King Lear at the Sydney Opera House

On something of a whim, I bit the Broadway-ticket-price bullet (or, at least, top-tier Off-Broadway price bullet) to see my first play at the Sydney Opera House, Bell Shakespeare's King Lear. I digress for a moment to tell you that King Lear is my favorite Shakespeare play. I have studied it on multiple occasions, but I have, gasp, never seen it. So, first time at the Sydney Opera House and first Lear. It was a big day.

It's about a ten-minute walk from the train station to the Opera House, and I was full of anticipation for seeing the first glimpse of the sails, knowing that I actually got to go inside. I think that this is a feeling that I will never lose.

The play took place in the Drama Theatre, which is a pretty standard, no-frills touring house. The acoustics are good, the seats are comfortable, and the sightlines are great, so despite its lack of ornamentation, I have not a complaint.

I was curious to find out just who spends as much money as I did to see one of the saddest plays in the world at 6:30 on a Tuesday. Turns out, a lot of people do. The house looked pretty full and the crowd was comprised mainly of well-dressed, mutli-cultural 20 and 30 somethings, with a smattering of high school students and a few older folks. This audience was fully engaged, well-prepared to listen to three hours of dense text. There was no squirming in seats, no lap-texting, and not a single cell phone rang. No one left at intermission. I don't know what the audience across town for Wicked is like, but this was an audience that I was honored to be a part of.

The production, itself, was energetic and accessible. I'd been told that Australians love a German aesthetic in their directing, and that was fully evident in this production. The stage was sparse, with an illuminated white cyc, exposed lighting instruments, and no set pieces, besides a turntable at center. The costumes were modern and rugged, in grays and beiges, except for some rather hideous bright prints on the wicked sisters, Regan and Goneril. There was a fur motif, which teetered on too symboly, but generally added some aesthetic interest and suggested that none of us are too far removed from our animal nature. A one-woman percussion band provided a great deal of subtext on everything from a xylophone to a music box. The cast was fluid with the language, and presented nuanced performances. Curses that I did not save the program so that I can't single out the names of the actors who played Edmond, Edgar, and The Fool (the best role in Shakespeare?). John Bell is a grand, highly watchable, mutli-textured performer, though a bit young for the Lear of my imagination. These actors took us full-speed ahead on the journey through the unwieldy territory of loyalty vs. desire, the nature of duty, and the gauzy terrain between sanity and insanity.

One final observation on the audience is that they did not jump to their feet at the end, like a pack of whack-a-moles. They clapped ferociously, but restrained themselves from that ultimate honor of the standing ovation. Truly, I do not remember the last performance at home that did not end in most of the audience erect. What a cloying habit that is. Take note, theatregoers - I offer you this as proof that you can appreciate a play without leaping to your feet!

It was dark and a cold, misty rain was coming down, as I walked away from the lightly glowing opera house. What better weather could there be to depart the Shakespearean massacre. I looked back a few times to take in the view. Then, I decided not to listen to my i-pod as I wandered home on the very nearly empty streets, so that I could reflect on the story, and the coda that stuck in my ears - "we that are young shall never see so much, nor live so long ..."