Bringing King Lear to Life:

By Glinda Harrison

            Politics and power.  The follies of old age and the signs of wisdom.  Universal justice and the consequences of actions.  The conflict between the generations and the intricacies of family relationships.  Chaos and disorder.  To any reader of Shakespeare, these are familiar themes indeed.  Yet in all of Shakespeare’s plays, none portray these themes with the complexity, depth and completeness that is exhibited in King Lear.   The play draws us entirely into Lear’s world:  we chide his foolishness, feel his outrage and finally, pity his decline with absolute totality.  Like Lear himself, we, too, cannot come to terms with Cordelia’s death, and the play’s end leaves us feeling vulnerable and shaken.

Of all of Shakespeare’s tragedies, King Lear is unique in offering an ending where, after a period of chaos, order is not restored (or its restoration is ambiguous at best). With the deaths of Lear, Goneril, Regan and Edmund, the forces of disorder may be removed, yet, for the state, all is not well.  For Lear’s kingdom, there is no Fortinbras or Malcolm to step forward and reestablish stability and order, and politically, only an uncertain future remains as a result.

While the ending to King Lear may be neither happy nor politically entirely clear, the universal appeal of the story is unmistakable.  Eventually, old age comes upon us all, and Lear’s story of two aging fathers and their relationships with their children is irresistible, transcending  time and culture.  Nowhere is this more apparent than when comparing two productions that on the surface seems worlds apart:  Richard Eyre’s version of Lear starring Ian Holm, and Akira Kurosawa’s Ran, set in 17^th century Japan.  By comparing the major themes in each production, we see how each director brings Lear’s story to life.

When comparing the two productions, it is important to keep in mind that while Eyre’s production is a direct adaptation of Shakespeare’s text, Kurosawa’s is not. Rather than literally translating the text into Japanese, Kurosawa takes Lear’s plot and, while he remains true to the essence of the tale, he freely adapts the story line to conform to 17^th century Japanese cultural norms.  In that society, daughters would not be able to inherit, so Kurosawa’s Lear, Hildetora, instead has three sons.  Since primogeniture was practiced in that society, Taro, the eldest son inherited the kingdom, although each son was give a one of the castles and their adjoining lands. The parallel story of Gloucester and his sons, which in Shakespeare’s text underscores and strengthen the lesson of Lear’s own is missing. The stories of Hildetora’s daughter-in-laws, Kaede and Suè, as well as Suè’s brother, Tsurumaru, whose families were killed by Hildetora are used instead.  Kaede’s machinations of revenge parallel those of Edmund in the text.[1]  These elements, combined with the stunning locations and costumes, forge a compelling environment for Kurosawa’s characters.  He has created a Japanese incarnation of Lear, not merely transplanted the story to another locale.  

While Eyre’s production is directly based on Shakespeare’s text, he too has made some changes.  Rather than setting the play in its traditional time and place of 6^th century, pre-Christian Britain, Eyre chooses a more ambiguous backdrop for his production.  The sets and costumes are very neutral and stylized, giving no impression of a sense of time or place for Lear’s kingdom.  When the  scene changes from Lear’s castle to Goneril’s (1.4), only the colors of the covers for the chair and tables change. This centers the focus completely on the interplay between the characters and their emotions, rather than on where the action takes place.

The lack of a sense of place in Eyre’s version also has the effect of severely minimizing the political aspects of the play.  France’s motives in invading England are not made clear in Shakespeare’s text.  When the king of France’s describes Cordelia as “herself a dowry (1.1.245), is he indicating that he sees her situation as the possible means to an invasion of England?   Eyre answers the question by how he films the scene:  As the king says the lines, the camera focuses not on him but pans alternately on close-ups of Lear and Cordelia’s faces, making it perfectly clear that the emphasis is on their relationship, not politics.

Eyre also chooses to delete some of the lines in the text which refer to the political situation with France as well as most of the battle scenes in the play.  Eyre cuts the lines where Kent writes to Cordelia to tell her of Lear’s situation (2.2.163-176).  He then entirely cuts the scene which where Kent learns that there are already French spies among both Cornwall and Albany’s men (3.1).  When Cordelia sends her men to search for Lear (4.4), she is shown at prayer, surrounded by candles and dressed in golden armor.  The scene seems to deliberately call to mind Joan of Arc. This completely shifts the interpretation away from viewing the presence of France’s army as that of an invading force. It is instead a liberating force, led by a divinely inspired Cordelia.  The motive is not seen as power or political gain, but the deep abiding love of a daughter for her father.

By contrast, in Kurosawa’s Ran, the political aspects of the story are prominent and almost seem inseparable from the characterizations.  Unlike the Lear of the text, Hildetora clearly tells his sons that although the eldest, Taro, has the authority, politically, they are expected to support their brother if he is in trouble.  Even the event that causes Saburo to fall from his father’s favor is political:  Unlike Cordelia who simply does not flatter her father enough, Saburo’s “sin” is telling his father some hard political truths about the realities of power.  He reminds his father of Hildetora’s own bloody past, the violent times they live in and calls his father a fool for making them vulnerable to attack, prophesying (correctly) that the sons will turn against each other, as they “were weaned on strife and chaos.”

Like Lear, Hildetora also wished to give away his power, yet keep his retainer of men (30 in Hildetora’s case), as well as the “title and insignia of a Great Lord.”  Kurosawa addresses several aspects usually not emphasized in the original text.  In the text, other than Kent in his disguise as Caius, we never see any of Lear’s retainers fighting for him, although Goneril is clearly afraid that they will do so (1.4.321-326), especially after Lear has threatened to “ ‘resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off forever’ ”  (1.4.307-309).  Hildetora’s men are described as mighty warriors and are seen fighting for him in very graphic scenes of battle against Taro and Jiro’s warriors. Kurosawa also touches on a point never directly addressed in Shakespeare’s text, namely what Lear’s subjects feel about him.  Other than the loyalty shown by Kent and the Fool, we are given no indication of whether or not Lear was considered to be a beloved monarch by his people.  However, in Ran, Hildetora’s subjects destroy their crops and supplies rather than feed the warriors who are trying to kill him.

This question of loyalty raises an important issue about Lear’s character and how it is portrayed.  The text itself gives clues as to Lear’s demeanor in his youth:  Regan points out that Lear “hath ever but slenderly known himself”  (1.1.296-7).  Goneril agrees that “The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash”, referring to his temper as a “long-ingraffed  condition” that his age only makes worse  (1.1.298, 300-302).  Eyre’s production intensifies that view.  Ian Holm’s portrayal of Lear is very physical and almost viscerally energetic.  His Lear spryly climbs up on the table to stand imperiously with his arm stretched forth as he banishes Kent  (1.1.158-174).  When Lear threatens to whip his fool at Goneril’s castle (1.4.108-112), Holm shakes the whip at his Fool as though he can barely contain himself from losing control and striking him.  Through Holm’s portrayal, that aspect of Lear’s character comes to life in a way that could never be perceived by reading the text alone.  Whatever Lear’s mental state may be, the physical frailties of old age are not yet apparent.

Kurosawa’s  portrayal of Hildetora paints a different picture, with the aging lord beginning to fail physically as the film opens.  Hildetora’s past behavior is depicted in an even darker light than the usual representations of Lear.  More than just rash and temperamental, Hildetora himself admits that he has waged war with his neighbors for fifty years until the entire plain was his.  Saburo reminds his father: “You spilled an ocean of blood.  You showed no mercy, no pity.”  Saburo is convinced that Hildetora is senile when he expects them to work together, because, after all, he tells him, “we are your sons.”[2]

Kurosawa’s emphasis on Hildetora’s past actions raises an interesting point about the question of how justice is served in King Lear. What about Cordelia? Where is the justice in her death?   Goneril and Regan certainly deserve to die, but Cordelia’s death seems so unfair. If Cordelia dies simply because Lear exercises poor judgement in dividing his kingdom and banishing Cordelia in anger, her death seems a travesty of justice.  But if Cordelia’s death is seen as the ultimate outcome of a lifetime of rash choices, a different interpretation is suggested, one that seems to have a more cosmic significance.[3]

The cosmic significance is emphasized in the storm scenes, particularly in Eyre’s production where these scenes and the one following on Gloucester’s estate are the only ones evoking a strong sense of place.   Amidst a raging storm, the howling winds, the thunder and the lightning set the background as Lear rails against the elements, screaming, “Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!  Rage, blow!”  (3.2.1).  The rage, confusion and frustration Lear feels towards his eldest daughters is as intense as the storm.  His words make it clear that he can accept an abuse from the storm that he cannot comprehend when coming from his daughters:

Rumble thy bellyful!  Spit, fire!  Spout, rain!

Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters.

I tax you not, you elements, with unkindness;

I never gave you kingdom, called you children.

You owe me no subscription.  Then let fall

Your horrible pleasure.  Here I stand your slave,

a poor infirm, weak and despised old man.  (3.2.15-20)

As he takes no responsibility for his past actions, Lear truly cannot understand such treatment from his children even though he acknowledges that “Twas this flesh begot those pelican daughters”  (3.4.73-74).  He truly sees himself as “a man more sinned against than sinning”  (3.2.59-60).[4]  His madness is as much a result of his inability to reconcile his view of himself with the things that have been done to him as much as the experiences themselves.

              The scene is a pivotal one in the play for it is here that that Lear is completely transformed from a powerful monarch into a helpless old man.  Eyre directs the scene with masterful skill.  When the text calls for Lear to tear off his clothes (3.4.106-7), unlike the Olivier production where Lear simply plucks at his clothes, the sixty-six year old Ian Holm  strips totally naked.  The symbolism of the action is immensely powerful and clearly discernable:  Lear divests himself of his garments just as he had stripped himself of his power and authority as king.  By doing so, he has removed his only protection against the elements, just as his actions have left him unprotected and at the mercy of his conniving daughters. The sight of the naked and vulnerable Lear clinging  to the near-naked Edgar (whom Lear believes is a beggar)  presents a potent statement: Both men have been rejected and abused by their families; both are defenseless and  destitute. The implication is that without love, the pauper and the king are equals.

            The emotional symbolism is carried into the scene at the shelter on Gloucester’s estate.  The interior of the building, little more than a room really, is dimly lit and dominated by a small fire burning in a brazier.  Lear, Kent, Edgar and the Fool, all soaked to the skin, are seen huddling around the brazier for the sparse warmth offered by the meager fire.  It is in this setting that Lear calls for the mock arraignment of Goneril and Regan.  The image of the fire, that represents, love, comfort and emotional warmth, is juxtaposed against the pretense of the trial.  Goneril and Regan are thus judged in terms of how they have met these needs for their father.  But because the trial itself is a sham, true justice is never served as the “false justicer” lets Goneril escape (3.6.55).   Lear’s madness reflects the chaos of a court and a society where justice does not rule.

            In Ran, Kurosawa parallels many of the same issues.  Given the more political nature of his production, the scene unfolds not with a storm, as in the text and in Eyre’s rendition, but with a battle at Saburo’s castle.  Jiro has killed deliberately Taro[5] in the midst of an attack on the castle and Hildetora.  Rather than a raging storm, it is the heat of battle that assails Hildetora.  Bullets and arrows are seen flying rather than a pelting rain.  Some of Hildetora’s wives kill themselves as the warriors overrun the castle, while others die shielding the Great Lord with their bodies.  In a scene reminiscent of a Shakespearean revenge tragedy, the castle is shown littered with the corpses of the fallen warriors, including all of Hildetora’s retainers, whose loss leaves him powerless and unprotected.

            Kurosawa shows Hildetora’s personal loss of power using symbolism that is steeped in Japanese culture.  When defeat is imminent, Hildetora bares his breast and reaches for his sword to kill himself, only to find the scabbard empty.  The Great Lord, who has lived by the sword has lost not only the symbol of his power, but the power to end his own life rather than die at the hands of his enemies.  As though he were in a trance, Hildetora, dragging his empty sheath for a sword, walks down a set of stairs as the castle is burning around him, just as he is descending into madness.  Finally, almost in a stupor, he walks through the castle gates out onto the plain, powerless and utterly alone.

In Ran, it is the scene on the plain that corresponds to the storm scene in the text.  It is here that Tango and Kynami find the apparently mad Hildetora smilingly gathering flowers on the plain.  Kynami notes that if Hildetora is mad, he’s better off, noting that “In a mad world, only the mad are sane.” In much the same way as the mock trial in Eyre’s production does, the scene links the concepts of chaos in the society and madness in its ruler.

            As previously noted, Ran differs noticeably from traditional approaches to Lear’s story in its emphasis on Lear’s past actions as the reason for his difficulties.  Kurosawa paints a picture of horrified realization as Hildetora “sees” the ghosts of all those he has destroyed and recoils in terror.  Interestingly, we the audience do not see them—they are only visible in Hildetora’s mind.  Yet, intuitively, his fool Kynami understands, and he describes the “phantom army of the Great Lord’s victims.  In that moment, Hildetora recognizes what he has done, whispering “Forgive me” to the unseen spirits.  Kynami notes that “The failed mind sees the heart’s failings.” 

            Kurosawa underscores Hildetora’s recognition of responsibility in the scene at Tsurumaru’s small house.  Instead of the mock trial the text describes, Hildetora is brought face to face with one of his victims.   As in Eyre’s production, a small fire is lit, but here it is so tiny, it is barely more than a candle flame.  (This seems appropriate as the violent past attributed to Hildetora left little room for love and emotional warmth.)  It is light enough by which to see the insignia on the blanket through which Tango recognizes  Lord Tsurumaru’s identity.  Hildetora is horrified to learn that this is the man whose family and castle he destroyed.  This is the man whose eyes he gouged out in exchange for sparing his life.  Hildetora’s grows more and more upset as he hears how Tsurumaru’s hatred has not abated, how he cannot sleep in peace at night. Finally, the poor blind lord offers to play his flute for them, offering “the hospitality of the heart,” which he describes as “the only pleasure left to me.”   An aghast Hildetora recoils from the music, almost as if he recognizes that he himself “wrote” the tragic music by the violence of his actions.

            This recognition of responsibility is critical to both characters, Lear and Hildetora.  True to the tradition of the tragic hero, it is only after falling to the depths of despair that each can see their error:  Lear for mistreating Cordelia and Kent, Hildetora for mistreating not only Saburo and Tango, but others as well.  For each of them, their reunion with their youngest children (however brief it may be) is only made possible because of the wisdom each gains from the sorrow they have suffered.  It is through reunion that each of them finds atonement and redemption for their past mistakes.[6]  Yet this reunion cannot save Cordelia and Saburo.  The wheels of fate had already been set in motion and the consequences of Lear’s and Hildetora’s actions are inescapable.  It is the knowledge of their own ultimate responsibility that brings both men to their deaths.  Wisdom, like power, has a price.

            Wisdom seems to have never been a quality that Lear was well acquainted with.  Shakespeare’s line that “Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise” could be said to define the essence of Lear’s character  (1.5.43-44).  It is this mixture of Lear’s utter lack of wisdom combined with the absolute power he wields that has made his character so perennially fascinating.  It is also the quality that I believe would drive how I personally would produce King Lear.

            Since my personal view of the play is that it is more about power than it is old age or how children treat their aging parents, I would set the play in a time, place and situation where the reality of that power is all encompassing while trying to remain true to as much of the play as possible.  First, I would make Lear a mobster.  An important mobster would wield the kind of life or death power that parallels that of Lear in his time.  In any other reasonably modern setting, that type of power would be difficult to justify.  For the same reason, I would then set my characters in Chicago during the late 1920s, a time and a place where the mob had very few restraints.

            Because daughters would not work in such a setting, like Kurosawa, I would make Lear’s children sons.  Women had little power in 1920s society, and in a mob family, they had even less.  Lear the Mafioso would be dividing his territory up between his three sons.  Lear’s excuse of avoiding “future strife” would make sense:  Lear would assume that his presence would deter other gangsters from making a “hit” on his sons’ territories, a protection that would not exist if his sons came to power after his death.  France and Burgundy would represent rival mobsters.

            I would make Lear’s youngest son a lawyer (an honest one), one who has been rather isolated from the family business.  His “sin” is refusing to involve himself in the mob, which gets him banished from the family.  Gloucester would be portrayed as Lear’s right hand lieutenant.  The story line for his sons would closely follow that of the play, with Edmund’s character setting up his brother as trying to get rid of his father and trying ultimately to play the older two sons against each other in order to gain control of the mob.  

            The production would involve many scenes of mob violence:  shootings, robberies and beatings.    Just as it is the unruliness of Lear’s men that threatens Goneril in the text,  I would have one of Lear’s men get into a gunfight with a loan shark in the eldest son’s territory.  Angered by the threat to his authority, the son attempts to get rid of some of his father’s men.  When both sons collude to try and control their father, a livid Lear flees into the warehouse district of the city.

            The storm scene would be set in a run down warehouse with large windows which would allow the lightning effects to be seen.  Several of the windows are broken, allowing the wind and rain to blow in.  It is here that Edgar is hiding out.  When Gloucester comes to help Lear, he leads them to a meat packing plant with the dead animals hanging on hooks.  During the mock trial, slabs of beef are used to represent the people involved.  The symbolism is appropriate as Lear has used people like pieces of meat for years. 

Ratted on by Edmund,  Gloucester’s attempts to help Lear earn the ire of the elder sons. Instead of  simply blinding Gloucester, he is killed with his dead body dumped on his wife’s doorstep with the eyes gouged out. Edmund’s manipulations are beginning to bear fruit, and the two oldest sons are beginning to mistrust each other, each accusing the other of trying to move in on their territory.  Meanwhile, the youngest has been using his police contacts to try to find his father.  They finally reunite in a rundown flophouse where Lear has been hiding where both are captured by the elder brother’s henchmen.  

            Edgar has been trying to recruit enough men to challenge his brothers’, and in a spectacular gunfight at a nightclub, Edgar mortally wounds Edmund.  Edmund confesses just before he dies that he has ordered the youngest son killed.  Lear enters with the body of his son, who has been garroted to death, being carried behind him.  After the distraught Lear collapses and dies, his body falling on top of his son’s, the remaining henchmen turn to Kent for instructions. Slowly, Kent shakes his head and turns and looks at Edgar.  Edgar pauses for a moment, then waves his hand for the men to remove the dead men’s bodies, accepting the power that his been offered to him.

            I would like to think that if Shakespeare’s text was extended a day or two into the future, it would have been Edgar who assumed the crown and restored order to the kingdom.  If Lear is a play about the gaining of wisdom, then Edgar would be a most appropriate choice.  The naïve Edgar who falls prey to his brother’s plots at the beginning of the play is an older, wiser man by the play’s end.  We see him grow before our eyes:  In the midst of his own misery, he can comfort Lear during the storm, realizing  that “that which makes me bend makes the King bow—He childed as I fathered”  (3.6.109-110).  He adapted and he learned.  After the treatment he’d experienced, he could still care for his blinded father with love.  He uses politically savvy to  beat Edmund at his own game by giving Albany Goneril’s letter.  And finally, he uses his power to battle Edmund—not on a personal level, but in the guise of a champion of justice. 

            It becomes clear by the end of the play that Edgar has learned the lessons that Lear was unable to learn in his lifetime.  One generation passes and another takes its place.  Edgar’s final words ring true—he and his generation will “never see so much nor live so long” as those who have passed before  (5.3.332).  Yet, Edgar gives us hope that neither will they repeat the mistakes of their fathers.  

Productions Used

King Lear.  Adapted and Directed by Richard Eyre.  1997.  Produced for Masterpiece Theater,

            PBS.

Ran.  Directed by Akira Kurosawa.  1985.  Greenwich Film Productions.  Distributed by CBS/FOX Video.

Table 1

Shakespeare’s Characters                             Ran’s Character’s                                       

Lear                                                                 Hildetora Ichimonji

Goneril                                                 Taro

Regan                                                               Jiro

Cordelia                                                           Saburo

Kent                                                                 Tango

Fool                                                                 Kynami

France                                                              Lord Fujimaki

Burgundy                                                          Lord Ayabe

Albany                                                             Kaede*

Cornwall                                                          Suè*

                                                                        Lord Tsurumaru*

NOTE:  Characters with a * do not have an exact correspondence in Shakespeare’s text.  Kaede is married to Taro and thus corresponds to Albany.  But her actions make her more like Cornwall and Edmund combined  Suè is married to Jiro and thus corresponds to Cornwall, but her actions are more like those of Albany.  In the text, Albany appears to be a good man.  Tsurumaru has no parallel.  He has been wronged, much like Edgar but has been blinded like the Duke of Gloucester.