Bailey and King Lear: London II
Feb. 17th, 2014 09:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
selenakYesterday was actually a sunny day, and I met the St. James pelicans on my way through the park.
I always visit the National Portrait Gallery when I'm in London; it's less crowded than the National Gallery, and it appeals to the historical obsessive in me. This time, as it turned out I could also visit the exhibition showcasing David Bailey's work over the decades, Stardust. There is an undertone of "I didn't just photograph the 60s, you know" there, but then, it's true. Mind you, whether 60s, 80s or 2000 onwards, what's undeniable is that black and white is Bailey's metier; the occasional colour photograph simply isn't as effective. The title not withstanding, the exhibition doesn't solely consist of Bailey's celebrity photos; there is one room with showing his photos of New Guinea people and Australian Aborigines, neither of whom are treated condescendingly or in any different from the way he photographs Western people, and another with his contribution to Live Aid which was to go to Sudan and document the situation there without fee. But inevitably, this being David Bailey, two thirds of the exhibition show people which one does know. (Well, I did, anyway.) Two of the most interesting portraits to me which I hadn't seen before were photos Bailey did of fellow photographers, of Don McCullin (probably most famous for his Vietnam work and in this the antipode of Bailey in terms of subject matter in the 60s) in the 90s, looking craggy and sage and yet somewhat amused, and of Linda McCartney in 1985, the face unabashedly without make-up and showing every line of a woman in her mid forties, and strong in herself for it. Incidentally, in terms of self portraits, Bailey's are a mixture of unflinching sense-of-humor about himself - the more current day ones not only are as unflattering as possible but also tend to have him posing as a clown, all grimaces, puffed up cheeks and nose - and youthful showing off; there is one photo of the young David Bailey lounging in bed which is amazingly sexy and makes it understandably why supposedly two thirds of his models ended up having sex with him.
His favourite band, the Rolling Stones, get their own room (the notes informing us that David Bailey first met Mick Jagger when they were dating the Shrimpton sisters, Jean and Chrissie, in 1963, and that they're friends till this day), but in terms of his older work, the non-Stone photos are more memorable; another part of exhibition shows the "Pin-Box" collection he published in 1965 which had most of Swinging London (some of whom remained famous, and some folk who have since fallen into obscurity) in it, including the most notorious gangsters of the day, the Kray twins. Now I had seen Bailey's portrait shot of Ronnie and Reggie Kray before (and so have you, if you've seen photos of the Krays at all), but what I hadn't been aware of was that he took that photo in session with all three Kray brothers (yes, there was a third). Older brother Charlie was subsequently edited out of all the pictures (the exhibition has the originals, though), since no one cared about him. I sometimes wonder whether it's the awareness of who the Krays were that make me imagine you can see the cold brutality in the eyes, a certain psychopathic blankness, and whether I would read the photographsh differently if they were labeled "Ronald and Reginald Smith". But I think not; Bailey, at his best, can get across much character in his pictures.
Among the today obscure/forgotten people from the 1965 Pin-Box is for example Gordon Waller (of Peter & Gordon); among the still instantly recognizable one of the most famous pictures ever taken of John Lennon & Paul McCartney. So I knew that one, of course, but what I hadn't known was that Bailey also took portrait shots of Brian Epstein, three of which are included in the exhibition, two regular shots and a double exposure portrait, all excellent. It's worth noting that while the exhibition has several portraits of Jean Shrimpton, there are none from the photo shooting that made Bailey famous in 1962 (maybe Vogue still has the copy right?).
From photography to theatre: after visiting the National Portrait Gallery, I headed off to the other side of the river to see King Lear at the National Theatre, starring Simon Russell Beale in the title role, directed by Sam Mendes. Which was a very strong production, even if I'm still uncertain about some of the choices. Mendes went for a vaguely 1940s - general 20th century look, military dictatorship instead of traditional monarchy; interestingly, the French forces under Cordelia are clad in a brown guerilla look while the English ones both under Lear and later under Albany and Edmund are clad in a fascist black. Beale's Lear, as most good Lears do, starts very unsympathetic and gets more and more human and pitiable as the play proceeds. When he first says "let me not go mad" it's also the first time I felt any sympathy for him. Mind you, the autocratic behaviour in the opening scene of course means Lear comes off badly towards Cordelia and Kent however you play it, but in this production he also came off badly towards Goneril and Regan, with no warmth towards them yet expecting them to love (and proclaim their love for) him, plus the production had the hundred knights really rowdy (and, remember, in sinister black) at Goneril's, so Goneril feeling threatened and wanting to get rid of them in addition to having a strained relationship with her father was understandable. When Lear curses her, you can see how terrible this is for her. And then, like I said, the first human moment: "Let me not go mad". And suddenly Beale is projecting this fear, the moment of awareness, and it's so relatable - the fear of dementia, of Alzheimer's, of your own body and mind betraying you, of the helplessness when everything threatens to be taken away.
This is a production that feels very fast paced, but not in a bad way, as things go from bad to worse in both the Lear and the Gloucester plot; the suspense never snaps. Two outstanding moments in the first half before the interval - Gloucester's blinding, with the servant's intervention given its dramatic due when most productions I've seen tend to get that moment over with very quickly. (I think it's a great touch of Shakespeare's, especially given the "even if the King's cause is wrong, our duty towards him absolves us from any blame" debate in Henry V, because here you have a character who is not a noble going against the rule of duty and obedience because he can't stand seeing a man tortured this way. Also, before the blinding there is waterboarding as Regan and Cornwall interrogate Gloucester. Obvious contemporary nod is obvious. And speaking of Regan and Cornwall, usually because Regan moves on quickly to Edmund and is the less present sister in any case she doesn't get more emotional range beyond sadistic sex kitten; here she's sadistic and enjoying sex, but she's also sincerely in love with her equally cruel husband and devasteted when he's killed, desperately trying to stop the bleeding and save him. (She's also played by Anna Maxwell Martin of Bletchley Circle fame.)
The other outstanding scene, and a production choice I'm not sure about, is the climax of Lear's mad scene just before the interval. In the text, he stages a mad mock trial of his daughters. "Is your name Goneril" etc. In Sam Mendes' production, he doesn't just mistake a stage prop for Goneril, though he starts out with that. No, he then moves to the Fool, mistaking him for Goneril in his madness and clubbing him to death. Now, the Fool doesn't show up in the second half of the play anymore, and there is debate of Lear's later "my poor fool got hanged" refers to Cordelia or the Fool, but I've never seen a production which found this solution for his absence. You'd think it's impossible to add more cruelty to King Lear, of all the plays, but Mendes found a way. On the one hand, it's terribly effective, showing not just the depth of Lear's madness but also his rage towards his daughters (and his earlier verbal onslaught on Goneril certainly makes it believable he would have killed her, if given a chance). But Lear is also shown as very affectionate towards the Fool before that, and only gets one moment of awareness/realisation of what he has done later on; this to me seems imbalanced, given how Lear grieves otherwise. Then again, madness. I just don't know.
Later Lear also acts kindly towards Edgar-as-Tom, and towards Gloucester, which shows why Cordelia and Kent love this man (which is important; if you play Lear as solely bad, which I've also seen - and Jane Smiley does it in her modern Lear, A Thousand Acres, where he's a daughter rapist to boot - then not only there's no tragedy but it doesn't make sense anyone would feel love and loyalty for such a man). And the reconciliaton scene with Cordelia is outstanding; I have never seen a production where not only there is a Lear reluctant because he's so ashamed at how he treated her but also Cordelia who on the one hand loves and pities him but on the other is scarred by what happened herself, and so there is physical distance and uncomfortableness and slow, slow getting closer, so that when they do at last embrace, it is incredibly moving.
Always a question for actors for Lear: are you on the one hand old enough not to need ghastly make up but on the other strong enough to carry your Cordelia on the stage? Beale is up to the job. I've seen Lears drag their Cordelia because carrying an adult woman in your arms is no mean feat, but he accomplishes it. He's also one of the Lears whose "look there, look there" isn't a comforting final delusion that Cordelia still lives and starts to breathe again,but a despair about her death. It's heartrendering.
I haven't said much about the Gloucester plot, which is partly because it contains another of those choices I'm not sure about. Now this production's Edmund (Sam Troughton - a relation, I wonder?) with his sleeked back blond hair is slick enough in the machinations early on but also presented as a cold fish, which, fair enough, it's just that you have a hard time seeing why Goneril and Regan (both played by charismatic and beautiful actresses conveying much emotion) would fall for him. And in the later half, Mendes cuts Edgar's narration of Gloucester's death (so while on the one hand he adds to the killing score with the Lear kills Fool thing, on the other he lets Gloucester survive), and thus also Edmund's moment of being moved by it and the following not exactly repentance but at least attempt to take his orders for Lear's and Cordelia's deaths back. Also cut is Edmund's possibly vain and/or possibly being moved remark re: Regan's and Goneril's demise, "so Edmund was beloved". In short, those slight touches which don't make Edmund less of a villain but do make him human.
These caveats not withstanding, it is an excellent Lear, and I'm glad to have watched it. Onwards to more London theatre!
I always visit the National Portrait Gallery when I'm in London; it's less crowded than the National Gallery, and it appeals to the historical obsessive in me. This time, as it turned out I could also visit the exhibition showcasing David Bailey's work over the decades, Stardust. There is an undertone of "I didn't just photograph the 60s, you know" there, but then, it's true. Mind you, whether 60s, 80s or 2000 onwards, what's undeniable is that black and white is Bailey's metier; the occasional colour photograph simply isn't as effective. The title not withstanding, the exhibition doesn't solely consist of Bailey's celebrity photos; there is one room with showing his photos of New Guinea people and Australian Aborigines, neither of whom are treated condescendingly or in any different from the way he photographs Western people, and another with his contribution to Live Aid which was to go to Sudan and document the situation there without fee. But inevitably, this being David Bailey, two thirds of the exhibition show people which one does know. (Well, I did, anyway.) Two of the most interesting portraits to me which I hadn't seen before were photos Bailey did of fellow photographers, of Don McCullin (probably most famous for his Vietnam work and in this the antipode of Bailey in terms of subject matter in the 60s) in the 90s, looking craggy and sage and yet somewhat amused, and of Linda McCartney in 1985, the face unabashedly without make-up and showing every line of a woman in her mid forties, and strong in herself for it. Incidentally, in terms of self portraits, Bailey's are a mixture of unflinching sense-of-humor about himself - the more current day ones not only are as unflattering as possible but also tend to have him posing as a clown, all grimaces, puffed up cheeks and nose - and youthful showing off; there is one photo of the young David Bailey lounging in bed which is amazingly sexy and makes it understandably why supposedly two thirds of his models ended up having sex with him.
His favourite band, the Rolling Stones, get their own room (the notes informing us that David Bailey first met Mick Jagger when they were dating the Shrimpton sisters, Jean and Chrissie, in 1963, and that they're friends till this day), but in terms of his older work, the non-Stone photos are more memorable; another part of exhibition shows the "Pin-Box" collection he published in 1965 which had most of Swinging London (some of whom remained famous, and some folk who have since fallen into obscurity) in it, including the most notorious gangsters of the day, the Kray twins. Now I had seen Bailey's portrait shot of Ronnie and Reggie Kray before (and so have you, if you've seen photos of the Krays at all), but what I hadn't been aware of was that he took that photo in session with all three Kray brothers (yes, there was a third). Older brother Charlie was subsequently edited out of all the pictures (the exhibition has the originals, though), since no one cared about him. I sometimes wonder whether it's the awareness of who the Krays were that make me imagine you can see the cold brutality in the eyes, a certain psychopathic blankness, and whether I would read the photographsh differently if they were labeled "Ronald and Reginald Smith". But I think not; Bailey, at his best, can get across much character in his pictures.
Among the today obscure/forgotten people from the 1965 Pin-Box is for example Gordon Waller (of Peter & Gordon); among the still instantly recognizable one of the most famous pictures ever taken of John Lennon & Paul McCartney. So I knew that one, of course, but what I hadn't known was that Bailey also took portrait shots of Brian Epstein, three of which are included in the exhibition, two regular shots and a double exposure portrait, all excellent. It's worth noting that while the exhibition has several portraits of Jean Shrimpton, there are none from the photo shooting that made Bailey famous in 1962 (maybe Vogue still has the copy right?).
From photography to theatre: after visiting the National Portrait Gallery, I headed off to the other side of the river to see King Lear at the National Theatre, starring Simon Russell Beale in the title role, directed by Sam Mendes. Which was a very strong production, even if I'm still uncertain about some of the choices. Mendes went for a vaguely 1940s - general 20th century look, military dictatorship instead of traditional monarchy; interestingly, the French forces under Cordelia are clad in a brown guerilla look while the English ones both under Lear and later under Albany and Edmund are clad in a fascist black. Beale's Lear, as most good Lears do, starts very unsympathetic and gets more and more human and pitiable as the play proceeds. When he first says "let me not go mad" it's also the first time I felt any sympathy for him. Mind you, the autocratic behaviour in the opening scene of course means Lear comes off badly towards Cordelia and Kent however you play it, but in this production he also came off badly towards Goneril and Regan, with no warmth towards them yet expecting them to love (and proclaim their love for) him, plus the production had the hundred knights really rowdy (and, remember, in sinister black) at Goneril's, so Goneril feeling threatened and wanting to get rid of them in addition to having a strained relationship with her father was understandable. When Lear curses her, you can see how terrible this is for her. And then, like I said, the first human moment: "Let me not go mad". And suddenly Beale is projecting this fear, the moment of awareness, and it's so relatable - the fear of dementia, of Alzheimer's, of your own body and mind betraying you, of the helplessness when everything threatens to be taken away.
This is a production that feels very fast paced, but not in a bad way, as things go from bad to worse in both the Lear and the Gloucester plot; the suspense never snaps. Two outstanding moments in the first half before the interval - Gloucester's blinding, with the servant's intervention given its dramatic due when most productions I've seen tend to get that moment over with very quickly. (I think it's a great touch of Shakespeare's, especially given the "even if the King's cause is wrong, our duty towards him absolves us from any blame" debate in Henry V, because here you have a character who is not a noble going against the rule of duty and obedience because he can't stand seeing a man tortured this way. Also, before the blinding there is waterboarding as Regan and Cornwall interrogate Gloucester. Obvious contemporary nod is obvious. And speaking of Regan and Cornwall, usually because Regan moves on quickly to Edmund and is the less present sister in any case she doesn't get more emotional range beyond sadistic sex kitten; here she's sadistic and enjoying sex, but she's also sincerely in love with her equally cruel husband and devasteted when he's killed, desperately trying to stop the bleeding and save him. (She's also played by Anna Maxwell Martin of Bletchley Circle fame.)
The other outstanding scene, and a production choice I'm not sure about, is the climax of Lear's mad scene just before the interval. In the text, he stages a mad mock trial of his daughters. "Is your name Goneril" etc. In Sam Mendes' production, he doesn't just mistake a stage prop for Goneril, though he starts out with that. No, he then moves to the Fool, mistaking him for Goneril in his madness and clubbing him to death. Now, the Fool doesn't show up in the second half of the play anymore, and there is debate of Lear's later "my poor fool got hanged" refers to Cordelia or the Fool, but I've never seen a production which found this solution for his absence. You'd think it's impossible to add more cruelty to King Lear, of all the plays, but Mendes found a way. On the one hand, it's terribly effective, showing not just the depth of Lear's madness but also his rage towards his daughters (and his earlier verbal onslaught on Goneril certainly makes it believable he would have killed her, if given a chance). But Lear is also shown as very affectionate towards the Fool before that, and only gets one moment of awareness/realisation of what he has done later on; this to me seems imbalanced, given how Lear grieves otherwise. Then again, madness. I just don't know.
Later Lear also acts kindly towards Edgar-as-Tom, and towards Gloucester, which shows why Cordelia and Kent love this man (which is important; if you play Lear as solely bad, which I've also seen - and Jane Smiley does it in her modern Lear, A Thousand Acres, where he's a daughter rapist to boot - then not only there's no tragedy but it doesn't make sense anyone would feel love and loyalty for such a man). And the reconciliaton scene with Cordelia is outstanding; I have never seen a production where not only there is a Lear reluctant because he's so ashamed at how he treated her but also Cordelia who on the one hand loves and pities him but on the other is scarred by what happened herself, and so there is physical distance and uncomfortableness and slow, slow getting closer, so that when they do at last embrace, it is incredibly moving.
Always a question for actors for Lear: are you on the one hand old enough not to need ghastly make up but on the other strong enough to carry your Cordelia on the stage? Beale is up to the job. I've seen Lears drag their Cordelia because carrying an adult woman in your arms is no mean feat, but he accomplishes it. He's also one of the Lears whose "look there, look there" isn't a comforting final delusion that Cordelia still lives and starts to breathe again,but a despair about her death. It's heartrendering.
I haven't said much about the Gloucester plot, which is partly because it contains another of those choices I'm not sure about. Now this production's Edmund (Sam Troughton - a relation, I wonder?) with his sleeked back blond hair is slick enough in the machinations early on but also presented as a cold fish, which, fair enough, it's just that you have a hard time seeing why Goneril and Regan (both played by charismatic and beautiful actresses conveying much emotion) would fall for him. And in the later half, Mendes cuts Edgar's narration of Gloucester's death (so while on the one hand he adds to the killing score with the Lear kills Fool thing, on the other he lets Gloucester survive), and thus also Edmund's moment of being moved by it and the following not exactly repentance but at least attempt to take his orders for Lear's and Cordelia's deaths back. Also cut is Edmund's possibly vain and/or possibly being moved remark re: Regan's and Goneril's demise, "so Edmund was beloved". In short, those slight touches which don't make Edmund less of a villain but do make him human.
These caveats not withstanding, it is an excellent Lear, and I'm glad to have watched it. Onwards to more London theatre!
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Date: 2014-02-17 12:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-18 08:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-17 01:32 pm (UTC)There was a big drama in the first week of the production when he lost his voice in mid-speech; they worked round it for the rest of the first half, and the Duke of Burgundy took over in the second.
I once saw my niece play Goneril in a Sheffield Youth Theatre production in which Regan evidently dried up in one scene, at which point her lady-in-waiting (they had alternating casts, so presumably she was Alternate Regan) jumped in with a lengthy account of "my lady's" position.
Re death of Fool, I have heard of Lear doing it himself while mad. Last time I saw it, Lear's party rushed out of the hut stage left while Regan's lot rushed in stage right, and the Fool (one Sylvester McCoy) was too slow and got caught and strung up. This was followed by the interval and, as I happened to be on the front row a few feet away, I felt awful wandering off for an ice cream leaving poor Sylv hanging there. On the other hand, I supposed it would be easier for them to cut him down once I'd left, so I went.
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Date: 2014-02-18 08:32 am (UTC)I wish I'd seen the McKellen/McCoy Lear on stage, too, but no such luck, alas. I mean, it makes sense that something happened to the Fool since he's just not there anymore - somewhere I've read the most likely Doylist explanation is that the actor who originally played the Fool for Shakespeare doubled as Cordelia (they're never on stage together), and Cordelia is back in the second half, hence no Fool.
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Date: 2014-02-18 06:47 pm (UTC)It doesn't look as if I reviewed the McKellen Lear here, which I thought I had. I do remember that Cordelia (Romola Garai) got the giggles when asked to make her declaration of love in the opening scene; my impression was that she thought the whole thing was a bit of a laugh in which her sisters were making themselves look silly, and didn't realise Lear was completely serious until far too late.
It also occurred to me (though I think this was me rather than the production) that the King of France may think it's a test of the suitors, rather than the daughters - ie that Lear is trying to find out which of Cordelia's suitors truly loves her, rather than being after a big chunk of real estate, by pretending that he's cutting her off, and once he's jumped through the hoop by saying "She is herself a dowry" and he'll take her as she is then he'll be rewarded with a big chunk of England after all. And he's rich enough to take the gamble, but Burgundy isn't quite... But the King may be disappointed when the gamble doesn't come off, and that may help to explain why he later abandons the invasion to deal with "something he left imperfect in the state which, since his coming forth, is thought of".
Though my other theory is that the King of France reappears in disguise, like nearly everyone else in scene one, and just doesn't get round to revealing himself before the end of the play.
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Date: 2014-02-20 08:36 am (UTC)...and then there's what I was taught in English class: the main reason why Cordelia's forces lose is that Shakespeare couldn't let a French army win against an English one on British soil, it would have been regarded as terribly unpatriotic by his audience.
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Date: 2014-02-20 01:01 pm (UTC)Apparently the original story as told by Geoffrey of Monmouth has Cordelia marrying the King of the Franks, and their invasion succeeds in restoring Lear to the throne. I can see that the invasion makes a lot of sense if France thinks he can pull it off - because it's ostensibly in Lear's name, he can pretend it isn't an invasion at all, and he's probably expecting the populace to rally round and restore their true king. With Goneril and Regan discredited/dead, he's got control of the whole kingdom, with his wife as regent and eventually heir to Lear. So maybe he realises early on that Lear wasn't as popular as he thought and there isn't much local support, and decides he'd better disassociate himself from a doubtful enterprise. Or maybe there really is a domestic crisis requiring his immediate attention.
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Date: 2014-05-08 04:28 pm (UTC)Having seen a live broadcast last week, I think I've got a sense of what's going on. For me, this production brought out the fact that most of the characters in the play think it's all about men, and specifically a power struggle between Cornwall and Albany about who's ultimately going to succeed Lear as king (or high king, if the division of the kingdom is preserved). That's what Kent and Gloucester are discussing in the opening lines of the play, and hence this production's staging with the microphones set up in front of the dukes, who awkwardly push them towards their wives when Lear unexpectedly wants the women to do the talking. And after Lear's stepped down the court gossip is about whether Albany and Cornwall have fallen out yet, and who to back in the inevitable showdown. The men talk about "the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess", not the other way round.
The general feeling seems to be that "fiery" Cornwall is likely to beat nice-guy Albany, so, quite apart from her evident sexual frustration, I think Goneril's on the lookout for a stronger, more ambitious champion than the one she's got. Edmund's behaviour towards his father suggests he's ruthless enough for the job, which will start with bumping off her current husband. It's made clear that she's checked out his sexual qualifications and confirmed that there's hot stuff behind the glasses, but if she just wanted a lover she could probably pick any pretty boy in her household.
Regan, as you say, seems perfectly happy with Cornwall, but once she's lost him she needs a new husband/champion and, given that she seems to have spent her whole life trying to catch up with her older sister, it's not surprising that she looks round, sees Goneril making her move on Edmund, and thinks "That one!" Also, Cornwall appointed Edmund Earl of Gloucester in place of his father, so Edmund's effectively got the endorsement of the previous husband Regan appears to have loved. Politically, he's the obvious choice for both of them.
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Date: 2014-05-08 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-08 04:41 pm (UTC)