King Lear

Last January i was lucky enough to get tickets to see Othello at the Donmar Warehouse - lucky partly because it's one of my favourite plays, and partly because it starred Kelly Reilly (who i have a girl crush on), Chiwetel Ejiofor (generally amazing) and Ewan MacGregor (perverse curiosity - not who i'd have cast as Iago). interestingly, i actually left the play most loving Tom Hiddleston who played Cassio (and who i realised i had seen in The Changeling at the Barbican in 2007, and who, later in 2008, i also saw in Ivanov - again impressively holding his own against serious theatrical star wattage: Kenneth Branagh... all in all it firmly set me on his stalking path), anyway, massive DIGRESSION... oh yes, Othello revived a bit of a Shakespeare fanatacism in me, which ended up lasting the whole year. my glutton-for-punishment partner-in-crime was Rachel and we saw everything from The Merry Wives of Windsor at The Globe (heinously touristy, plus v sore bums thanks to 'authentic' seating), to The Roundhouse's incredible Histories season: Henry V, Richard III and Henry IV parts 1 and 2 (or the nonexistent 3 as i tried to tell someone once when drunk. clever), via Twelfth Night with Derek Jacobi as a gorgeously repellent Malvolio. on wednesday we carried the mania into 2009 and saw hot-shot director Rupert Goold's 'daring' production of King Lear. Now, 3hrs 45 mins of intense tragedy after a day at work is not exactly either relaxing or a riot, but this production absolutely lived up to its hype. the setting was sort of urban wasteland (corrugated iron back drop, imposing steps overrun with weeds dominating the stage); the costumes loosely 1940s (Regan's outfits i especially envied - a purple 40s cocktail dress, followed by a 50s full skirted red dress, then a chic black fitted skirt suit with a cropped jacket and fur collar); and the emotionally weighty subject matter infused with moments of both camp melodrama and rebellious comedy, with a fool (usually the bane of my life) who was deliciously dark, pervy and sinister. the play's gruesome bits were gleefully gruesome and the choppy combination of all these contrasting elements and pace meant there was no real chance of nodding off. weirdly, i quite fancied Edmund, the Duke of Gloucester's bastard son, the creepy character who shit stirs the whole messed up situation so it reaches its tragic climax, but obviously even he couldn't upstage Pete Postlethwaite as King "who is it that can tell me who i am?" Lear. all round, 100 % impressed.

Up next: A Winter's Tale and Hamlet (although everyone tells me the A Midsummer Night's Dream on at the moment is also excellent - but is it like eating asparagus out of season? i think maybe yes).