King Lear (Series 5 Episode 1)

First transmitted 19th September 1982

Michael Hordern rages against the dying of the light

Cast: Michael Hordern (King Lear), Norman Rodway (Earl of Gloucester), Gillian Barge (Goneril), Penelope Wilton (Regan), Brenda Blethyn (Goneril), Frank Middlemass (The Fool), John Shrapnel (Earl of Kent), Anton Lesser (Edgar), Michael Kitchen (Edmund), John Bird (Duke of Albany), Julian Curry (Duke of Cornwall), John Grillo (Oswald), David Weston (Duke of Burgundy), Harry Waters (King of France), Ken Stott (Curran)

Director: Jonathan Miller

Well it’s been a while and, if it’s any excuse, I’ve been extraordinarily busy with the last play I directed in Oxford – none other than a certain King Lear. So gosh and blimey it’s been interesting watching this production while a host of my own ideas have been bubbling around my head: always an interesting time to watch any production. Added to this, I’ve got some rather fond memories of watching this production during my A-Level studies, where several performances made a real impression on me – not least John Shrapnel’s Kent and Michael Kitchen’s Edmund.

So it’s interesting watching it again now, especially as I have now seen so many of the other films in this series – as well as all the rest of the productions directed and produced by Miller. This was Miller’s last production for the series and, apparently, it was not his first choice to work on it. He had directed a BBC version seven years prior to this – also starring Michael Hordern as Lear and Frank Middlemass as the Fool – and proposed merely showing that production again as part of this series. When that idea was rejected, Miller was commissioned to direct a new production. Being, presumably, pleased with many elements of his last production, Miller recast many of the same actors and then reset elements of the first production within some of the new staging ideas he had been experimenting with throughout the series.

From Troilus and Timon through to Antony and Cleopatra, Miller had increasingly experimented with stripped down, impressionistic sets that bring the focus into the acting. He set the plays themselves in increasingly non-realistic settings that stress the heightened emotions and events that occur. This style also worked to eliminate the clunking realism of earlier productions (Romeo and Juliet and As You Like It spring instantly to mind). The location used here is a deliberately wooden stage, almost reminiscent of the original Globe theatre. A black backcloth is used to establish the background (and no effort is made to suggest it is anything other than a cloth). The only other location used is a bare wasteland for the storm scenes, which is adapted into a sandy wilderness for the final battle. It’s deliberately bleak and spare for a production that stresses the harsh and violent world of the play. It’s matched by the Velazquez-inspired costumes, all of which are black and white with only touches of colour to thematically link characters (such as the white in the Fool’s facepaint mirroring the white in Cordelia’s).

The camera work also aims to make the action “up close and personal” with a proliferation of close-ups that zoom in on the actors’ (often impassioned) faces as if to pull the emotions out like teeth. The storm scene in particular relies on a series of prolonged close-ups of Hordern’s soaked face, while the Fool and Kent can be seen in the background. Gloucester’s blinding is largely framed from a reverse close-up on the Earl tied to a chair. A common shot is a side-on close up in which an actor speaks while a second actor stands (out of focus slightly) alongside them facing the camera – this is repeatedly used, perhaps to suggest a continuing sense of events being “witnessed” by others.

Even wider-angle shots, such as the final death of Lear, use framing and actor positioning to create a triangular “zooming in” effect, where the visual attention of the viewer is pulled down towards Lear at a focal point of the other characters in the scene. Of course this decision to use close-ups isn’t always effective: noticeably during the fight sequence between Edmund and Edgar, the entire fight is delivered in tight close-up on Edmund’s face. Sure this might give the feeling that we are judging Edmund – but it also means it’s rather difficult to tell what is going on (particularly as the fast paced movement makes it hard for the cameraman to keep up!). 

Perhaps this is part of the issue with the production itself: it feels like almost a greatest hits of Miller’s directing for the series, rather than him bringing a fresh new perspective to the series. While Shrew and Antony and Cleopatra seemed like fresh interpretations, this seems more like Miller reworking the play in response to ideas rather than other way around - something I was less aware of when watching it all those years ago.

Miller’s general design aesthetic is to integrate the motivations and feelings of the characters very closely, and this forensic style is equally clear in Hordern’s studied and well observed performance as Lear, which is packed with little details here and there. Indeed, Miller and Hordern’s intention to tightly analyse Lear throughout actually rather stacks the deck, particularly in the opening scene, towards exploring Lear’s mental strength (or rather weakness). From the first scene Lear is clearly struggling – he even seems momentarily confused and a little lost when entering the court scene, before seeming to remember what he is there for. 

Throughout the early scenes of the play, his Lear is twitchy and uncertain, almost nervous about standing still, as if uncertain or determined to keep moving forward so he knows where he is. Although this onset of senility is overplayed, Hordern does really capture a sense of childish, almost sulky, capriciousness in Lear – Cordelia’s famous “nothing” is met with stunned silence, before a temperamental explosion (and the division of the kingdom into two has a fantastic improvisational feel to it) which is echoed again in his fury towards Goneril in A1 S4 (which even seems to shock the Fool in its viciousness). What’s particularly interesting about the performance of Lear in his pomp is that he never seems too regal, but more like a self-important bank manager.

His Lear is capable of warmth – he is clearly close to the Fool (as seen in A1 S5 and during the storm sequence) – and is able to demonstrate affection to Regan in A2 S4 (even if it is grounded in manipulation) but he is also clearly equally capable of self-delusion. In A1 S5 he distractedly mutters “I did her wrong” (of Cordelia) before clearly dismissing the thought from himself. In A2 S4 he seems to persuade himself that Regan is pleased to see him (despite all evidence to the contrary in Penelope Wilton’s stony reaction) before angrily lashing out. It all builds towards the impression of a man teetering on the edge of from the start, tipping during his impassioned raging during the storm. 

Edgar’s mania mesmerises and inspires him to embrace the storm inside himself, with Lear increasingly becoming lost in broken conversation and mutterings, despite keeping an air of firmness. His madness is in fact laced through nicely with moment of calmness and reflection – “for I lack soliders” in A4 S5 has a particular sadness, as if remembering his lost knights. The cruelty is still there – the mocking of Gloucester’s blindness has an edge to it – but there is a clear continuation of underlying character traits in Hodern’s performance from sanity to madness – which makes it even more unnecessary for him to overplay the madness traits in the opening scene.

Recovering from madness, Hordern is gentle and apologetic, delighting in Cordelia’s presence. Hordern holds her tight and can barely let her go, his eyes rarely straying towards anything or anybody else in the scene. Hordern is also particularly strong portraying Lear’s grief at the death of this beloved child, mixing again moments of pained clarity with an almost dreamlike lack of understanding and acceptance of the events around him. Hordern’s performance makes a very watchable performance of this role – but it seems to lack something, maybe because Hordern himself is not naturally a ‘charasmatic superstar actor’, with his style better suited to character roles (such as in All’s Well That Ends Well) rather than a more ‘glamourous’ part like Lear. His style inverted rather better as Prospero than it does here as Lear. He’s watchable and touching at several points, but he is never quite as moving as the part perhaps requires.

Away from the lead, there are of course several other performances of note. Michael Kitchen has a great deal of charisma (if not depth of character or motivation beyond “he is a villain”) as Edmund, though today visually he bears more than a passing resemblance to Blackadder. His bastard is a cool and relaxed man, determined and intelligent, who makes himself believable with a low-key assurance. Kitchen frequently looks into the camera – notably when kissing Goneril – involving the audience in his schemes. He makes a firm contrast with Anton Lesser’s at first more highly-strung Edgar (he even needs to clash both swords for Edgar in A2 S1). 

Lesser however adds a great deal of development to Edgar from A3 onwards, his Poor Tom is intense and vulnerable (though a design decision to give him a Christ like appearance – including stigmata – definitely overplays it). Edgar himself becomes increasingly still, distant and devout, going from mortified pain at Gloucester’s fate to a monkish authority and even a touch of cruelty after the killing of Oswald. In the final confrontation between the brothers, Edgar wears a death mask resembling Gloucester (a nice touch), and Edmund’s authoritative assurance is broken into a desire to salvage something from his life.

Of Lear’s children, Gillan Barge and Penelope Wilton are little too close to villainous from the start, both nakedly selfish and deceiving from the opening scene. Barge’s Goneril is an aloof, imperial figure, with a sternness that only slightly cracks under Lear’s vicious verbal assault in A1 S4 (which even Kent and the Fool seem shocked by) though she tightly holds her hands throughout, and she allows a triumph on “Do you mark that” as Lear exits. She seems a colder, more controlled figure than Wilton’s Regan, who comes across here as more instinctive. Wilton does use her softness as a performer to good effect however, her concern for Gloucester in A2 S1 a nice parallel for the blinding that will come. In that blinding she seems fascinated by the violence her husband unleashes, while her love for Edmund later seems almost fanatical in its devotion. Brenda Blethyn’s Cordelia has a surface softness that hides an inner determination, though her prominent dressing in white is in its way as heavy handed as Edgar’s stigmata.

As mentioned earlier, John Shrapnel is probably a stand out as a dutifully loyal Kent, a man who seems almost incapable of self definition but can only see himself in relation to others (specifically Lear or Cordelia) rather than finding his own way. The disguising of Kent works very effectively and he also brings a great deal of gruff humour to several key moments, while his desolation at the play’s end is strikingly effective. Norman Rodway makes an arrogant Gloucester who only finds wisdom when it is too late. Frank Middlemass’ Fool is a mountain of vibrant anger and comic aggression matched with a childish vulnerability and self pity at key moments.

So overall, there are many qualities to be admired in this production. But stylistically it’s not a complete success, with its televisual craft occasionally getting slightly in the way of the story. Its reliance on the close-up at points obscures the story (most notably in the storm scene) with several moments losing the impact of the wider emotional experience of the characters. Miller’s decision to not use cut aways in the many scenes that feature large numbers of people on stage (but only a few talking at any particular point) does mean that some actors get lost in the shuffle in scenes. Similarly heavy handed acting and design decisions (stigmata and Lear’s dementia for starters) take things too far.

But that is to ignore the good stuff on the table here. Many of the performers are excellent, particularly Kitchen, Shrapnel and Wilton while Hordern certainly gives everything he has to his Lear, even if the effect at times doesn’t quite match up to how I personally might see the character, and even if he sometimes lacks the charisma the role might require. But the cut down design works quite well (even if it isn’t particularly visually interesting) and the bleakness of the play is mirrored well in the black and white costumes on display. As a display of intelligent interpretation of this most complex play in the cannon, it is certainly far more interesting than many of the other great tragedies in the cannon – better than Hamlet, perhaps a little much of a shadow of Othello. And that perhaps is the final issue: it feels like Miller is simply reworking or resubmitting previous ideas from old productions (both of this play and others) rather than bringing a true unique freshness to it as he did with The Taming of the Shrew.

Conclusion

A solid production with several exciting performances and design flourishes: but it feels a little like Miller on autopilot, as if the production was almost done to complete his contract rather than because Miller felt he had something fresh, new or interesting to bring to the play. If it’s true that he wished to simply retransmit his original television production from a few years before, perhaps he felt that remounting the same production in the style of Othello and other productions was the next best thing. So, despite the good things here, it feels like a wasted opportunity, and a shame that a different director in the series – an Elijah Moshinky or Jane Howell – didn’t get a chance to put their own spin on the play. It’s still up there with the better of the productions, but it could have been better.

NEXT TIME: Richard Griffiths’ gets into all sorts of bother with other people’s wives in The Merry Wives of Windsor.

Othello (Series 4 Episode 1)

First transmitted 4th October 1981

Bob Hoskins provokes the green-eyed monster in Antony Hopkins

Cast: Anthony Hopkins (Othello), Bob Hoskins (Iago), Penelope Wilton (Desdemona), Rosemary Leach (Emilia), David Yelland (Cassio), Geoffrey Chater (Brabantio), John Barron (Duke of Venice), Joseph O’Conor (Lodovico), Anthony Pedley (Roderigo), Tony Steedman (Montano), Wendy Morgan (Bianca)

Director: Jonathan Miller

 

Well there is no escaping it really. The picture above says it all. This production comes from a different time – a time when it was not seen as an unspeakable possibility that a white actor should don the facepaint and boot polish to play theatre’s most famous moor. So let’s tackle that issue first shall we?

For starters, it was not the original intention. Cedric Messina had originally intended to feature Othello in his plans for the second season of Shakespeare productions. He had the perfect actor lined up: James Earl Jones. A respected and well established Broadway star, Jones would have brought a real touch of Hollywood glamour to the series. Unfortunately, in the eyes of Equity he was guilty of an unpardonable fault: he was American. And, damn it, this was a British series that was there to give jobs for British actors – so why should this peach of a role go to some Yankee? So Jones was denied a visa to work on the series – and the production was placed on stand-by.

Enter Jonathan Miller. With no Jones, Miller announced, in his opinion, the play was less about race anyway, more about jealousy and envy. Miller had been one of the few openly critical of Olivier’s casting as Othello in the 60s and also believed Othello was an Arab rather than the African he was so often played as. As such, he focused on picking the best actor and avoiding playing up any racial characteristics in the performance. Of course you could criticise him (clearly) for not identifying a prominent black or Arabic classical actor – but the fact is a cursory glance at the RSC at the time shows he would not have been spoilt for choice in the 1970s. Hugh Quashie (later to appear in the series as a very different moor, Aaron) would have been the obvious choice – and would have given a very fine performance – but this time the election fell on Hopkins.

 

Hopkins does acquit himself well. Recent memories abound of scenery consuming roles in Hollywood films, but his Othello is a softly spoken, very controlled man, who has worked hard to integrate himself into his society – more Venetian than the Venetians. From his first scene, he is calm, rational, gentle and amused at the thought of threat or physical danger. It’s a very conscious absorbing of nobility, his calm assurance notable in a A1 S3 as he leans gently on the council table to tell the particulars of his wooing of Desdemona, smiling and with glances almost daring Brabantio to contradict him. When banishing Cassio, he stands quietly assured, hiding his fury.

 

The aim of Iago is to break down this controlled exterior to reveal the rage beneath. The one area where this man falls down is his almost childlike innocence in love. There is a boyishness in Othello – he playfully wrestles Iago to the floor when arriving in Cyprus – that extends to the chasteness of his relationship with his wife. Their kisses are brief and gentle, almost as if they are waiting to be told off. He seems almost in awe of her – the look on his face when she leaves him in A3 S3 (before Iago goes to work) is almost akin to worship. It hints at a deeper insecurity: as if he cannot believe that he, a stranger in Venetian society, could be loved by such a woman.

 

What a contrast then to the man destroyed by Iago! A3 S3 is a bravura scene of acting and direction (as is his custom, Miller uses many long takes to allow the performances to develop during the scene) and it deconstructs and rebuilds Othello into a man much wilder – almost bestial – than the calmer figure before. The scene is a slow descent: first he is sharper, pointedly stating “she chose me”, making a show of relaxing, of avoiding Iago. From there he becomes more emotional, tearful before ripping into a violent outburst, wild-haired and wild-eyed screaming, like a temper tantrum. It’s a note Hopkins carries forward, a man unbalanced by his passions, who strikes Desdemona one moment, then weepingly seems to be looking for the comfort he once had from her, but without being able to confess what concerns him.

His calmness only returns when he is once again given a purpose – her murder. Their dialogue before the murder could almost be a normal married argument, before his rage is unleashed – Penelope Wilton’s head-girl manner, from Othello’s perspective, her air of unimpeachable openness makes her betrayal far worse. Hopkins probably goes too far here with his maddened stare into the camera as he smothers her. After the death, he is a broken-hearted boy once more – and only returns to his regal manner after Iago’s villainy is revealed and he has a new duty – suicide. It’s a rich, complex performance, in no way a racial stereotype, but a great actor using the tools of his trade to utmost effect. Where it is perhaps weaker is in the moments of rage – Hopkins comes across at these points too theatrically. But the quieter moments are triumphs of filmic technique.

The real gem of the performance here however is Bob Hoskins. Has there been a finer performance of Iago captured on film? Hoskins certainly must stand up there with the greatest performances of this role of all time. His Iago is a playfully destructive figure, playing with lighted flames when he is alone, throwing water at Brabantio in the middle of gulling the man. Hoskins’ performance is a triumph of conveying inspiration – his soliloquies and asides showcase his ability to act ‘thinking’ before the camera, making it clear he is as uncertain about the next step he will take as anyone else.

There are several lovely moments of improvisation: in a particularly brilliant touch, in A4 S1 he leads Othello into the bedroom to point at the bed “she has contaminated”, clearly seizing inspiration for a suitable place for the murder. This improvisation is two-sided. He doesn’t think through implications (either because he can’t or he doesn’t care) and hands over damning letters about him from Roderigo’s corpse. He’s like a shark – only able to power forward and with very little thought about his eventual destination, seizing opportunities as they land in front of him. Momentum is his main weapon – Miller makes it clear that a simple pause and drawing of breath from the other characters would be enough to shatter his plans – making the events in many ways even more tragic.

Miller also uses Hoskins’ working-class roots as a strength – Iago here is a natural NCO, trusted by everyone as much because he is a ‘simple soldier’ among his betters. Hoskins never seems to stop smiling, his unaffected accent and bluntness signs to everyone else of his trustworthiness. Hoskins’ whole performance is a triumph of marrying up the many different images both the characters and the audience have of Iago – and in making it understandable why so many are fooled by him.

Iago’s instability is also to the fore. If Othello is a head-boy, Iago is a destructive tearaway, giggling delightedly at the slightest provocation (this giggling runs throughout the whole play, heightened during the murder of Roderigo, and he disintegrates into nothing but giggles by the play’s end). His psychotic nature is hidden by his constant ingratiation – Miller continually frames him on the left of the shot, often looking up at the face of the man he is manipulating, his face close, his voice calm and reasonable. He’s a different man for each character, but each personality is on the surface deferential – from his Sancho Panza to Roderigo, to his humble batman to Lodovico.

Miller’s work also demonstrates the close-bonds between Othello and Iago. Othello shows more comfort in physical contact with Iago than he ever does with Desdemona – Iago tenderly fixes his uniform, and the two of them wrestle playfully at several points. When spinning his lies, Iago takes Othello in a bear hug, and then an embrace/headlock (there are hints that Iago is even a little shocked at the emotion he has provoked from Othello) of a kneeling Othello. While Othello is controlled, calm and rational, Iago presents himself as jolly, open and likeable – but his psychotic anger under the surface is reflected in the murderous rage he unleashes in Othello. They make a fantastic partnership.

There is room for other performances as well, of course. Penelope Wilton’s Desdemona has a head-girlish prissiness, and is a woman who has lived an entirely open and honest life, devoid (until now) of any rebellion. She seems very innocent sexually (much like her husband), and earnestly wants to do the right thing. This characterisation is great at pointing up her helplessness and emotional upset at Othello’s behaviour – clearly having no idea what she has done. Her inward grief is very well played throughout – particularly in the (often cut) A4 S3 where her quiet sadness and helplessness is very affecting. Like Othello, she seems naïve and slightly adrift in the adult world – only at her death does she finally shy away from her gentleness towards anger and outrage at her treatment, though Wilton is careful never to suggest any compromise in her feelings.

Rosemary Leach gives a stirring performance in the scene-stealing role of Emilia, fiercely loyal and protective of those she loves and willing to stand for what she believes in. Anthony Pedley produces another strong performance in the series as an out-of-his-depth Roderigo, an aristocrat who never sees betrayal coming from a friend. David Yelland makes a wonderfully cool (and therefore suspicious) Cassio (his heartlessness towards Wendy Morgan’s needy Bianca is also a very nice touch). Geoffrey Chater and John Barron were both a little too broad or sing-song for my taste, although Tony Steedman and Joseph O’Conor make strong impressions in the smaller parts.

Miller’s direction is, as always, intelligent and illuminates small moments. Visual inspiration comes from Velazquez, while the set-design (essentially a long corridor of inter-connecting rooms) successfully uses the scale of television to focus the production as a claustrophobic chamber piece. His use of long takes is very successful, particularly in the main Iago/Othello scenes, as it gives the actors room to develop the scene naturally within shot. This is possibly the most performance-central production so far, focused by the fact that this play is almost a four-hander with only 2-3 other major characters, the smallest cast of any of the great tragedies.

Technically there are also some beautiful images here – lighting during the two contrasting dinner scenes is lovely – and Miller introduces many small touches, from Iago’s water antics at the opening to Othello performing magic tricks to amuse his guests. The murder of Roderigo takes place in a Third Man-style series of cloisters. He does sometimes overplay his hand visually: the prominent skull that sits on a table opposite Desdemona in an otherwise wonderfully played A4 S3 is perhaps a bit much.

I’ve already written a lot about Othello/Iago in this production, but Miller does manage to front-and-centre the theme of jealousy and envy, as well as the dangers of blind trust very successfully. With Hoskins he creates a demonic dwarf, who is vindictive rather than scheming. With Hopkins he creates an Othello, imposing and dignified in his comfort zone, naïve and lost outside it. What he does most successfully is present the characters and situation in such a way that you would believe these events would unfold like this. Cassio is cold enough to suggest he would betray Othello; Desdemona is calm and, for want of a better word, British enough to avoid confronting Othello until it is too late. Long takes hammer home the short timespan of the play (it feels almost ‘real time’), while the simple black and white design and costumes serve as a nice contrast to the far-from black-and-white story Iago is creating.

Miller also uses filming to enforce the manipulation. Framing repeatedly places Iago on the left of the frame, adding a visual consistency to his manipulation (strikingly he moves completely to the right for the final scene). In a daring sequence for a series based on placing text at the centre, he continues his experiments from Timon with deliberately making some of the dialogue inaudible to allow the viewer to feel some of the character isolation: in particular when Othello overhears Cassio 'confess' in A4 S1, he is placed behind the door with the camera with him - leaving us struggling to hear what is being said as much as Othello does (this infuriated some critics but is a lovely touch).

If there is a problem here, it’s got to come back to length – this is the longest production so far, and although that is partly Shakespeare’s fault, it’s tough on the bum. Miller sometimes I feel has so many good ideas and points he wants to explore that he finds it impossible to leave any of them out – combine this with the brief to avoid cutting, and you end up with something that you need a couple of sittings to get through. But then when there is such good stuff here as there is, it’s well worth the effort.

Conclusion

A good performance by Hopkins (despite the controversy) is overshadowed by a rip-roaring turn by Hoskins, who turns this into the Iago show – and gives one of the strongest turns of the series so far. Miller is full of ideas and invention as always, and brings the focus very much onto the leading characters, using moments of invention in performance to highlight their natures. It’s overlong and, yes, it does take a bit of getting used to seeing Hopkins black-up – but I’ve seen this production twice and it’s imaginative, enlightening and highly enjoyable – and also succeeds in making a familiar story sad and moving.

NEXT TIME: The only film version you will ever see of Troilus and Cressida (strewth, it’s hard enough to see on stage!) as Anton Lesser, Suzanne Burden and a host of Miller regulars bring the Trojan classic to life.