RICHARD III
RICHARD III – The Bridge Project produced by The Old Vic, BAM & Neal Street; in Australia by Andrew Kay & Liza McLean at the Lyric Theatre, December 1-11, 2011. Photos: Kevin Spacey as Richard III.
THE GHOSTS of Richard III's victims – the murdered princes, his nobles and wife – form a striking tableau in one long, late scene of the much-anticipated visiting production, yet there are three other ghosts that haunt the stage throughout. They are Molly Sugden's Mrs Slocombe, Ricky Gervais-s David Brent and Mrs Hitler-s son Adolf; all are present, Tara-like, in Kevin Spacey's interpretation of Shakespeare-s great villain.
In this "international" production, with its mix of English and American actors, Spacey's Richard starts out reasonably posh and English, but as he slips further and further into megalomania and rage, so does his accent slither back across the Atlantic. And, as at the same time, occasional bars of the traditional Yorkshire song "Ilkley Moor Baht'At" thread through the soundscape, it's impossible not to think of Mrs Slocombe, the camp old battleaxe from Grace Brothers and Are You Being Served.
That's a problem for the production in that Spacey's playing for laughs makes this Richard about as dangerous as a suet pudding; and, in this instance, as dangerous as the weirdly giggly jokester David Brent, Ricky Gervais's too-ghastly-to-be-funny creation in The Office. There's an odd similarity between Gervais and Spacey in the simpering, sneaky, colluding, smart-arsed pleasure both take, via their characters, in mind blowingly inappropriate applications of humour. David Brent and Richard have no idea, nor care less, how unfunny they really are – it's either a stroke of genius or so way off base as to be on another planet.
And finally, the third ghost at the table is the raving, ranting, crazed psychopathic Adolf as seen and snickered at in many doctored YouTube clips in recent years. This is the one who snarls and roars and rants and carries on like a pork chop at the slightest provocation – and is thus ridiculous and pitiful rather than terrifying and terrible. This is particularly so because Richard hops (quite literally on his trussed up gammy leg) back and forth between psycho and snigger with disconcerting and implausible speed.
There's a further downside to employing the full-blown psycho-bellow technique: if you start out with the volume at level 23, it doesn't leave much room for nuance or further manouevre. Consequently, Richard's almost permanent state of full-bore tantrum has a numbing effect: after a while one is inured to it and attention inevitably turns to the whiney, sing-song delivery that is how he communicates the rest of the time. Altogether, this Richard is a tiresome fellow and it's a pity it takes more than three hours to kill him.
The best scenes and passages in the production, directed by Sam Mendes, are those when Richard's centrestage antics are tempered by the presence of other actors. In particular, Haydn Gwynne as Queen Elizabeth, Annabel Scholey as Lady Anne and Gemma Jones as the spectral old Queen, and Chuk Iwuji as Buckingham, are outstanding – subtle, intelligent and stylish in their choices. In their scenes with Richard they force the lowering of temperature and noise levels and inadvertently highlight what might have been.
The production itself is stylish and interestingly thought out, in a traditional way, despite modern dress, microphones and video projections. Tom Piper's design is sparse and effective. Stripped back distressed pale grey timber walls contain multiple doors opening onto a vast empty space in which chairs, tables and the various sites of action are temporarily set. The soundscape is a mix of live musicians, partially hidden in the semi-wings, and recorded material (the already-mentioned "Ilkley Moor"), plus occasional thunderous drumming from massed members of the cast.
The opening night performance secured an almost-standing ovation; whether it was for Spacey the visiting Hollywood star, or Spacey the marathon performer, is hard to say. I was mostly unengaged and nearly always unmoved – the three women providing the emotional high points – and as the show started without apparent reason close to 20 minutes late; it was a very, very long evening and the battle of Bosworth Field couldn't come soon enough. The end.
