Richard II at Yale Repertory: Mounting Larks and Shrieking Owls

David Begelman

            Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of King Richard the Second, authored around 1595, is the first in the Henriad, the tetrology of plays including Richard II, Henry IV, part I, Henry IV, part II, and Henry V. The play is written completely in blank verse, unlike other of the bard’s dramas varying poetry with prose passages. This might be a key to understanding its meaning, since the soaring poetry has an underbelly: a saga of royal ineptitude, treachery, and backbiting that come close to being unparalleled in the canon. Only the down and dirty tricks of Richard III exceed those of this play’s monarch in royal scurrility.

Nor are some of the other principal characters in the play above reproach in this regard. Their lines are gorgeous, often ending in a rhyming couplet; yet they turn on one another as if language was out of keeping with the world sponsoring it. The play consequently maintains a poetic decorum atop the grubbier realities in which its characters are enmeshed. 

Ironically, Richard’s poetical bent waxes more sublime the more his royal position deteriorates. Close to assassination, he intones: ”—of comfort no man speak /. Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, / Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes / Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.” Poetry doesn’t get much better than this. Maybe Richard would have been better suited to a life in a modest garret with quill and parchment, rather than inherit the English throne.

Richard is a bit of a spoiled brat. He ascended the throne in his youth, and when events go against him, his principal existential mode is whining. He has little inkling of what it takes to be a king, much less a realistic grasp about how to survive in such a role. One reason for this is that he hews to the doctrine of the divine right of kings (a medieval philosophy strains of which survive today in national leaders convinced they are heaven sent). Richard cannot bring himself to realize that even royal prerogatives have to be informed by politically sensible acts. Monarchs can be toppled if they don’t watch their regal step. Richard will have none of this. Insouciantly, he puts his foot in his mouth every time he opens it. He is also not above a distasteful sense of humor. As his uncle John of Gaunt lies dying, Richard, relishing the prospect of appropriating the old man’s wealth, spurs his entourage to the sick bed by wisecracking: “Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him, Pray God we may make haste and come too late!”

            Throughout the play, Richard’s penchant for making enemies never comes up for air. He banishes Henry Bolingbroke for a crime he himself has perpetrated: the death of another uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. He levies burdensome taxes, rents out English land, confiscates the wealth of noblemen like John of Gaunt, and, like an arrogant Coriolanus, downgrades “courtship to the common people.” Even the fratricidal King Claudius in Hamlet knew the power of commoners; it was precisely this consideration that stayed his hand against murdering Hamlet on Danish soil.

To top off the stupidity, Richard elects to invade rebellious Ireland, leaving an opening back home for his enemies to gather forces against him. Henry Bolingbroke, who has amassed an army of sympathizers and has embraced many—including commoners—is a shoe-in for becoming the next king of England, Henry IV, after Richard abdicates and is later assassinated in prison. Bolingbroke feigns shock at the murder, and undertakes a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to atone for an act for which maybe, just maybe, he pretends to be ignorant.

Yale Repertory Theatre opened its fall season with the play. The production has its ups and downs, as does its lead actor, Jeffrey Carlson, in the title role. It also has its eminently watchable moments. Mr. Carlson plays Richard as an effete, temperamental monarch, a plausible interpretation of the role. However, he overreaches when his Richard becomes distressingly campy. The affectation is more noticeable at the beginning of the drama than it is during the deposition scene, Richard’s farewell to his wife, Queen Isabelle, or in his prison monologue. Here, Mr. Carlson is more emotionally connected, projecting real anguish rather than frivolous mannerisms.

In general, several of the experienced troupers in the cast turned in more satisfying performances than other featured players. These included George Bartenieff as Richard’s uncle, the Duke of York, and Alvin Epstein as John of Gaunt. Ironically, both actors play characters who have reservations about King Richard’s reign or about rebellion against his duly constituted authority. They were believable in their roles, while Mr. Epstein, as the ailing Gaunt, delivered the famous celebratory speech about England with persuasive ardor. This reviewer was particularly taken with the cameo appearance of Caroline Stefanie Clay as the Duchess of Gloucester. She turned in a focused, taut, and emotionally calibrated performance, one more impressive than her hyperkinetic characterization when doubling as the Duchess of York.

Other actors turned in either lackluster performances or, as in the case of students at the Yale Drama School in minor roles, somewhat stilted ones. In their case, difficulties in managing Shakespeare’s verse was apparent. Caitlin Clouthier, as Richard’s spouse, Isabelle, was an unfortunate case of garbled dialogue: because of her accent, very little of what she said was understandable, although she graced the stage physically. Director Evan Yionoulis seemed to have difficulty staging scenes with only two or three actors. These usually involved minor characters who milled around in static postures, even as they exchanged dialogue charged with dramatic moment.

The production had the advantage of an impressive lighting design by Ji-Youn Chang, commendable sound design by Sarah Pickett and original music by Mike Yionoulis. Scenic design often paralleled a disconcerting symmetry in blocking actors: stage right and stage left groupings frequently seemed like mirror images. Nonetheless, Brenda Davis’s set was impressive, with ingenious use made of shifting levels of metal platforms. Of striking interest was the installation of ten illuminated effigies, presumably of deceased monarchs, stationed at the higher reaches of the set. At the end of the play, Richard’s body in the form of a similar prone effigy is raised slowly above the stage, with stunning visual effect.

Melissa E. Trn’s costume design was imaginative, although its restriction to predominantly white and beige tones seemed anemic for a period in history when  pageantry was often lavish in coloration. While the light touch highlighted performers against the black upstage backdrop, the attire of the royal entourage, especially during opening scenes, was more like what one might expect in the castle kitchen, not the throne room. Ms. Trn’s costumes were well coordinated and imaginative in design to be sure, but their achromatic cast made one long for a spot of color, a hankering relieved in the third scene by Richard’s red cape, along with blue cowls of several court officials.

Richard’s assassination at Pomfret castle involved another directorial stretch: he is beset by a team of hooded figures with spears he attempts to stave off in a choreographed brawl remarkably strenuous for an overindulged potentate. (The text indicates Richard is felled only by Exton, although it also mentions more than one murderer, permitting Ms. Yionoulis to go hog wild with numbers of assailants.) The contest ends, of course, with Richard succumbing like a stuck pig, although the necessity for a band of gothic ruffians to do him in made what should have been a simple whacking (as it was for Hamlet, Macbeth, and Richard III) seem like a caper from Star Wars, or a tumultuous rumble in some futuristic video game.

Richard II is reputed to have intrigued Queen Elizabeth, especially around issues of succession. The play was also a favorite of the magisterial poet, William Butler Yeats. Theatergoers might follow the example of these two worthy predecessors, and familiarize themselves with the play at Yale Rep before it closes.

Richard II opened on September 13 and plays throughout the week until October 13 at the Yale Repertory Theatre, 1120 Chapel Street, New Haven, CT. Performances are at 2 pm and 8 pm, Tickets are $35 to $58 for reserved seating, and can be purchased by calling (203)-432-1234.