I have a strange relationship with King Lear. A few years ago I read it in conjunction with Oedipus Rex and found that in comparison, Shakespeare's play was positively uplifting. Now I'm much less convinced.
Yesterday evening, Jeff and I attended a preview performance of King Lear by the Seattle Shakespeare Company, invited by Jeff's friend Charley (whose errant typography inspired the title of this entry). I don't pretend to be a theater critic, but in my opinion, the performance was stunning in all regards.
I'd never seen the play performed live before; the closest I came was a video that we watched in English class after reading the play. It did not compare to the front-row reality of Gloucester's eye-gouging. I would not have cringed like that for a television screen.
However, my distaste for blood and gore does not fully explain my reaction to the play, even if that gore involves eyes (I'm particularly sensitive to eyes; any movie that includes eye-torture is guaranteed to make me writhe). Instead, I attribute it to the actors' interpretations of all the characters, even the villains.. When Edmund cried,
Why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue?
I sympathized with him. It is hard to be devalued because of a simple accident of birth. I have less understanding for Goneril and Regan, but at least they stuck together for a little while before stabbing each other in the back, and as selfish as they are, they probably did not think that they were treating their father unfairly. When I have sympathy for the villains, their downfall is not nearly as satisfying.
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