Smock Alley, Dublin
"I am Richard II," a furious Elizabeth I famously snapped in 1601. "Know ye not that?" It was a reasonable interpretation. Shakespeare's play depicted an ineffectual and rash monarch, cosseted and corrupted by the doctrine of the divine right of kings, who was finally dethroned. Commissioned by the queen's would-be usurpers – the day before a thwarted revolt – the play smacked of a blunt political tool.
But Richard II was more searching than any piece of propaganda, more concerned with outlining ideological clashes than with achieving a direct political purpose. Tellingly, Shakespeare’s company avoided censure and, likewise, the play’s questioning spirit was never arrested.
Staged now in a zero-frills version by new company Blank Canvas, the play could provide a lens for almost any political condition, as relevant to contemporary Ireland as to Britain, the US or any country currently suffering the brunt of poor policies, with the consequent haemorrhaging of faith in its leadership and hunger for an alternative. We are Richard II. Know ye not that?
Little in director Tim Casey’s unexpurgated production rams that point home. Performed without a set, with the 15 cast members often seeming to serve as the scenery, the production does not enforce a specific context. In dark suits, the actors often stand in a solemn semi-circle, hands clasped like a gathering of undertakers, while the production prioritises dialogue over action. For an audience accustomed to stagings of Shakespeare which enter into a more vigorous debate with the play, where interpretations are advanced in direction, or comments etched into design, this unadorned version seems unusually staid.
Moreover, Richard II has been radically portrayed by Fiona Shaw and Cate Blanchett in productions that foregrounded gender politics over monarchical study. Casey cross-casts one minor role, but it seems more by necessity than virtue, while diverting most attention to the language. Those words are much more euphonious here than in other history plays, delivered by the cast with a fine honed clarity.
Playing the lead himself, Casey’s jaunty Richard cuts a curious figure in a cerise shirt and purple tie – as much Fool as King, and certainly more orator than leader. This interpretation is most effective in the mocking anti-ceremony of his deposition, lyrically passing his crown to Bolingbroke, who David Ryan plays with more silken command than in the usual portrayals of a brute tactician. Marián Araújo, as Queen Isabella, seems most at ease though, playing up her Spanish accent with the aid of a flamenco fan, her emotional displays bridging the public and private dimensions of this divided world.
Such playful moments are infrequent, but later sequences gamely respond to more absurd tilts at the text: gardeners tending to an extended metaphor for the country; civil wars expressed as heated family spats and a messy pile of thrown gauntlets.
With such a rarely staged play of rising and falling political fortunes, you might have expected more arch contemporary commentary. Instead, Blank Canvas stays unswervingly loyal to Richard II – not an honour to which the king was much accustomed.
Until Dec 12
