‘You see how full of changes his age is’
Shakespeare’s most elemental tragedy charts a kingdom where power corrupts, families become enemies and prosperity devolves into war. At its centre is the mind of a man who can no longer understand what it means to be human.
Lear is a searing portrait of a king unable to distinguish truth from lies. As the storm rises and night falls, language, identity and meaning break down completely.

This felt like one of the most strongly anticipated events in the Manchester theatre calendar. Celebrating its 50th year, the Royal Exchange unveiled an exciting programme of events. But I think most will agree that you could legitimately apply special status to any of their yearly programmes and it stick. As my friend said ‘I don’t think I’ve seen anything at the Royal Exchange that has been anything less than ‘very good.’

Agreed. And I think one important element is its in the round set up, forcing productions to think creatively – well even more creatively than normal, and one of my favourite games when visiting this theatre (alongside how do I shimmy along the row without standing on several feet), is seeing how that centre stage is going to be used this time. I shall return to this…

I always feel worried about harping on ‘obvious’ credits when talking about actors, for fear of it showing a lack of imagination or perhaps creating a misperception of reduction. But we’re in Manchester, David Threlfall, in the title role, is from Burnage, Manchester. Shameless was iconic, iconic when it launched. Set in Manchester, made in Manchester, and purveyor of the exclamation, ‘Sca(tt)oh’.

So thank you for your service. Sticking to the theme, I was sat behind Guy Garvey at last night’s performance but that’s just a lovely aside.

Opening scenes and we’re taken on a musical journey which wasn’t exclusively mancunian (ok fair dos) but we did at least get an injection of The Smiths (not me, preparing for second-hand embarrassment for Mr Garvey just in case those iconic strings struck up…).

Like many a good production, you’re given an early scene-setting of the tone of what’s about to come. This was a classic and immediate ‘we doing things differently here’ (fun fact Tony Wilson never actually said that – Steve Coogan said that as Tony Wilson in 24 Hour Party People, rerelease out now in participating cinemas).

Anyway, the drinking, the dancing – a whole night played out before our eyes in about 5 minutes and psychologically I was ready for a kebab (just kidding…cheesy chips are more my vibe).

Importantly we’re introduced to King Lear’s love for daughter Cordelia (Isobel Akuwudike) who he has chosen to enter the space with, on his arm – proud and unashamedly laying out his favouritism.

This is famously a story depicting a ‘descent into madness’. A King who ready to step down, demanding flattery of his three daughters – a quid-pro-quo situation of the highest platitudes rewarded with the greatest division of his land. Unable to cope with his favourite unwilling to play the game set out, Lear’s egotistical manipulation has set the wheels in motion for his own downfall. Chaos raining down, Cordelia promptly leaves the country with the King of France, who remains unperturbed by the lack of land and currency held by his already betrothed. And so Lear is left to the mercy his other two daughters, Goneril (Nadine Shah) and Regan (Lisa Diveney), who scene by scene seek to destroy him. And so the unravelling begins.

And I’m sorry to have to do this, but I can’t fight who I am and my blog posts are nothing if not an authentic extension of how my mind works.

The hair.

The hair had it. If at any point you wanted an indication of where on Lear’s journey of decline we were at, the hair held all the clues. From that sleek, admirable ponytail at the outset to something reminiscent of my own hair folly, having dashed from the theatre to Tib Street in showers that Manchester hasn’t seen in months (welcome back). A mess with added frizzante.

I jest, I mean I don’t jest, but of course, we had something much more meaningful to marvel at throughout Lear’s journey. Threlfall commanded the stage, either with grandeur or lunacy, the two voices in his head escaping outwardly, as he increasingly and essentially performed two parts from the one.

And whilst Threlfall (I hate using just surnames, it feels so disrespectful, but full naming each time soon feels farcical), is King Lear literally and spiritually, this is a cast which is beguiling, incredibly impressive and strong. The relationships played out are believable and three-dimensional. Almost equal weighting is felt for all performances, and there is never a moment over the 2hrs 40 which feels like filler or downtime. The choreography, be it the dancing scenes at the start, that of intimacy or of violence and murder, is well directed and realised, all, given the in-the-round of it all, with nowhere to hide.

Speaking of those theatrical characteristics, cylindrical spools of hanging gems (I need to rethink this description) take literal centre stage of the set design, in their descent and ascent throughout, at times shielding, and at some times accentuating and highlighting characters as they entered and left.

Indeed one of the most striking uses and highly stylised moments of this production is when, Lear is on the heath, stands within one as a more than symbolic storm takes hold, and the rains pour down upon him, unrelenting and impervious. The lighting design during this moment and throughout is beautiful and often responsible for the highly atmospheric backdrops accompanying high drama playing out (sometimes with just a hand-held torch).

I’m trying hard not to turn this into a English lit essay with how far I go into the narrative of his classic play, but one of the interesting things about the text is the not quite secondary plot which runs alongside, weaves around, and then meets the primary plot head-on.

A fellow nobleman, Gloucester (Jonathan Slinger), is in short having a nightmare of his own. dealing with gaslighting, lies and treachery as his illegitimate son Edmund (Paddy Stafford) tries to convince him of a murder plot by his legitimate son, Edgar (Tom Varey).

Now despite his own domestic difficulties, Gloucester finds time to set aside his own troubles and, upon learning of Lear’s betrayal by his daughters, sets out to help. For his troubles, he is rewarded by an attack on him by Regan and her husband, leading to one of the grimmest scenes of the play. Think Single White Female (90s femme fatale film lovers) – two words, stiletto and eyeball. Actually think a third – squelch. As what was clearly an all too realistic eyeball landed onto that stage, I took a beat and marked it off on my things I didn’t need to see at the theatre (but still kind of wanted to) bingo card. Just for completeness, (in terms of both the actual attack and this section of the blog), you should know that the other eyeball suffered a similar fate.

Other notable parts of the design was the lit outline of the cliff edges of Dover, where our poor blinded Gloucester teetered over and fell (or so he thought – that gaslighting was relentless), and which Lear figuratively skirted and moved closer and closer to as his grip on reality failed him.

There was only ever one way this tragedy of tragedies was going to end, and this particular lesson in humanity, understanding of the self and being one’s worst enemy, was delivered with the passion and gusto required of such a heavy-hitter.

And so my essay must surely wrap up. But with full compliments to the cast, with an appreciation to the wonderfully comedic moments that littered the production (Jason Done as nobleman in disguise Kent, with a marvellous line in Mancunian patter gets special mention) and a production which is the epitome of everything you can pretty much come to expect when experiencing a show in the round at this theatre. Happy big 5-0 Royal Exchange.

King Lear is at the Royal Exchange Theatre until Sunday 15 November. For more details about the production, cast, crew and for tickets, visit King Lear – Royal Exchange Theatre.

Production images – Helen Murray