The Winter’s Tale, William Shakespeare’s late work, has long been considered “a problem play.” But what I’d like to know is: Where’s the problem? There’s absolutely no problem with director Daniel Sullivan’s revival at Central Park’s Delacorte Theater.
Quite the opposite. The production is one of the best ever unfurled there. Without question, it’s beautifully spoken. In large part this is likely thanks to Sullivan’s much recognized understanding of how Shakespeare needs to be presented.
Not any of the company—headed by Lily Rabe and Raúl Esparza (paired again after Sullivan’s 2015 Cymbeline)—mention in a bio their having trained at London’s RADA, but they uniformly perform as though that level of Shakespearean facility is in their past. Right down to the smallest supporting roles. (Kudos to Sullivan and casting directors Kate Murray and Jordan Thaler for their perspicacity.)
The Winter’s Tale, also regarded as a romance, along with The Tempest, Pericles, and the above-mentioned Cymbeline. isn’t one of the most popular Shakespeare works. Those four are cradled together because they were written late in his career, or just as the Jacobean period has succeeded the Elizabethan age. The favored year for this work is 1611.
All the same, the inspiration for The Winter’s Tale is much like many, if not most, of Shakespeare’s canon. He picks and chooses other stories that have caught his eye and ear, often stories that have already found favor with the Globe and Rose theater audiences.
This one glommed onto? In 1588, popular novelist of the day Richard Greene published Pandosto: The Triumph of Time—keep the words “triumph” and “time” in mind—which introduced jealousy as a deleterious psychological problem. (The word psychological wasn’t in the language until the late 1600s.)
Greene’s volume was widely read, and Shakespeare was apparently happy to hitch a ride on those coattails. He pushed Leontes (Esparza) out from the wings (yes, his theaters had wings). The stentorious Sicilian fellow was in a monumental rage over his conviction that his wife Hermione was not carrying his child but the child of Bohemia’s Polyxenes (Gilbert Owuor).
Hermione’s denials only exacerbate his rage, so much so that he orders the baby girl when born to be abandoned in a faraway Bohemian glade. The dictum is carried out by unlucky courtier Antigonus (Steven Skybell, who later doubles as Autolycus).
The man’s luck runs out when a forest creature approaches, thus provoking Shakespeare’s most memorable stage direction: “Exit, pursued by bear.” (Spoiler alert: This particular bear’s not seen, only heard: sound designer Brian Ronan takes care of that.)
With the first act (of the original five acts, of course) drawing to a close as Hermione becomes a statue (also not shown) guarded by close friend Paulina (Marsha Stephanie Blake), the second act—in which romance takes precedence—begins.
Announced by Time (Matthew Eby, who plays Leontes doomed son Mamillius in act one), sixteen years have passed and lost babe Perdita (Isabela Ferrer) is sweet and nubile as well as in love with Florizel (Daniel Kyri), who is—wouldn’t you know?—the prince of Bohemia. That’s to say, he’s the son of Polixenes. But—and a big but it is—she’s been raised by a shepherd and ostensibly not regal marriage material.
Not to worry, for Leontes is on his way to Bohemia and, unlike Shakespeare’s earlier tragic protagonists who only continue deteriorating, he’s completely contrite. He’s very much hoping to make up for lost—here’s the word again—time.
Leontes is able to fulfill his potential as are the rest of the central characters. That includes the Perdita and her beloved Florizel. Even the lifeless Hermione, aided by Paulina, breathes anew with Leontes at her knee. All of the above surrounded by Bohemians gaily celebrating through dance that’s joyfully choreographed by Mimi Lieber.
As The Winter’s Tale wends it eventually happy way, Shakespeare blends in abundant familiar themes, perhaps most persistently birth, death, and rebirth. Yet again, he looks closely at a man hamstrung by his own flaws. By the denouement, he’s emphasized the wages and rewards of time.
The superior production announces it’s beauty when the audience enters and gets a gander at the Maruti Evans set. Three large white doorways framed by leafless white trees are already telling a winter’s tale. The second act is dominated by a large, flower-covered lawn.
Costume designer Linda Cho’s clothes are her notion of period outfits, many of them glowing with bright colors. They conjure no particular historical era but are not—thank the furies—modern.
The acting, however, is the major thing. Adhering to Hamlet’s advice Esparza does speak trippingly on the tongue and never saws the air with his arms. Rather, his gestures are motivated by every committed word he speaks.
He’s so effective from thought to thought and line to line that, since Kevin Kline doesn’t seem especially active these days, he can now be dubbed our foremost Shakesperean actor.
Rabe is Esparza’s match from beginning to end. Her portrayal of Hermione falling apart under Leontes’ stormy assault is devastating as is her slow return from seated statue to life. Was that the sound of audience sobs accompanying the reawakening?
During the play Leontes’ son Mamillius observes that “a sad tale’s best for winter.” It just so happens that this telling of the supposedly problematic tale couldn’t be improved upon for this current summer.
The Winter’s Tale opened August 11, 2026, at the Delacorte Theater and runs through August 23. Tickets and information: publictheater.org
