When I heard on Twitter that somebody’d rewritten King Lear from the Fool’s point of view, I was interested.  I don’t know anything about the author, Christopher Moore – but I know King Lear.  Actually I read someone else’s review where he said the opposite, he knew Moore’s work but nothing of King Lear itself.  You might be asking yourself the same thing I did – how do you have the Fool narrate, when we Shakespeare geeks know what happens to him at the end of the story? Thanks to my friends at Harper Collins I was able to find out.  My review copy arrived wrapped in a plain brown wrapper with a warning label letting me know just what I was in for: This is a bawdy tale. Herein you will find gratuitous shagging, murder, spanking, maiming, treason, and heretofore unexplored heights of vulgarity and profanity, as well as nontraditional grammar, split infinitives, and the odd wank . . . Ok then! The story does jump right in exactly as I was expecting, a comic novelization of the general plot, picked up right at Act I, Scene I with Gloucester talking about his bastard son.   Only now we get running commentary from the foul-mouthed Fool, who is given the name Pocket for the sake of the story.  I have to say, I found it hysterical.  As I said, I’m not familiar with Moore’s work – but if he writes like this all the time, I’m going to go and get more of it. It doesn’t take long, however, for the story to lose a few points with me.  New characters are introduced, who are not in the story at all.  Sure there’s a ghost and the witches of Birnam Wood, but I appreciate that those were more like cameo appearances for the benefit of the Shakespeare geeks.  Instead I’m talking about the “other” fool, the apprentice to Pocket, named Drool.  Drool also happens to have several traits that are crucial to advancing the plot – he’s monstrously strong, incredibly dimwitted, and has an unnatural gift of speaking in other people’s voices.  He’s also the source of much of the more bawdy humor, as he’s pretty much willing to shag anything that will stand still, including an oak tree with a knothole. Anyway, back to the story.  The plot progresses while staying surprisingly true to the Shakespeare’s version (and, I learned, often dipping into Shakespeare’s own source material).  We learn many things about the backstory that we’ve always wondered, like the deal with Cordelia’s mother, and more history on Lear’s temper.  We also get lots and lots (and lots) of detail that perhaps we didn’t need, like the fact that Pocket was sleeping with both Regan and Goneril.  Although the trial that Lear puts him through upon finding this out had one line so funny it had me laughing so hard for so long my wife asked what was wrong with me.   I wish I could tell it, but I’ll just say it involves Lear’s dinner and leave it at that, see if you spot it when you get to that part. I can’t spoil the story for you, but I will say this because I think it could be a deal breaker for some folks : Moore changes the story.  He stayed true for so long it actually came as a surprise to me, but near the end things start happening differently, and I realize that rather being “backstage” like something out of a Stoppard play, I was in an alternate universe version of Lear where things did not play out as I knew they did.  It’s an interesting moment in a story like this, because either you’re going to be curious to see how things resolve since now anything goes, or you’re going to lose interest because it’s not Shakespeare anymore.  I think I was in the latter group. I highly recommend this book to anybody who, like me, has a  sense of humor regarding their Shakespeare.    Yes, he adds characters and changes the story.  Yes, it’s twelve kinds of filthy and offensive.  It’s also very, very funny.  And, better, it still remains a tribute to its source material.   There’s even an author’s note at the end where, amidst all the apologizing, Moore essentially says what we here at Shakespeare Geek know already – whatever you think you’re about to say, just accept that Shakespeare said it first, and he said it better.  A book like this only serves to echo that sentiment.  But that doesn’t stop Moore from adding creative suggestions for managing the Shakespeare empire :  “Amid all the attractions at Stratford-upon-Avon, I think they should add one where participants are allowed to push King Lears off a high precipice.  Rage, wind, blow! Crack your cheeks! AHHHHHhhhhhhhh*splat*.”

I had to go to Amazon’s UK site to get this, but I am the proud owner of Ian McKellen’s masterful King Lear on DVD. When I was in college and just blossoming into the Shakespeare Geek I am today, I got Sir Laurence Olivier’s Lear on VHS.  Truthfully, it was over my head.  I don’t think I ever finished it.  Partly because I didn’t understand it, to be sure, but also because Olivier was nothing to me but a name.  He was a good actor because I was told he was a good actor. McKellen, on the other hand, might well be one of today’s greatest living actors.  He’s Gandalf, for heaven’s sake.  And if that’s not the particular style of geek you follow, he was Magneto as well.  But check his Shakespeare resume:  Richard III, Richard II, Hamlet, Iago, Macbeth…the list goes on.  So it’s only reasonable that he finally tackle King Lear, and boy does he deliver. I’m tempted to say this should be a one man show, Sir Ian McKellen Does Selections from King Lear – but that wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the cast, who are superb.  It’s just that he is so very very good whenever he’s on stage, that he’s hard to see anything else. When he’s not, you hope the plot will move forward until he comes back. Some of the directorial choices were interesting to me, right off the bat.  For instance, Cordelia.  The first word out of Cordelia’s mouth is when she says “Nothing, my lord.”  But the thing is, she doesn’t say it with any sort of fear or concern, she says it in a very patronizing way, like “You silly little man, of course I have nothing to say, don’t you realize that my sisters just fed you a giant load of bull?”  I was a bit surprised at that.  But it quickly turns around as she realizes that she’s incurred the dragon’s wrath, and in no time she’s got more that “What have I done?” look like she should have. McKellen does a great angry Lear.  He screams at people, and while doing it he manages to mock them, letting us well know that he’s well in control of what he is yelling, to whom, and why.  The way he turns on Kent, particularly as he delivers the “this shall not be revoked” line, you fully believe that you have pissed off the king, and you’re going to pay for it.  Let’s take a moment to talk about Goneril.  If we were giving out Oscars for this sort of production she’s a shoe-in for Best Supporting Actress.  I am not kidding when I told people on Twitter that whenever Goneril’s on the scream I kept screaming “YOU EFFING B*TCH!”, my wife can vouch for that.   She gets this Lady Macbeth sort of scheming look on her face, like she’s got the whole thing planned from the very beginning.  During the big confrontation where both sisters are on stage and they’ve driven their father into the beginnings of madness by taking away his soldiers and kicking him out of their houses, there’s an agonizing scene where Regan, who shows tremendous guilt in the early scenes, goes to comfort her father – and behind his back, Goneril puts her arm between the two, so no one touches Lear at all.  All the while with that “all going to plan” look on her face, the effing b*tch. Back to McKellen.  As he starts to lose it, Sir Ian brings some interesting mannerisms to the old king.  He carries a handkerchief and periodically wipes his nose.  I guess that’s to show that he’s not well?  And he tends to do this thing with his index finger, sometimes rubbing his nose, sometimes twitching it in front of him like he’s pointing at something that nobody sees but him.  They are minor things, but they stuck out to me in a sort of “Why did he choose to do that?” way, which breaks suspension of disbelief for me, so I felt the need to point it out. In general, though, the man is an acting god.  Whenever he’s on stage, it’s like “Ok, everybody else sit down and watch, the master is at work.”  The storm?  Come on.  I remember when I saw a live Lear, with a timid king who bargained with the elements not to hurt him.  I came back disappointed, that’s not what I thought.  I wanted someone screaming at the heavens, and that’s exactly what this production delivered.  I could watch that over and over. I’m trying to think of the defining moments in the show, but it’s so hard to pick.  It’s all good, when he’s on stage.  There are some bits I did not love.  When Gloucester loses his eyes, in particular, was a bit of a bloodbath.  I mean, sure, it has to be a gross scene.  But the way Regan cackled with glee was a little over the top for me. The ending was actually a disappointment for me.  This was not a movie version of a play – this was a play on film.  Even though there was scenery, and outside really was outside with real rain, you never forget that you are progressing scene by scene, with character entrances and exits as expected.  So the final scene, just before Lear’s “Howl, howl!” entrance, just does this theatre thing that made me feel like I was sitting in an audience watching people on stage, because only actor, not real people, would do something like that. On that note, I have to say that I don’t find Lear’s final entrance, carrying Cordelia’s body, to be the most gutwrenching scene in the play.  Maybe I haven’t seen it done enough.  Sure, true, I almost lost it when he curls her lifeless face up to his ear and asks her “What?  what’s that?” and tells the others that she was always a very quiet child.   But I guess because I know what is coming, it’s not as painful as it could be. No, to me the agonizing parts came prior – his first reunion with Cordelia, the “No cause” moment.  Then later, after they are captured, and he’s willing to go peacefully to prison, where he will spend his remaining days laughing and telling stories with her.  He is back with her, she has forgiven him, he is happy.  Knowing what comes next?  That, that is the agonizing part.  That is where you get the briefest glimpse that the story could still have a happy ending.  I can only imagine what it must be like for someone who has never seen the story and does not know what comes next.   What can I say?  It makes me want to see more King Lear, it makes me want to see more Shakespeare, it makes me want to see more Sir Ian.  I’m tempted to start it up and watch it again, but I’ve got a boatload of other stuff I have to do, too.  Maybe I’ll keep it as a treat for myself. 😉

A few weeks back the good people at Overlook Press sent me a copy of Will, which imagines Shakespeare on his deathbed dictating his last will and testament to his lawyer.

Given the prominent role the mystery of the will plays in the authorship question, what with talk of second-best beds and no mention of books and theatre things, such a task is quite daunting to begin with. When you open to the first page and realize that Rushmore intends to tell Shakespeare’s story in first person, well, to borrow a phrase from the vernacular let’s say the man has some serious grapefruits on him. Know what I mean?

And what does the voice of Will say? Well, he quotes and references himself quite often. Not in a bad way, not like Rushmore can’t think of anything better to have him say. Instead we get a man who spent his life crafting a phrase and now mocks his own talent at doing so, borrowing his character’s words to express his points, those words having come from his own brain in the first place. Very believable for a playwright recounting his life. He even puns on his own work, such as referring to a particular term as a “brave new word.” I particularly got a kick out of him working the word “groatsworth” into the narrative, I can only imagine how small a portion of the audience gets that reference.

What else does grumpy old Will tell his lawyer? Well he swears a lot. Talks about bodily functions in graphic detail, obsesses about death. That second bit is pretty interesting. Lots of undiscovered country talk. A fascinating digression on Lazarus and why nobody bothered to ask him any questions about the Great Beyond. In Rushmore’s version, Will spent his childhood haunted by ghost stories and visits to haunted cemeteries. He does
Not paint a pleasant picture of life for young Will.

I won’t lie, the narrative is hard to follow. Shakespeare is the narrator, speaking to his lawyer. So 80% of every page is supposed to be conversational, but never with a quotation mark or a “Shakespeare said…” Between every few paragraphs the lawyer interjects with typically a single sentence, and it’s almost like the author does that just to make sure we don’t forget Will isn’t just talking into a tape recorder.

And then periodically it switches to third person, which leaves me wondering if that is an editor’s mistake. You’ll get a line like (paraphrased), “Then Frances took a bite of his meal.” Ummm… The narrator Shakespeare is speaking to Frances the lawyer, so who is talking there? It happens infrequently enough to be jarring when it does.

What of the big questions? The second best bed and all that? I’m not done with the book yet so I can’t spoil it for you. I can tell you that I’m anxious to find out for myself!

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