Twitter bods could not have been more obliging: responding to my initial query with due thought and attention – even though it was quite late on Monday evening….

So it was that I woke up, yesterday morning, to find that they had gone out of their way to reserve one for me; and asking “if we can help with anything else”; as well as wishing me “a wonderful evening”! [This, to me, demonstrates two things: firstly, that access policies are only useful if they are implemented by knowledgeable and kind-hearted employees; and, secondly, that the tightly-knit team at Royal & Derngate – as you will also see in a couple of paragraphs’ reading… – are compassionate angels devoted to customer care beyond the remit of any rules or regulations! (Thank you.)] Asking for the table booked in the name of “The Bard of Tysoe” was therefore only a tad inglorious!

By the way, I hope that this proves that the R&D is not in any way ‘backward’ with regards to technology: I just do not think my request (and requirement) – and the resulting facility – to book things online, or by email, is as common as it should be (yet). For instance, the venue has its own iOS app (something, again, that the RSC should take onboard) – which, although, essentially, a neatly-packaged mobile version of its comprehensive website, was obviously designed effectively to fulfil both purposes. As it stashes your user details, as well as your order history (so you can check where you sat, previously), it is an incredibly handy tool for planning and booking a visit.

Michael Pennington (King Lear) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

This impressive customer service and friendliness extends in other directions, too. I fully appreciate the RSC Press Office’s initial reluctance to deal – on an equal footing with the mainstream media, anyway – with the exploding plethora of theatrical bloggers (like myself); but the R&D marketing team (especially Amanda Howson, Press Manager, and Box Office Manager, Erica Mynard) were almost tripping over themselves to supply information and photographs for my first review; and their swift replies to emails and tweets was genuinely refreshing. [This is not to besmirch the RSC – I simply sense a little reluctance from them (some of which may be caused by that titanic “heft”…). Now I have finally made it past first base, for instance, they are happy to email me photographs – on request. And yet I feel am still on probation: as I do not quite receive the privilege of, say, Michael Billington: who will have complete, direct access to the RSC’s comprehensive image database and press archive, etc..]

Anyway… back to my deaf and disabled assessment. Physical access is just as easy as at the RSC, despite the structural complexity of the site. There are many lifts and gently-sloping walkways (although some of these also feature short runs of steps: so look before you limp…). Entry to the building is level; and there are plenty of allocated (free) parking spaces for Blue Badge holders in the Albion Place surface car park, adjacent to the main entrance. (More information on all this can be found here.) The only place I really struggled – with my habitual wobble and walking stick – was the gentle climb up through the stalls, after the performance. But this is more to do with my own infirmity; and the deleterious effect of being seated, entranced, for prolonged periods.

Although I have not made use of it – as I have struggled with such systems in the past, and therefore much prefer to rely on induction loops (because of their direct interaction with my hearing aids and Streamer) – the venue provides a “Sennheiser Infra-red Enhanced Hearing System”: which is best accessed from certain seats, because of its directionality. I accept that, as my hearing continues to fade, I may well have to resort to this at some point – although I found the acoustics at the front of the stalls to be extremely clear.

Here, the RSC – with its loop(s) passing under every single seat – wins hands-down (ears up?!) for me; although I do understand that such high-granularity systems (where every punter receives an identical top-notch signal, wherever they sit) are incredibly expensive to design and install.

In November 2015 Royal & Derngate achieved Level 3 in the Space to Change campaign. This campaign enabled the general public to suggest the installation of much-needed facilities within various organisations.

Having booked online, I have not had to deal with the box office staff directly – but I noticed the requisite loop sign on the counter (as well as at the various “bars situated throughout the building”); and it is clear that they take their duties in this direction extremely seriously. (They also have a dedicated Text Relay number, and a “new mobile service” – although I am not quite clear how this latter resource functions.)

Apart from not being able to book my table as I would have wished, you will be pleased to learn that I had no problems, in person, ordering my ‘green goddess’ open top pie with ‘groovy gravy’ and ‘skin on fries’: as those serving me had obviously noticed the habitual international deaf symbol badge I wear – or had been forewarned! (A nice touch with your pre-theatre meal is being able to order a programme to be brought to your table – a great way to pass the time, if you are on your own.)

[As an aside… the RSC carefully stores details of its patrons’ disabilities and related requirements in their box office database (although I am such a ‘frequent flyer’ that many of the staff recognize me; and know that they may have to gently raise their voices, or face me so I can attempt to lip-read). There is therefore always an implicit recognition and understanding of where I need to sit to view any captions; and unforced acceptance of my preference for left-hand end seats, because of my neurological deficits. The system also keeps tabs on which sections – even which rows – of both theatres ‘work’ best for me. Not only that, but I am consistently asked (confidentially) on building tours, etc. about my ability to manage steps; how the guide or presenter can aid my understanding – usually by ensuring I am sat next to them; although they also seem willing to wear the tiny microphone I carry with me (when I actually remember) that interfaces with my hearing aids – and they are extremely generous with their assistance at all times; and with permanent, authentic smiles! To cap it all, the RSC’s Access tickets – no matter where you sit – are remarkable value at just £16: a price which a regional venue like the R&D cannot possibly match. (This is not a complaint; merely a fact of life. Small theatres simply do not receive the funding, or huge numbers of visitors, of such ‘national’ institutions as the RSC.)]

The Royal & Derngate (and all its constituent parts) is therefore a great facility – disabled, or not… – although, for me, it is, sadly, not that easy a place to get to. It is, however, definitely worth the tribulation – in this case, you could say, arriving (and staying) is a much better thing than travelling painfully…. [My review of the actual performance – with superb captions… – will follow a little later…]

Contending with the fretful elements…

Michael Pennington (King Lear) – photo courtesy of Royal & Derngate

I will have such revenges on you both

That all the world shall – I will do such things –

What they are yet I know not, but they shall be

The terrors of the earth! You think I’ll weep:

I have full cause of weeping, but this heart

Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,

Or ere I’ll weep. O Fool, I shall go mad!

I believe that, last night, I witnessed the greatest Shakespearean performance of my long life… – and not just from the actor in the principal rôle (that was simply a major miracle…). We had arrived at the Royal & Derngate, in Northampton, knowing that Michael Pennington would be the supreme King Lear. What I think we were surprised by was the corresponding calibre of the company that surrounded him – some of whom were only recent graduates. We shouldn’t have been, though; we really shouldn’t…

I was immediately knocked out by Michael’s sensitivity with Shakespeare’s language…. It was clear that he was able to create complex and vivid relationships onstage….

     Michael was incredibly open and generous. He was the dream collaborator: hard-working, curious, unsentimental. He was interested in what everyone in the room had to say. And yet he also had instincts which were unwavering. He was immediately able to portray a powerful man losing his grip on power, on his mind, and on his sense of self.

– Arin Arbus (director), in Jonathan Croall: Performing King Lear

I don’t want to go into too much detail: as this was only a preview. However, this was such an extraordinary ‘event’, that I still believe it needs commenting on for prosperity – an act which, as well, I hope, will help fill some of those astonishing empty seats that we also witnessed. (You would have thought, from the cheers and applause at the end that the Royal Theatre had been packed to its beautiful rafters. But everyone there knew that this – for me, Shakespeare’s greatest play – had received an insightful, emotionally-devastating, utterly perfect rendition – perhaps its greatest performance.)

Michael Pennington (King Lear), centre; with company – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

I will come to the individual actors – all of whom were equally astounding: just in different ways… – in a moment: but the overall power of the performance came, I think, not only from Pennington’s renowned inclusivity, but the cohesiveness of the all-inclusive vision (partially, due, I think, to his recent experience of playing Lear in New York – see below – but also Max Webster’s intelligent direction). But as well as the usual sweeping story arcs and subplots, emphases and themes were more fully developed than I have seen before; and tiny moments given cunning significance.

There is one scene (Act 3, Scene 6) – “A chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle” – which will stay with me for a very, very long time (as will the whole night): where Kent, Gloucester, Edgar and the Fool – “Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?” – all seem to be talking at cross-purposes. Everyone is, essentially, mad; pretending to be mad; professing madness; scared of going mad; or attempting to see through Lear’s own madness (if it is such…). This was given full, chaotic, rein – and reminded me how ‘experimental’, when compared to the majority of his plays, Shakespeare really can be. Not only do we get characters driving on the story with expositional soliloquys; but there was an almost Beckett-like intensity, here. Is this the template for Endgame – 350 years ahead of its time…?

Michael Pennington (King Lear) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Not wishing to single out any individual other than Pennington – who did not act, as such: he simply was Lear, navigating his way through the intense ravages of senility – of perhaps even Alzheimer’s: with its moments of grief; anger; lucidity; regret; forgetfulness; of rage against his very condition; seeming “to age thirty years” – I shall address the company in alphabetical order. Simply put, each one brought something new, something strong, to their part: the sum of which was phenomenal (to say the least).

Michael Pennington (King Lear); Sally Scott (Regan); Shane Attwooll (Cornwall) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Shane Attwooll was a Duke of Cornwall who grew from hen-pecked husband to vicious, erotically-charged interrogator: plucking out Gloucester’s eyes with relish and believable malice. “Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly! Where is thy lustre now?” He seemed to visibly grow in stature and menace; and the fact we had no sympathy at his demise is a reflection of his innate power.

Catherine Bailey was simply the most vile Goneril – but with such great depth. (This is A Good Thing. I have often found the “unnatural hags” one-dimensional – both on the page and the stage.) She gave Lear as good as she got; and was a commanding presence in every scene she appeared in. Poor Albany – whatever did he do to deserve this?

Beth Cooke was not the weak Cordelia we sometimes see, either. A fighter from the off – and therefore the emotional core of the play – you truly felt she was in charge of her own destiny. She was both powerful and piteous (even pitiable); and her love for her father continually shone in those tear-stained eyes.

Pip Donaghy (Gloucester); Beth Cooke (Cordelia); Reginald Edwards (Burgundy); Caleb Frederick (France) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Pip Donaghy was an authoritative Earl of Gloucester – less spineless than he is sometimes seen; but still overly trusting of his bastard son. In some way, he holds a mirror up to Lear… – yet, where Lear is always surrounded by those who love him (even if they are not sure why), Gloucester is alone. His extended moment, thus deserted, under “the shadow of this tree”, surrounded by war, was beautiful and soul-rending. Donaghy is an actor who can make a shopping-list seem profound. He has real gravitas – and seems unafraid to use it.

Reginald Edwards as the Duke of Burgundy and Curan (as well as many other parts: this is a small, and tightly-knit company) also brought impassioned significance to his few lines. I wish there had been more opportunity for him to demonstrate the poetry he is obviously so capable of.

Tom McGovern (Kent); Joshua Elliott (Fool); Michael Pennington (King Lear): in rehearsal – photo courtesy of Royal & Derngate

Joshua Elliott was simply astounding as the Fool. A beautiful falsetto singing voice, to go with his conscious concertina; and a resounding, contrasting spoken baritone sonority. Here was a demonstrable maturity and wisdom far, far beyond his young years. Every single line and action was captivating; infused with his love of Lear – his willingness to risk a whipping for coming too close to the mark almost tangible. I so hate the fact that the Fool simply vanishes: but (even after seeing the great Kathryn Hunter scurry through the equally great Greg Hicks’ long legs with utterly astounding aplomb) never more so than here. That he was the equal of Pennington speaks volumes….

Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.

Gavin Fowler (Edgar); Daniel O’Keefe (Oswald) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Gavin Fowler as Edgar was also remarkable: demonstrating an intense, almost beauteous versatility. His feigned insanity was virtuosic; as was his protection of his father. His beautiful rendition of those heart-breaking, famous final lines was powerful, yet gentle – enough to guarantee a full ten seconds of silence before the eruption of approbation.

The weight of this sad time we must obey,

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say:

The oldest hath borne most; we that are young

Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

Caleb Frederick as the King of France and the Doctor (as well as a wonderful trumpet-playing herald) – another recent drama graduate – was yet another great discovery. His acting was authoritative, sober and powerfully affecting; and central to the sensibility of the whole production.

Adrian Irvine (Albany); Catherine Bailey (Goneril) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Adrian Irvine, as the Duke of Albany, flourished as the play progressed. In some ways, an unforgiving part – he begins as meek (if not entirely weak); but eventually proves his strength and honesty. Here was a keen and human portrayal, with real weight.

Another startling wise-beyond-his-years characterization was Scott Karim as Edmund (the illegitimate psychopath) – both in his ineffable coolness (both senses), as well as the bottomless darkness his presence always brought to the stage. Here was a master manipulator – of just about every other player… – and savager of souls. The very definition of a bastard – and magnificently so.

Scott Karim (Edmund); Catherine Bailey (Goneril) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

I really liked Tom McGovern as the affable, loyal Earl of Kent (with those glasses, I wondered if his first name was Clark?) – and madcap alter ego (Mc)Caius: although one of my companions was not utterly convinced. I believe he has little or no power to affect change: and is only motivated by his duty and bravery – and thusly the part was played. Here was a performance – for me – of great calmness and loyalty.

My life I never held but as a pawn

To wage against thine enemies, ne’er fear’d to lose it,

Thy safety being motive.

Daniel O’Keefe as Oswald played it as haughtily and reservedly as I think is possible – although his best moment was his astonishment at his mistress’ clumsy attempt to seduce him. You felt there was a heart in there, somewhere – just that he wasn’t quite sure how to use it. His loyalty was his downfall, and his dying regret all-too palpable.

Sally Scott was a charming, yet nasty piece of work, as Regan: a perfect companion to Goneril. One moment jealously protective of her newborn child; the next, kicking its basket with vehemence and just pure nastiness. Another powerful performance – again demonstrating that the two elder sisters are crucial characters… – eventually getting as bad as she gives; as she so rightfully deserves.

Michael Pennington (King Lear), right; with company – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

The simple, yet evocative and dark, discomfiting design was by Adrian Linford; and I thought the period setting worked extremely well. The lighting – by Natasha Chivers – and sound by Matthew Bugg (along with composition and movement) – were truly integral to this: demonstrating the massive depth of talent in regional theatre. (Oh, that storm scene! I too shivered upon that heath; shrank from the theatre-shaking thunder and blinding lightning; leaning into the mighty force of nature, as it stung my eyes, my body, my soul. I almost cowered behind my seat, too, in fright and sorrow….)

Credit should also be paid to Christian Durham, associate director; Joyce Nettles, a casting director of great insight and courage (especially of her own convictions); and Julia Locascio, assistant director. A great many thanks also go to the Ambassador Theatre Group for making this miracle possible; and to Philip Franks for originating the production and assembling the creative team.

I shall, of course, be trying to get a ticket for its visit to Malvern, at the end of June!

Michael Pennington (King Lear); Beth Cooke (Cordelia) – photo Marc Brenner/Royal & Derngate

Once more, this week, I have been fortunate to witness something for which I have unfortunately run out of words in describing…. However, if you wish to read about Pennington’s perspicacity, his sensitivity, his discernment with regards to performing the works of Sweet William – as well as his experiences of doing so – never mind his exceptional, exceptionally-modest talent… – then I would recommend you pore over his own words – including the soon-to-be-published King Lear in Brooklyn. These state clearly what I am struggling to articulate….

All I can say, as I did at the very beginning of this report, was that this was a landmark portrayal; an actor at the very pinnacle of his (and everyone-else’s) very great game. That his genius encompassed all those around him; that his howls as he dragged Cordelia’s slumped body onto the stage haunted my dreams (and will for many a night); that his eyes twinkled, then dimmed, and twinkled once more, before finally fading to naught; that he made us not only see – but feel, taste – that mouse and toasted cheese, those parted curtains; that the roof of the Royal, for one moment, floated heavenwards as we called him back to the stage; that he was, for three hours, Lear – not an actor in increasingly-threadbare clothing – …all these things are sadly not enough to even begin to describe what we saw; experienced; heard; were immersed in….

O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!

Keep me in temper, I would not be mad!