NEW YORK -- Like the man said: Some are born
great. Some achieve greatness. And some have greatness thrust upon them.
The words come from "Twelfth Night," but Shakespeare may as well have been
reviewing a certain production of a different play, the one at Lincoln Center
Theater with Christopher Plummer scaling a career-capping role of epic, fearsome
dimensions.
In "King Lear," 74-year-old Plummer -- one of our cagiest classical actors,
with a voice like a viola and a smile deployed like a curse -- plays a foolish,
vain and finally devastated father of three daughters. Two of the daughters
are not nice. The third one is, although goodness (in the words of that ace
Shakespearean, Mae West) has nothing to do with it. Not in this pitiless
universe.
"King Lear" is a great and greatly
daunting play. Plummer's performance in the title role, following a 2002
engagement at the Stratford Festival of Canada, achieves moments and occasional
sustained passages of greatness, particularly in the small, soulful glimmers
of self-knowledge.
When Plummer's frosty-bearded, white-haired king is told by his Fool that
he has grown "old before thy time," Lear realizes his wits and his life are
both nearing the end. As spoken by Plummer, the line "O, let me not be mad,
not mad, sweet heaven!" disregards the exclamation point, taking the entreaty
inward. It's one of those exquisitely painful moments when all pomp and bombast
are stripped away, revealing an imperfect human soul.
Thus does Plummer thrust a little greatness upon an otherwise routine "King
Lear."
No surprises
The production has been directed by Jonathan Miller on one of those heavy
wooden sets that screams out: No surprises here, by Juno! Miller intends
a clear, traditionally grounded version, built upon the strengths of a first-rate
Lear. Here, though, tradition jousts with defiant non-interpretation all
night. And Plummer finds himself surrounded by a handful of workmanlike supporting
performances and a larger handful of merely adequate ones.
Plummer last appeared on Broadway in "Barrymore," offering audiences a heavenly
slice of deviled ham. He was clearly better than his material. That is not
the case here. At times, though, you wonder if Lear's disdainful regard of
his extended family overlaps with Plummer's suppressed irritation regarding
his flat-footed Shakespearean colleagues.
"King Lear" begins with the monarch dividing his land among three daughters.
His ickily playful request -- that each daughter tell him why she loves Lear
most -- goes so wrong, by the end of the play it's as if the gods had voted
him off the planet. Things go no better for Lear's comrade, Gloucester (James
Blendick), whose onstage blinding is one of the most brutal scenes in Shakespeare,
and whose illegitimate son Edmund (Geraint Wyn Davies) competes with his
half-brother, Edgar (Brent Carver) for control of an unstable world.
A touch of gallows humor
The play's sick-cosmic-joke streak plainly interests director Miller. He
and Plummer indulge in a touch of gallows humor in Lear's first line. When
the king says "Attend the lords of France and Burgundy," Plummer's Lear,
his hands shaking with palsy, can't recall Burgundy's name, and after a few
snaps of his fingers, he still can't get it. Small bits as well as huge,
richly expressive, roof-rattling cries to the heavens: Plummer makes virtually
everything work, with the odd exception of the storm scene on the heath.
Dramatically this one's a bit of a drizzle.
Weather aside, no "Lear" benefits from a Regan (Lucy Peacock) who early
on settles for silly, monotonal line readings and arch frippery, like Lady
Teazle in a second-rate production of "The School for Scandal." This production's
Cordelia (Claire Jullien) fails to particularize any of the plights at hand;
she's mere Distress with a capital D. Several others fare better, such as
Domini Blythe's Goneril, and Davies' Edmund and Carver's Edgar. But when
Plummer's offstage, this "King Lear" would work just as well (or rather,
just as forgettably) as radio drama.
The director doesn't exactly activate that big, blocky set with dynamic
groupings. Every scene in every act gets rolled out with the same steady,
ceremonial, plodding rhythm. Actors walk onstage, stand still for a few minutes
and then leave again. This is no way to enliven a granite-hard tragedy.
A single directorial flourish
It's a shame Miller couldn't capitalize on the tantalizing promise of Lear's
first scene as staged here. The king is due. A kingdom must be subdivided.
Miller brings all the courtiers and toadies and family members onstage and
then strands them, uncomfortably and wittily, for a few long seconds before
they hear Lear and Gloucester sharing a laugh far offstage. Finally, the
old friends stroll out of the shadows (lovely autumnal lighting by Robert
Thomson) and appear onstage. It's a subtle but wonderful directorial flourish,
and it's the only one you get.
Plummer, virtually alone, captures the miserable beauty and sardonic wit
in Shakespeare's tragedy. The rancid honey in this lion's voice and the hard-won
wisdom in his eyes make the old king's plight a compelling one. Anyone attending
this "King Lear" with one overriding desire -- let's see some acting! --
will get what they want from Plummer.
"When we are born," he says near the end, "we cry that we are come/To this
great stage of fools." However stolid the overall results, the way this wily
master tosses off such profoundly despairing insights, you're grateful to
have come to Lincoln Center to hear how it's done.
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"King Lear," Lincoln Center Theater, Vivian Beaumont Theater, 150 W. 65th
St., New York City. Through April 18. Tickets $65 and $90 at 212-239-6200.
