Richard III: A vindication for able-bodied Michelle Terry in this bold production
Shakespeare’s Richard III has been dogged by controversy almost from the moment the play was first performed. For centuries there’s been the suggestion that Shakespeare weaponised the king’s real-life spinal condition for politically expedient purposes: certainly Richard’s “deformity” has become inextricably linked with his psychopathic villainy. It’s a problematic reading of disability that is worthy of greater scrutiny, yet the issue has been further complicated in recent years by the argument that only disabled actors should play a character defined, so literally in the play, as being “rudely stamp’d” and “not shaped for sportive tricks”. When the Globe’s artistic director Michelle Terry announced earlier this year she would play Richard, she faced a storm of protest from disabled actors who accused her of “cripping up”.
Terry boldly faces down both arguments in this vibrant feminist reinterpretation, performed by an all-female and non-binary cast, by doing away with Richard’s physical deformity entirely. Instead, she presents a Duke of Gloucester whose ability to physically shapeshift is central to his political success.
We see him first as an introverted incel-style misanthrope, brooding in the shadows at the coronation of Edward VI. As he gains in power and, yes, sexual confidence, he takes on the predatory entitlement of the modern toxic celebrity, a figure of nihilistic misogyny in glam heels and leather trousers. He snarls with a leering, “can’t-touch-me” braggadocio, openly disposing of his wife, the wretched Anne, whom he absurdly ceremoniously parades like a trussed-up doll. The parallels with contemporary populist strong men, from Putin to most obviously Trump, are initially implicit and before long, unmistakable. This Richard would deep-fake a picture of himself praying in church if he could; as it is he settles for a display of mocking piety at his coronation, enabled by Helen Schlesinger’s jauntily slimy yes-man Buckingham.
Terry is terrific at all this, even if her performance at times tips into technicolour caricature (a broad, crowd-pleasing hamminess is in danger of becoming the default mode at the Globe these days). The frenzied, jazz electronica soundtrack adds to the grotesque fun-house quality, as does the blood-stained pit into which numerous bodies are tipped. Yet even if the text is itself manipulated to ram home the point – “lets make England great again!” – the transparent ease with which Richard manipulates both public opinion and political convention is chilling. Moreover, Terry is entirely vindicated in her refusal to bow to the Twitter warriors: her Richard, who seems to become more athletically commanding as the play proceeds, is a textbook reading in imaginative authenticity.
Elle While’s production goes at a pleasing lick, but underplays several crucial aspects. The dream sequence at Bosworth ought to expose a Richard subliminally tormented by his conscience, but Terry’s all-on-the-surface performance has left precious little room for that. Joanne Howarth ably stepped in on press night for an ill-disposed Hayley Carmichael to play his mother, the Duchess of York; all the same, the deep sense of dynastic rot, as exemplified by the play’s various grief-ravaged queens, is missing. Perhaps most telling is the ultimate confrontation between Richard and Richmond, over in seconds. Yet for a man for whom the life and death of others is void of meaning, perhaps it’s fitting that his own death should be marked by bathos.
Until Aug 3. Tickets: 020 7401 9919; shakespearesglobe.com
