In 1603,three years before ‘King Lear’ was first performed, one in six Londoners died of plague; it somewhat accounts for the dark tone. However, the Black Death and what one might call ‘natural causes’ go un-remarked in this tragedy of ungrateful children, loss of power and an indifferent universe. Apart from the cruelty the characters inflict on each other, war breaks out, institutions are corrupt, the country is full of beggars and even the weather is diabolical.

It’s difficult not to shout ‘Don’t do it!’ as Lear abdicates. Having reached ‘more than four score years’ and wanting to spend his time hunting, he divides the kingdom between his two smooth-tongued daughters, Goneril and Regan. The youngest, Cordelia, although the favourite is cut off for failing to match her sisters' eloquence. Her father even refuses her a dowry, which at least discourages the more mercenary suitor, and the King banishes the one man bold enough to speak up for her. It’s clear, from the way that Ian McKellan, as Lear, leans back in his chair beaming whilst the female schemers dollop on the syrup, that he’s a poor judge of people and likes to surround himself with yes men.

In fact the cavernous space of the New Theatre in Drury Lane, the sixty-foot apron stage and canopy resembling a huge open jaw, stifles any such frivolous impulse. Its vast emptiness, apart from a ruined roof and window and a decaying balcony which runs across the back of the stage, is perfect for a work of cosmic scope. No ghostly apparitions, as in ‘Macbeth’ and ‘Hamlet’, hint of an afterlife. An indifferent Nature reveals itself only in portents, the characters constantly raising their hands skywards and call on various gods to witness, be amazed, shocked, or take revenge. As Lear bitterly concludes, ‘As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport’.

As his world shrinks to the company of the Fool, Lear is exposed to all the weather-effects the New Theatre can throw at them, including real, drenching rain, forked lightning and thunder cracks so loud they make the audience jump in their seats. One couldn’t blame the sisters for refusing house room to Lear’s entourage – they are the rowdiest bunch I’ve ever seen, tormenting the house servants and breaking out into noisy Cossack-style dancing. The very sound of their horses in the courtyard, apparently immediately behind one’s left ear, marks them down as troublesome house guests.

Expertly served by the RSC Company’s designers, musicians and actors, the gamut of Shakespearean dramatic devices unfolds: scheming, disguises, a poisoning, torture and sword-fighting. Trevor Nunn’ direction doesn’t spare the audience – even the hanging of the Fool, usually mentioned almost casually at the end, is done onstage. The blinding of Gloucester at the command of evil Regan, played with malicious energy by Monica Dolan, is all the more horrible surrounded by the lackeys holding him down. Francis Barber as Goneril makes a steely hostess and lascivious wife, eyeing up Gloucester’s treacherous son. Romola Garai’s Cordelia has a debutante air in an off-the-shoulder Gautier-style gown at the start and is sensibly dressed for the weather in nautical greatcoat with piping in the reconciliation scene before the battle. The women’s costumes’ bustles and swishing skirts suggest Ibsen whilst the Russian-style uniforms of the retinues are sombrely intimidating. Sylvester McCoy, a spoon-playing music-hall magician of a Fool, enlivens his condemnations of Lear and the world in general with a rhythmic knick-knack played at times on the King’s head and shoulders.

The transition from hubris-driven monarch to helpless old man makes King Lear ‘the Everest’ of roles’. As the adage has it, ‘When you’re old enough to play King Lear, you’re too old to play Kin Lear’. Ian McKellan is more convincing as the hubris-ridden monarch than the pathetic old man. At one level, the decision to divest Lear of his clothes at onpoint is a coup-de-theatre, showing man as ‘the poor forked animal’ he titles Edgar, Ben Meyjes’s convincingly starved beggar. To display as Sir Ian does, a body so enviably capable is a mistake in an otherwise convincing vision of a world spiralling into decay.

Sheila, what an inciteful review. I did go to see this, but I'm not sure how much I enjoyed it.

For a start, there must be about four toilets in this theatre. I queued for twenty minutes before the start of Act One, only to be told I had to get out of the ladies AT ONCE because the play was about to start. I missed my loo visit and until the next interval I sat crossed legged, wondering when I could best leave before the end of the act. Might sound trivial, all this, but you don't have this aggro in the cinema, which, the older I get, makes me more of a cinema person than a theatre person.

I had no sympathy with Lear at all, and kept thinking that if you challenged any young woman to heap praise on her old dad, then, to be fair, he'd deserve all he got. When Serena got her pecker out I detected a sharp intake of breath from the audience. What a show off!

I was so looking forard to this, but coming from Cambridge and then rushing off to catch the last train and the toilet incident - I don't know. I'd rather have stayed at home and read a good book. 'A Thousand Acres' by Jane Smiley, for instance.

Physical discomfort plays havoc with enjoyment,and I'm sorry you had such a bad experience, especially as you'd travelled from out of town. If it were me who'd been ordered out of the loo I think I'd send an eloquent letter letter to the front-of-house director. I remember once at the Barbican being told to move because I was standing where 'Harriet' made her entrance - and the play hadn't even started. It made me feel quite hostile towards the whole RSC.

I think Lear is my least favourite of Shakespeare's roles, partly because he does seem so stupid at the start. Sometimes these big theatres don't help, either. I prefer the more intimate space of fringe theatres. They take better care of their customers, too.

Sheila

Sheila - you're right, I should have written a letter of complaint. It's too far in the past now for me to get excited about, though.