June 17th, 2008

King Lear At The Globe

We were in London last Friday, watching King Lear at the Globe. Who'd have thought the old play had so many laughs in it? Doing it on that huge, draughty, open stage, in daylight, with the audience lounging around in the yard, turns it into a raw slice of folk theatre- edging towards vaudeville at times. I've never seen actors in a classic play deal so directly with an audience, stepping up to the edge of the stage and talking to us direct. The nature of the playing space almost compels this kind of relationship- and that a jokey kind of intimacy should be built up. What a lot we lost when we ditched the Elizabethan stage for the proscenium arch. Doing Shakespeare in his own way, on his own stage makes so much sense of him. You understand, for instance, why he uses so many words- it's because you can count on a tithe of them getting lost- thrown away in the breakneck pace of the performance, drowned out by extraneous or audience noise, lost in the vastness of the space.

I used to think King Lear was next door to unactable. On our way down to my mother's in the car last week we listened to an audio version starring Paul Scofield. Scofield paces himself like a man daunted by the task ahead, growling his way through the early scenes, the better to impress with verbal gymnastics as things turn hairy.  This is a great actor attempting one of the world's great roles, intent on causing awe.  And of course there's not a single laugh from beginning to end. Not even the fool- played by Kenneth Branagh- is funny. At the Globe everyone got laughs. Lear's mad scenes were played as stand-up comedy. Edgar- that trickiest of roles- was introduced as Edmund's comic stooge- and for the first time in my experience the character made sense. Theatrical sense. The cast had no big names; David Calder was Lear, Paul Copley Kent; they were the only two I was sure I recognised; they're character actors, best known for supporting roles on TV. No problem- there was no sense of them falling short. The big moments were still in place, the pathos still hit home. By showing they weren't afraid of this big brute of a play, an energetic, mainly youthful cast made it tractable, managable, entertaining.

I'm not saying the Globe way is the only way to do Shakespeare; that would be silly. But I do think it's the most natural. The cult of the great actor- which we largely owe to the romantic critics- who were watching the plays on picture-window, proscenium arch stages- has thrown us a loop. We have been taught to expect great (meaning self indulgent, spotlight-hogging, stilted) acting of a kind utterly foreign to Shakespeare's rowdy stage. He wasn't writing star vehicles, he was writing for a company, for an ensemble- and the productions were flung together, minimally rehearsed, dependent for their effect on the goodwill, built up over seasons, of a  mad-keen, uninhibited, easily distracted audience of all the classes. In the post-Shakespearian theatre the audience is largely passive, it sits in darkness and its members frown at other members if they rustle their sweet papers.  In Shakespeare's theatre the audience is an unscripted character in the play. It cannot be ignored. It's as visible to the actors as the actors are visible to it- because the performance is happening in daylight.  It has to be charmed, brought on side, humoured, answered if it heckles.  If we think of Shakespeare's art as problematic- and in spite of his unassailable position as king of culture we still do- it's largely because we've been playing him all these years- centuries- in the wrong kind of theatre.

A False Step

I got a savaging on a Feminist forum the other day. It was my own stupid fault. I'm too old to run with that particular crowd. Besides, I didn't study the subject at university and I don't use- or respect- the jargon.

I consider myself a feminist. If feminism means believing in the equality of the sexes, I'm enthusiastically for it. 

But I should have realised that the gnomic, slightly mischievous comments I go in for aren't going to wash on this particular site (with its ginormous rulebook)- and that you can't challenge someone (especially if if you're a white male) in that culture of victimhood without being accused of  "exercising privilege" and "silencing" them. 

A black American woman had accused a white European woman of racism. The white European woman had replied that the black American woman wasn't taking cultural differences into consideration and that her view was "US-centric". At least I think that's what had happened. The mods then intervened to rule that if a black person accuses a white person of racism that is gospel and no comeback is possible. The white person must take her whipping in patience and humility and afterwards kiss the rod.

I said I thought this was unfair- and that US-centrism is a real issue.  Are black American women really so fragile that they need protecting from all disagreement? Isn't it kind of insulting to assume they can't hold their own in debate?

I'll admit I didn't express myself as clearly or fully at the time. I spoke off the cuff. I should have been more careful- not that it would have made much difference if I had.

I thought I'd stir up a bit of controversy. I was wrong. The pack turned on me and tore me to shreds.

I am- among other things- a white, cracker racialist who likes to wave his dick around.

I'm talking about this here because after a while I realised there was no point in trying to explain myself over there. No-one  was interested in debate, only in parading their righteousness and calling me names. When you're in a hole it's foolish to go on digging.

I'll admit I felt a bit sorry for myself at first- but I'm over it now. I took a nice walk round a lake yesterday and had fish and chips in a garden centre and visited with my niece and nephew and that sort of cleared my head.