King Lear @ Wyndham's Theatre

Branagh is young to play Lear; fine. His capacity to relish the words more than makes up for the young casting, and surrounding himself with a cast of impeccable young actors doesn’t hurt. At points, his interpretation of Lear’s rage felt like a Boomer dad impatient and disappointed with his Millennial children — and on a level this worked in ways I wouldn’t have expected. All that said, while the performances were generally good (Edgar definitely stands out) they also felt fairly safe and declaratory - more “look how well we can speak the text” than raw emotion, and at times pace replaced both.

The design, however, was stunning. Creating a prehistoric world, the revolve also had magical hydraulics, and utilised projection mapping on a stonehenge like circle of stones, with a gorgeous overhead scrim that looked like an eye watching over everything at times. It was, in short, stunning. But we shouldn’t leave a production only thinking about the set. . .

Truth's a Dog Must to Kennel by Tim Crouch @ Battersea Arts Centre

What are we doing when we go to the theatre? Tim Crouch’s latest play challenges the very existence of theatre, its purported value and necessity, whether it is alive at all. Structured in his inimitable manner, taking the viewpoint of an actor inside a production who is experiencing the aftermaths of that production while addressing the audience, the “performance” in this case - which we never see, of course - is of a “modern dress production” of King Lear. A play which falls into the category of big and important and meaningful plays. A role stars are desperate to play, and which audiences regularly hand over large sums to watch.

But what are we doing when we do this? Paying to watch simulated death, surrounded by people (we assume) have similar tastes and values and lives to us. Good people and compassionate people who care and read and donate. Paying to watch simulated death. Paying to be seen in this place. Paying for the comfort of this ritual. A ritual of wealth and privilege and self congratulation. Where everyone knows how to behave and nothing bad actually happens. Where we can tut and gasp at the terrible things happening, then applaud at the reminder of how far they are away from us when the lights go down, safe in our bubbles.

But we aren’t, of course. The world of King Lear isn’t as far from us as we want it to be, nor is the real outside world. So when that real world creeps in, we’re affronted. We’re annoyed. We’re busy watching a fictional world about a terrible leader and worse father, paralleled by another terrible leader and even worse father (not our world, of course).

There are so many layers in this script, as there always are in Crouch’s work, that I’m still digesting the many resonances and connections. That said, for me in this moment the resonances above are the strongest - that big, looming question of why we are even trying to make this (possibly dead) art form in this (terribly broken) society and pretending it makes any difference. We could have stayed home and warm and watched Netflix.

Crouch’s script doesn’t just ask these big questions; it offers answers that are discomforting. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this at all?

If you can make it to this production, please do. You will be challenged, but you won’t be disappointed.