BBC Shakespeare DVD Sets

[colinr0380]

Thanks for asking ando! I did a small post about it here, but I'm afraid its not quite as in depth as other posts. I liked this BBC version very much with the part that particularly stuck in my mind in the time since watching it being the 'blasted heath' monologue being a much more internalised one, moving into an enormous close up on Michael Hordern that blots out all the other details of the set, which seems different from what seems to be an approach of showing Lear as dwarfed by the landscape.

It is a bit difficult to assess as King Lear has been adapted so much and I haven't yet seen enough to be able to make an informed compare and contrast judgment about how this 1982 production stands up compared to say the 1998 Richard Eyre version with Ian Holm in the lead or the Peter Brook version starring Paul Schofield. I think the Revelator a little later on in the thread was not quite as positive about this 1982 version though.

[Revelator]

As Colin notes (thank you for the shout-out!) I was less keen on the BBC Lear and I'm afraid that blog post didn't change my mind (especially when it began knocking Olivier's Lear, a far more successful production). Nor I do think it's widely regarded as one of the jewels of the whole series. I'll summarize my criticism:

Miller's production is drab and washed-out--those are intentional choices, but they're not balanced by the direction or performances. Hordern overdoes portraying Lear as a doddering old bastard, and shows less emotional range than he did as Prospero (it should be the other way around). He's very good at being doddering and surly, to the point of monotony, but in the mad scenes he looked distracted, rather than illuminated by radical knowledge. And though casting a Fool as old as Lear was a fine idea, Frank Middlemass tended to shout his lines into incoherence. Miller over-relies on triangular compositions of talking heads, and the effect grows wearying and reductive: cheap TV. The storm scene is pathetic (close-ups with light drizzle). Aside from the irritatingly silly Edgar, the remaining performances are fine, especially Michael Kitchen's lizard-like Edmund. An excessively dry production.

Hordern also starred in the BBC's Tempest, and that is a true jewel--not so much for the direction but for Hordern's performance, which is full-blooded and brings out every nuance in the text. As for productions of Lear, I have to rank the BBC's as the least impressive I've seen. I urge viewers to first watch the feature adaptions by Grigori Kozintsev and Peter Brook and the television productions starring Orson Welles and Olivier. Kozintsev needs no defending on my part, and while Brook's version is often knocked for being overly dark and nihilistic, it's a bravura work of filmmaking and pursues its vision with nightmarish intensity. Brook also directed the Welles Omnibus King Lear, and despite the excision of the Edgar/Edmund subplot it's an excellent production. The direction, despite the constraints of live TV, is actually smoother and more inventive than many of the BBC versions. Welles is tentative, but "every inch a king." As for the Michael Elliot directed Olivier version, it's less cheesy-looking than I remembered--I liked the old-fashioned druid-settings and realism of the studio set more on second viewing. And Olivier's poignant performance has a quicksilver quality, perpetually responding to the shifting moods of the text. The production might also have the very best Regan of them all--Diana Rigg cloaks cruelty in the most debonair of hides.

[domino harvey]

I've said this before but the Ian Holm Lear is my favorite adaptation (and indeed one of my favorite Shakespeare adaptations, period), the filmmakers/actors made some great and smart choices in presenting it

[ando]

Im afraid that blog post didn't change my mind (especially when it began knocking Olivier's Lear, a far more successful production). Nor I do think it's widely regarded as one of the jewels of the whole series.

The blog post was designed to kick-start a discussion not change anyone's mind. How can you change anyone's mind about an experience as subjective as movie-watching anyway? The most dynamic aspect of the post, at any rate, were the responses to the opinion of the blogger.
And this production is regarded as one of the best overall productions in the series.

Hordern overdoes portraying Lear as a doddering old bastard, and shows less emotional range than he did as Prospero (it should be the other way around). He's very good at being doddering and surly, to the point of monotony, but in the mad scenes he looked distracted, rather than illuminated by radical knowledge.

Agreed on Hordern but what is radical knowledge? I'm fairly certain of the meaning of knowledge. But what would be the difference between radical knowledge and conservative or even reactionary knowledge?

And though casting a Fool as old as Lear was a fine idea, Frank Middlemass tended to shout his lines into incoherence.

Indeed.

Miller over-relies on triangular compositions of talking heads, and the effect grows wearying and reductive: cheap TV.

All TV is cheap. These productions initially began as "Play of the Week" special presentations, which allowed all involved to explore the material more fully than if they were beholden to the typical 5 minutes-and-then-a-commercial-break type of format with most television programming. That does encourage reductive measures.
But You could make a similar case with Brook"s unrelenting -blurred close-ups with Lear's heath scenes (a critic at the time called the movie King Smear!) But neither Miller nor Brook make incessant use of any particular blocking throughout their respective Lear films. (Can't say the same for Brook's Tempest! But that's an entirely different - and far more demanding - viewing experience.)

Yes, Hordern often plays Lear like his Professor in the BBC production of Uncle Vanya with Freddie Jones (Vanya) and Anthony Hopkins (Astrov) - entitled, spoiled, grumbling, demanding and incredulous when people don't acquiesce to his demands. And, you're right; Scofield's Lear is on another level altogether. He's not simply a crank. His Lear is truly commanding and horrifyingly incredulous at what he perceives to be his daughters' unforgivable betrayal.

[Revelator]

And this production is regarded as one of the best overall productions in the series.

From what I've read, the consensus seems to be that the BBC Shakespeare's most acclaimed entries were either the adventurously directed ones (Henry VI), the adaptations of lesser-known plays (Henry VIII, Pericles, Cymbeline), or well-cast productions (Richard II). The BBC King Lear seems to have received less acclaim.

Agreed on Hordern but what is radical knowledge? I'm fairly certain of the meaning of knowledge.

I should have explained, but by "radical knowledge" I mean the knowledge that Lear's world has been based on lies, that he has never truly known himself or others. Upon learning this, his mind is radically changed.

All TV is cheap.

But some TV programs are less cheap-looking than others...

But You could make a similar case with Brook"s unrelenting -blurred close-ups with Lear's heath scenes

Perhaps, but I don't believe they're deployed as continually as Miller's triangle-of-heads compositions. And Brook uses many other dazzling techniques, which can't be said of Miller (whose work I usually otherwise like--his Alice in Wonderland is the best adaptation of Carroll I've seen).

[ando]

The BBC King Lear seems to have received less acclaim.

Over the years that may have been the case but I believe it has had something of a "rediscovery" as of late.

I should have explained, but by "radical knowledge" I mean the knowledge that Lear's world has been based on lies, that he has never truly known himself or others. Upon learning this, his mind is radically changed.

Well, that's the crux of the play. And you might say Shakespeare's main argument (if he can be said to have had one), namely; that man (for any number of reason's) is constantly deceiving himself and thereby precipitates his own fall. This applies to the lot of the characters in Lear. I'm just not sure if it's with the heath scene, alone, that this is revealed, though it certainly is (pardon the pun) the spark which ignites Lear's hallucinatory revelations. Though he does come to see I don't think Lear ever sees straight, which is why the fool is such an amusing companion for him. But, again, not seeing straight doesn't mean that he can't see the truth, which - as you point out - out he does though it's too late to stave off tragedy.

Brook uses many other dazzling techniques, which can't be said of Miller (whose work I usually otherwise like--his Alice in Wonderland is the best adaptation of Carroll I've seen).

I'm not aware of any production in this series that features dazzling visual technique, frankly. They're essentially filmed stage plays and - to be fair - should probably be judged accordingly.

[Revelator]

I'm not aware of any production in this series that features dazzling visual technique, frankly. They're essentially filmed stage plays and - to be fair - should probably be judged accordingly.

Yes and no--most of the BBC Shakespeares are not much more than canned theatre, but the best entries in the series don't feel stagey, but rather like good television. Henry VIII benefits greatly from being filmed in real castles, while Jane Howell's Henry VI trilogy and Winter's Tale make daring use of stylized sets, anti-realism, and her blocking and compositions are more imaginative and varied than Miller's. It's shame her work will almost certainly be overshadowed when the next installment of The Hollow Crown is released.

[ando]

Jane Howell's Henry VI trilogy and Winter's Tale make daring use of stylized sets, anti-realism, and her blocking and compositions are more imaginative and varied than Miller's. It's shame her work will almost certainly be overshadowed when the next installment of The Hollow Crown is released.

No more than the original Hollow Crown series overshadowed her work (which it certainly did not). I don't believe any new version of a classic overshadows any previous accomplishment. At best, a successful new version of a classic illuminates aspects of the work previous not considered or overlooked - or simply presented in a different light.

[Sloper]

I agree with Revelator - the best entries in this cycle show very well how powerful a medium television can be, in ways that theatre and film usually cannot. The ones directed by Elijah Moshinsky (Love's Labour's Lost and All's Well That Ends Well, for instance) are especially ambitious in their use of lighting, camera movement and composition.

[ando]

I agree with Revelator - the best entries in this cycle show very well how powerful a medium television can be, in ways that theatre and film usually cannot. The ones directed by Elijah Moshinsky (Love's Labour's Lost and All's Well That Ends Well, for instance) are especially ambitious in their use of lighting, camera movement and composition.

I never said television wasn't effective. But what advantage does the format have over live theater and/or film specifically? And especially with regard to Shakespeare productions?

[Sloper]

If television has no specific advantages over cinema or theatre, and if there’s therefore no reason to use this medium other than sheer necessity, how can it be ‘effective’ in itself? I’m not an expert on this topic, but I guess TV has always struggled to match the prestige of cinema and theatre because, as you said above, it’s always ‘cheap’ in some sense. In recent years the medium has acquired a lot more prestige, often by becoming less cheap and making its products look more like films. (This is a shame, in some ways: the latest BBC adaptation of War and Peace looks lovely and is very watchable, but is far outshone by the comparatively tacky-looking 1972 version in terms of emotional and philosophical depth.) I think the specific kind of TV we’re talking about here does have various features that set it apart from, and give it an advantage over, the other two mediums.

I guess we could think about it in terms of the inherent differences between the three mediums, and in terms of the different expectations attached to them. When people sit in a dark cinema to watch filmed Shakespeare on a big screen, they can usually expect a heavily cut text, reasonably high production values, a certain amount of verisimilitude, 'cinematic' camerawork, editing, soundtrack, etc., and something that's designed to appeal to a wide, varied audience. There are exceptions to all these rules, of course, and again much of the above can now be found in television productions as well. Generally speaking, cinema audiences will also expect a certain kind of acting, a more restrained and more ‘accessible’ (a vague term, I know) reading of the lines than what you might get in the theatre; and of course the actors who get cast in films tend to be a lot more photogenic than theatre actors.

When people go to sit in a theatre to watch live Shakespeare on a stage, their expectations will vary depending on the theatre company, but as a rule they might be willing to tolerate a longer text (with an interval where they can have a beer and talk about the production), less verisimilitude and a more limited visual spectacle, even in a big-budget production. Theatre acting is different from film acting – again, not a hard-and-fast rule, but generally true. And of course the interaction between performers and audience is very different in a live production. For instance, many stage productions play up the humour in the text in a way that film productions tend not to, because (to put it in a cynical way) live performers need to keep their audience engaged with cheap laughs, and more generally need to gauge and respond to the mood of that audience. You can see this most clearly in productions at the London Globe, where the spectators are visible throughout to the actors and to each other. (By the way, with reference to the previous page’s discussion of Much Ado About Nothing, the recent Globe production of this was very good – a lot more fun than the BBC or Branagh films.)

When you sit down in front of the square box in your living room to watch one of the BBC Shakespeares, you know that it will be about as long as a theatre performance (perhaps spread over two nights), that because it’s a BBC production it will be fairly conservative and not too radical or avant-garde, that it will use some of the same editing and lighting techniques as films tend to use, but on a small budget, that it may achieve greater levels of verisimilitude than a theatre production could (see the BBC Henry VIII, mentioned above by Revelator) but that its settings may also be less realistic, more minimal and more symbolic than those one would expect to see in a film, and that it will feature actors who are probably quite (or very) well known in the theatre and on television but not in films.

It’s not just a case of television being ‘somewhere in between’ the cinema and the theatre. It takes and excludes aspects from each and forms something different. Even if the sets, the staging and the acting all look as though they could have been lifted right off a theatre stage, the mere fact that there is no live audience (except the very small one that might be accompanying you in front of the TV, none of whom can be seen by the actors on screen), and that you’re watching this on a small box in your own home, makes a huge difference to how you receive and respond to the performance.

Nine times out of ten, what we see in these films simply does not resemble anything you would see in the theatre, and for me, above all, this has to do with the different acting style required of television actors. This is a complex topic, because just as film acting is different from theatre acting, so television acting is different from either. Because we understand, going into these films, that the actors are known for their interpretations of Shakespeare on stage, we must be prepared for a degree of ‘theatricality’ in their performances that we might not accept in the cinema; and yet, we also expect the actors to tailor these performances to the more intimate conditions of the television screen.

The best example I can give to illustrate this is Alan Howard’s performance as Coriolanus. He was famous for playing this role on stage, but I can’t imagine that he performed it in quite the same way in that context as he did in the BBC production. Look at the scene where, having been banished from Rome, he goes to Aufidius and teams up with him. It would be extraordinarily daring for a film director to allow this scene to go on for this long, and to keep the camera so static, with no music on the soundtrack, but in a TV film it’s simply expected. In the theatre, you couldn’t possibly have the actors delivering their lines this quietly, nor (as a rule) would you expect them to remain so still for such a long time. I have seen theatre productions do extraordinary things very quietly, and in great stillness, but as a rule you would expect more volume and movement, and I imagine you would have got them if you’d seen Alan Howard on stage. And even if that were not true, even if the scene had been played in exactly the same way on stage, the effect would have been profoundly different. You just can’t get this close to the actors’ faces when you see a play in the theatre. Everything is happening through the most subtle modulations in the expressions and body language of Alan Howard and Mike Gwilym, and the camera moves just enough and no more to accommodate and enhance these two brilliant performances – this being a Moshinsky production, the lighting is also very effective.

These artists have a freedom to present the text in full (or almost in full) without any pressure to make it cool, exciting or relevant; they also have a freedom to present it as quietly and subtly as they want to, without any pressure to keep a live audience awake and interested, or to seek that audience’s applause. Compare this film with Ralph Fiennes’ version, which I quite like in some ways, but which seems obvious, pedestrian and unambitious alongside what Moshinsky, Howard et al. do with the same material. Or just watch All’s Well That Ends Well, a play that may never be adapted for the cinema, and that would never appear on stage quite as it does in Moshinsky’s film. When I watch Angela Down’s performance in that version, especially her soliloquy at the end of the first scene, I wonder how anyone can think that this old style of TV film-making is dull and theatrical, or write the BBC films off (as a colleague of mine once did when describing them to students) as ‘basically just chamber drama’, as if that were a bad thing. The intimacy, intensity and subtlety of these films - most of them, to some extent, even the bad ones – give them a power that is, I think, unique to this particular medium.

[ando]

Before I forget - there is an excellent published record of King Lear performances for the masses by Jonathan Croall called Performing King Lear. In it this production of Lear, its stage conception as well as the two subsequent film adaptation are all considered. Highly recommended.

Thanks for that considered response, Sloper.

... the mere fact that there is no live audience (except the very small one that might be accompanying you in front of the TV, none of whom can be seen by the actors on screen), and that you’re watching this on a small box in your own home, makes a huge difference to how you receive and respond to the performance.

Absolutely, but not necessarily because of the number of people around you.

With regard to receiving the text this Is a false assumption which gives little credence to the intelligence of the viewer. I can only speak for myself and I know for a fact - which is often quite disconcerting to those around me - that when considering the text I don't respond any differently when I watch Shakespeare in a theater or cinema than I do when I'm watching or listening to it on a small screen at home unless I'm persuaded to do so. And I don't believe anyone who listens seriously to the plays responds much differently either, unless something else in their enviorment begs them to reconsider. I don't mean serious in a grave way but serious in an attentive way.

Sometimes, for example (as you point out), an actor may nearly whisper lines in a tv production that he may feel the need to exclaim loudly in a 3,000 seat theater. That's a bad actor making poor choices. Any competent director would correct that. But decisions made about the delivery of the text based on the medium in which it's involved better have more to do with fiscal concerns than aesthetic considerations because then you begin altering the play itself.

Outside of the text the play needs to come across as effectively as possible given the limitations of the medium. Television has traditionally been an instrument of communication which has narrowed the focus of a viewer, which, when considering the worlds that Shakespeare asks us to inhabit, is diamectrically opposed to the manner in which his plays were written to be performed. Orson Welles was right; tv is more often than not merely illustrated radio. Its function has been primarily to convey information which reenforces images with meanings not expand the scope of any given subject and certainly not to instill wonder - which I think the best of the Shakespeare plays do. Live theater may instill that. The cinema retains the possibility of doing that. And by that I mean taking you out of your usual assumptions about anything and presenting a world that jettisons - or, at least, makes you reconsider - your assumptions. For that you have to leave your head. Television is aimed at your head. I don't see how it can touch the experience of a live performance or an unusually fine film which asks you to at least make your head a secondary consideration.

You spoke of the advantage that tv has over the other mediums in conveying intimacy in Shakespeare but how often is Shakespeare actually initimate? Certainly, events in Lear work against intimacy. The power of the state and the ways in which it does and/or does not function are its primary concerns, which sets the stage for tragedy since it considers the family unit, where some of the most intimate relations in nature occur.

[ando]

I interrupted the Miller version of Lear the other night with the 1970 Peter Brook version, which remains my favorite, and resumed the second half of the Miller version last night. It's probably a diservice to Miller & Company but it's the reality of the current stage of technology, which prospective adapters of The Bard's plays will have to take into account. But it's not really fair to compare the two productions as the filmmakers had different conceptions of the play. To wit - Miller:

Lear is not what it's thought to be about, a great cosmic drama. People get misled by the thunderstorm, which lasts for about four minutes, if that. If you make Lear a cosmically suggestive role, it may satisfy people who are looking for operatic bullshit, but that's not what its about. It's really about what happens if you lose everything, about the learning that results from the chastening loss. We discover throughout the play that, for Lear and several other characters in the play, the experience of nothing becomes everything.

Indeed, and in that vein I felt the second half of the film was far more effective than the first half. When Hordern was loosed of his kingly affects he elicited genuine compassion. All the cast, in fact, I felt came into their own in the second half. It became as compelling to watch as it was tedious to suffer through initially! Iwas particularly impressed with the blinding of Glouster scene. First of all, before last night I had never seen a production where most - if not all - of the text was delivered throughout the scene. I had forgotten about the merciless bungling Cornwall makes of dispatching Glouster's eyes and could thereby (God forgive me) sympathize with one of Glouster's men who retaliate for Glouster by delivering Cornwall's mortal blow. The production - reduced as it is - doesn't really come to life until the second half. The players even seem strangled by the period dress - when Lear exclaims Undo this collar! or something to that effect at the plays' end (despite being pactically bare-chested), considering how nearly everyone was initially clad, it seems marvellously apt.

But, of course, Miller also implied the emotional and even mental loss that happens to the characters. One could argue that Lear's loss - the loss of his sense of self as king and father - is mirrored physically by Edmund as the nearly naked Poor Tom. But Edmund's nakedness is, in effect, a disquise. For, in fact, if Lear is no longer Lear and Edmund throws off his selfhood completely the play ends. There's no reunion of fathers (Lear and Glouster) with their estranged children (Cordelia and Edmund), comeuppance for the villians or justice administered. So, what actually, is the so-called lost considered here - other than the dozen dead bodies by the end of the fifth act?

In his approach to the play, Peter Brook recalled,

I had no ida how to do it; I only knew what I didn't want to do.

[bottled spider]

Just finished watching the Olivier Lear for a second time. I could probably rave over this production, if it weren't for the infuriating sound design: relentless music bizarrely played over top of dialog, too prominent background sounds -- birds, waves, wind -- competing with dialog, and in some cases both at once, as in the heath scenes. My exasperation with this one feature makes it hard to judge, but I think this might otherwise have been my favourite adaptation.

[Revelator]

I recently stumbled across notes I made after watching the BBC version of King John a while back:

Surely the most cynical history play in Shakespeare--the monarchs and royalty and clergy are all treacherous, calculating, and ready to betray anyone for a price and justify their actions as moral. The only character with a shred of honor is the Bastard, a man out of time. John is presented one one hand as a defiant proto-Prostestant martyr and on the other as a weak, failed monarch. Being early Shakespeare, King John is pretty verbose, with lots of quibbles and wordplay that are befuddling without footnotes. This BBC episode is the only real adaptation in a visual medium (there's a short silent film, but silent Shakespeare is not truly Shakespeare). It has an excellent cast but suffers from stodgy production and direction. The costumes are elaborate and a pleasure to look at, but the flat lighting could be from a porno. The settings recall those of Olivier's Henry V, but aren't quite as stylized and look cramped. As for the cast...

Leonard Rossiter, playing John, was a inspired choice and demonstrates excellent command of the verse. It's hard to forget his weaselly, piping voice, shifty leering eyes, his sneering mouth turned down at one corner, and the way he ends lines with sneering whine. Mary Morris plays his mother Elinor as a smug, wizened crone. Claire Bloom is deft as always but did not quite catch my heartstrings--perhaps an earthier, more upfront actress was needed to play Constance. Luc Owen does a valient job with a part that's almost impossible for a modern child actor, Prince Arthur. As the Earl of Pembroke, former M Robert Brown is more forceful here than he ever was bossing James Bond around. John Thaw shows solidity, salt of the earthiness, and integrity as the put-upon Hubert de Burgh. George Costigan Philip is physically much too slight to play Philip, bastard son of Richard the Lion Heart, but his performance is so sensitive and assured that he walks away with the production--which was what anyone playing the character should always do, since Philip comments on the action and editorializes with irony and heart (merge John and the bastard and you get Richard III).

[bottled spider]

(merge John and the bastard and you get Richard III).

Interesting observation. I quite liked King John -- more than I expected given its minor status -- a play I haven't read, or seen outside of this BBC production. The Bastard was very good, although I seem to remember he overdid a certain groping-for-words mannerism.

[ando]

I'll have to rewatch the Olivier film, though I remember not liking it (but checking the cast just now - Dorothy Tutin as Goneril and John Hurt as The Fool? What was I smoking?). Olivier's approach is so outward that sometimes it comes off as superficial; outwardly dazzling but inwardly a bit thin. His declamatory manner, especially in scenes of high passion, is a kind of harkening back to the 19th century style of acting. There are exceptions; notably his turn as Shylock in Merchant of Venice and his Henry V, where he certainly exhibits the tendencies mentioned above but manages to avoid histrionics. At the time of his stage turn he must have been the obvious man to play Lear (certainly by the time he filmed it) that I wanted to see something other than what I'd seen from him in previous roles.

[Revelator]

I'll have to rewatch the Olivier film

It's certainly worth a rewatch--I liked it a good deal more the second time around, though what had initially bothered me weren't the performances but the strained TV naturalism, along with the Stonehenge setting and garish pagan costumes. On DVD the production certainly looked better--or riper--than my memories of the VHS. This Lear is probably Olivier's most naturalistic, human, and stripped-down Shakespearean performance--the declamation is cannily saved for Lear's blustering against his daughters. The other scenes are beautifully gauged: the smugness when he waits to hear what he presumes will be Cordelia's flattery; the peasant cunning when he discourses in madness to Gloucester; the frailty and bewilderment with which he holds Cordelia's body. He was at the perfect stage of life for the part, with just enough fuel left in the tanks, able to act with the security and economy conferred by age and experience.

[ando]

I liked it a good deal more the second time around, though what had initially bothered me weren't the performances but the strained TV naturalism, along with the Stonehenge setting and garish pagan costumes.

You've hit on a point I wanted to make about the settings of Lear in various film versions of the play. Miller thought it absurd to set Lear in a pre-Christian England. He makes the case (in Performing Lear) that there was no concept, much less reality, of the state in ancient times and that Shakespeare's text is loaded with imagery from the books of the NewTestament. Also (and probably most poignant for Miller):

Shakespeare was writing about his own time, about seventeenth century ideas, and foreshadowing the political upheaval that was soon to come with the civil war in England. Here we have a play written only a few years before people began to question the right of sovereign, to the extent that they chop offf his head. So I wanted to bring to light themes which seemed absolutely contemporary with that period.

Other filmmakers apparently haven't been bothered by those points which nevertheless throw into relief the question of Lear's tranfer of power and loyalty to daughters with no apparatus of state to support them. It's hardly credible that men living in the kind of feudal society of pre-Christian England would have even understood much less followed a female sovereign in such circumstances. I kept thinking, watching Peter Brook's film for which I have admiration, Who would follow these women after Lear?

[Revelator]

Miller makes a good case, but I find that putting the cast in Jacobean costumes can make the play seem too much of its era. I think Brook and Kozintsev went for the most effective approach by placing the action in an unspecified era of past barbarity, which emphasizes that the play is ultimately timeless.

I'm guessing that the connections between Lear and the tensions developing during king James's reign are explored in James Shapiro's new book.

[ando]

Miller makes a good case, but I find that putting the cast in Jacobean costumes can make the play seem too much of its era. I think Brook and Kozintsev went for the most effective approach by placing the action in an unspecified era of past barbarity, which emphasizes that the play is ultimately timeless.

I'm guessing that the connections between Lear and the tensions developing during king James's reign are explored in James Shapiro's new book.

Ha. Well, I think it was Shapiro, who said in an interview recently, that Shakespeare is timeless in his timeliness.

[ando]

Taking a break from Lears to watch the 6 part TV series on the rise of Shakespeare from '78, Life of Shakespeare, starring Tim Curry as The Bard. Superlative so far - save the first episode, which I found strangely morose - it's currently up on The Tube. This is a series that manages to do the most with the least, indeed.

[ando]

Watching the last episode of Life of Shakespeare I was taken aback by King James' court reception of the blind Glouster/Mad Lear heath scene where Lear mocks Glouster's sightlessness. Burbage, of course, was playing Lear and (what appreared to be) Shakespeare was Glouster. The court fell in hysterics over Lear's jibes - at one point King James kicking his heels with laughter. I had a somewhat similar reaction to Hordern's (as Lear) teasing of Glouster in the Miller version, though the spectacle seemed too pitiful (especially with the Christ-like Edgar hovering over them) for raucus laughter. Not so with the court! And I must say that no other production brought out the comical absurdity - even cruelty - of Lear's ribbing for me like Miller's production. But the immediacy of reaction by live audiences in films dealing with the performance of Shakespeare's plays during their time is always jarring to me; for when I see his plays among contemporary audiences there's almost always a scrim between what's happening on stage and it's reception. I'm not sure if it's a scrim of reverence, of estrangement or simply of incoherence. But the most successful performances seem to be those that elicit the kind of almost violent immediacy you see among playgoers of the 15th and 16th centuries. Contemporary Shakespeare productions are seldom that successful.

On the other hand, I've heard of productions in Japan that got very little discernable (to the actors) audience response - even dead silence at a number of finales - but were regarded as huge successes as the Japanese have their own tradition of showing their appreciation. Perhaps we're also too removed a culture from that time to receive and respond with like vehemence.

[bottled spider]

^^ There's a DVD of a live performance of Lear, starring James Earl Jones in the title role. It's good, but all but ruined by an audience who kept guffawing at (to my mind) the most outlandish moments, almost as though they had no notion what they were watching and were politely laughing at what they imagined were the funny bits. Perhaps their reactions weren't in fact so wrong-headed after all.

[Revelator]

That's often a problem with "cultured," well-heeled audiences--they often to laugh at stuff that isn't really funny. It's a mixture of self-congratulation and nervousness about missing "jokes" that their peers might find amusing, and it results in over-compensation.

I'm a little skeptical about the scenario in the Life of Shakespeare. First, do we really know how King James or his court reacted to the play? From what I understand, such evidence is lacking. We have stray comments from Pepys's diaries regarding audiences' receptions, but not much else. Furthermore, Lear's lines to Gloucester, though prompted by madness, are bitterly satirical, and I doubt anyone even in Shakespeare's time regarded lines like "See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?" as hilarious knee-slappers. Bitter satire isn't interested in belly laughs. And it could just as well be that a royal absolutist like James would have found the scene offensive and impertinent.