4.3, 2.3, 1.5: A Foolish Fond Old Man
Working backwards through Lear's arc tonight. We started by blocking 4.3, the scene we're calling "The Reconciliation" (I gave names to all the scenes, so that we can refer to them using the same language). Cordelia and Kent help Lear to awake, and ease him out of his madness. It's a touching scene, filled with heavy pauses, but with great payoffs for the actors--and they will keep getting greater, as they invest more emotional energy in their characters.
Then, from that quiet little scene, we went right into the noisy heart of darkness: the storm. "Blow, winds, crack your cheeks." This was also easy to block, in a way, since it's mostly just Lear yelling up towards the grid, and the Fool huddling at his feet. No need for anything more elaborate than that, really. We spent most of our time puzzling through the lines, trying to figure out why Lear was bellowing, and why the Fool was singing doggerel. ("Why are the seven stars no more than seven?" "Because they are not eight.")
By now, Dale and I were starting to make a few tentative connections about Lear's insanity...but no real light bulbs had gone off. Then Keiran (Kent) suggested that part of Lear's rationale for exposing himself to the thunderstorm was suicidal ideation. That led us to talk about Lear's repressed guilt over Cordelia's banishment. Suddenly the key line in the scene was no longer "I am a man / more sinned against than sinning," but rather, "Then let fall / Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave, / A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man."
Finally, Dale and Tatyana read through 1.5, another quizzical little scene that seems like an eye in the middle of a hurricane. Lear is waiting for his horses to be ready...the Fool is baiting him with riddles, maybe testing him to see whether he's all there...and the old man keeps flashing back to Cordelia. "I did her wrong." Is this where the suicidal guilt begins? Is this the moment that anticipates his bitter line to Cordelia in 4.3: "If you have poison for me, I will drink it"? Do I really want to direct a tragedy starring a suicidal old coot?
Not sure. Many possibilities. Long week.
Then, from that quiet little scene, we went right into the noisy heart of darkness: the storm. "Blow, winds, crack your cheeks." This was also easy to block, in a way, since it's mostly just Lear yelling up towards the grid, and the Fool huddling at his feet. No need for anything more elaborate than that, really. We spent most of our time puzzling through the lines, trying to figure out why Lear was bellowing, and why the Fool was singing doggerel. ("Why are the seven stars no more than seven?" "Because they are not eight.")
By now, Dale and I were starting to make a few tentative connections about Lear's insanity...but no real light bulbs had gone off. Then Keiran (Kent) suggested that part of Lear's rationale for exposing himself to the thunderstorm was suicidal ideation. That led us to talk about Lear's repressed guilt over Cordelia's banishment. Suddenly the key line in the scene was no longer "I am a man / more sinned against than sinning," but rather, "Then let fall / Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave, / A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man."
Finally, Dale and Tatyana read through 1.5, another quizzical little scene that seems like an eye in the middle of a hurricane. Lear is waiting for his horses to be ready...the Fool is baiting him with riddles, maybe testing him to see whether he's all there...and the old man keeps flashing back to Cordelia. "I did her wrong." Is this where the suicidal guilt begins? Is this the moment that anticipates his bitter line to Cordelia in 4.3: "If you have poison for me, I will drink it"? Do I really want to direct a tragedy starring a suicidal old coot?
Not sure. Many possibilities. Long week.
posted by Scott Sharplin at 11:46 p.m.
1 Comments:
Now that I've had some sleep, I can look at Lear's arc more objectively. I agree that all those things are at work--and the fact that Shakespeare, at age of 40, was able to explore senescence with such insight just reinforces his genius.
We speculated briefly that maybe Lear had Alzheimer's (or whatever the Renaissance equivalent would have been). The whole running-around-half-
dressed-in-the-storm business smacks of senile dementia, I think. But I believe that Lear's madness arises not from increasing confusion, but from increasing clarity.
He sees clearly what he has become ("a poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man") what he has lost (power, Cordelia), and whose fault it is ("I did her wrong").
I just can't decide whether he's being genuinely suicidal or simply melodramatic. Guilt and denial often lead to pointless, attention-seeking flourishes like that.
Post a Comment
<< Home