One question Garry Hynes’ excellent Richard III production could be asking is whether the preternaturally evil title figure loses his War of the Roses kingdom to Richmond not because he lacks a horse but because he’s lost his sense of humor.
At the beginning of William Shakespeare’s history play, the conniving would-be king has one helluva sense of humor. That’s as the playwright shapes him and as the wiry, athletic Aaron Monaghan presents him. From the moment he pulls himself out of a grave-like downstage opening on Francis O’Connor’s elegant, high-walled, steel-grey set featuring movable panels, he’s ready to crack wise with the twinkle of an eye.
An indefatigable conspirator who entices audience members to become happy co-conspirators, Monaghan’s Richard—often balancing himself on two walking sticks at a 45-degree angle—is quick with the punchlines. He maintains the pace right to the moment he pretends to have gone religious and turns down the opportunity to be crowned that Buckingham (Rory Nolan) repeatedly offers. Only having ascended to the wobbly perch is he undone by a desperate need to dispense with anyone he sees as a potential threat.
Nothing, however, ends the mesmerizing quality of Monaghan’s performance in what is billed as DruidShakespeare: Richard III as part of this year’s White Light Festival. (Druid is the company that director Hynes, the first woman to win a Tony for directing, founded in 1975 and still heads with unflagging authority.) Monaghan, wearing O’Connor’s tight and glittering outfit, has paid strict attention to the description of the anti-hero as a “bottled spider.” He uses the stage as if he were an arachnid compulsively casing every strand of his web.
Among Hynes’s other nifty notions is her underlining Shakespeare’s penchant for favoring insightful women whereas men are more likely to be dupes. In Richard III the bias—from whence in his past does this spring?—towards women registers strongly. The second that Lady Anne (Siobhán Cullen) enters, pulling the corpse of a husband slain by Richard behind her, she has the schemer’s number. The ensuing scene in which he woos and wins her, despite her loathing him, is rendered with uncanny emotion, intelligence, and nuance. Hynes guarantees that Monaghan and Cullen convey what Richard and Anne are thinking about as responses to each other’s verbal parrying.
Another audacious Hynes idea? Before Richard enters with his famous “Now is the winter of our discontent” declaration, the clever director has lighting designer James F. Ingalls call attention to aging Queen Margaret (Marie Mullen) slowly and wearily crossing upstage. The implication is that many men may be cruelly dispensed during the ensuing action but that women will bear the everlasting brunt.
When Queen Elizabeth (Jane Brennan) and the Duchess of York (Ingrid Craigie) arrive with their unending and completely valid complaints about the men in their lives having been slaughtered at Richard’s commands, they manifest unusual gravity. The gorgeous clothes in which O’Connor dresses them contribute greatly to their dignified bearing.
Continuing surprises? There’s the grave-like site, which occasionally disappears only to reappear when another target of Richard’s ambition bites the dust. Or, more precisely in some cases, when another courtier accused of being disloyal falls off a chair. This is because Hynes does have them lose their heads—Hastings (Garrett Lombard) definitely loses his—but only after she’s resorted to a canister-shaped mechanical device rather than the sword. And do keep an eye on that grave, which eventually serves to embrace one victim whom Richard hadn’t fingered.
The swordplay when Richard encounters Richmond (Frank Blake) on Bosworth Field is especially surprising here because it’s so well-executed (no pun intended) by movement and fight choreographer David Bolger—and executed (pun intended) by Monaghan and Frank Blake’s Richmond. The combat is so equally weighted that the outcome is genuinely suspenseful. The added surprise is how Richard, who’d been told he’d die a bloody death at Richmond’s doing, is mercilessly bloodied.
Throughout the catastrophic proceedings a curious object hangs upstage center: a blinding white skull in a box frame. Its previous owner isn’t identified. Alas, it doesn’t look to be poor Yorick’s. (Curiously, it has the glow of one of the diamond-encrusted skulls Damien Hirst has dolled up and charged an arm and two legs for.) The memento is obviously there to send the familiar message that death is ever-present.
Director Hynes and minions do well bringing that reminder to urgent life. Now that Druid is going these 44 years, a reliable stable of actors is in place. They undoubtedly know what they’re doing and probably without Hynes having to say too much. Although there are infrequent lulls in the playing, particularly in the first half of the three hours, the Druids are, start to finish, poised and perfect. They also include Marty Rea, Bosco Hogan, Peter Daly, John Olohan, and Emma Dargan-Reid. Gold crowns for all.
The thought often accompanies Shakespeare plays that they reflect the particular time in which they’re viewed, that the current day, month, year can be experienced as Shakespearean. So here comes Richard III boasting a perpetually fibbing focal personality who enjoys throwing supposedly disloyal associates under the coroner’s cart. Should that prompt those of us stateside to say we’re living in Shakespearean times? Or does it seem as if Shakespeare’s Richard III is suddenly Trumpian?
Richard III opened November 9, 2019, at the Gerald W. Lynch Theater and runs through November 23. Tickets and information: lincolncenter.org
