Richard, the Duke of Gloucester has recently been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Rather than feeling depressed, the prognosis fires up his ambition to seize the crown from his brother Edward and place himself on the throne. As Richard hatches plans and his henchman Tyrrel silently dispatches all who stand in his way, the wannabe monarch’s health deteriorates. Ultimately, the wheelchair-using ruler runs out of room to manoeuvre, and the sword Richard has wielded turns against him.
The Tragedy of Richard III is a whip-smart adaptation of William Shakespeare’s second longest play. Oisín Kearney and Michael Patrick have cut down to size the original panoply of characters, with some non-speaking roles even replaced with dress dummies wheeled around the stage by the nine cast members. The essence of the story remains intact, and the humorous tone – at times camp – of the first half perhaps more closely resembles the original performances in London’s rowdy Globe Theatre than worthy productions that exude self-importance.
Michael Patrick plays Richard, returning to the stage in ever more elaborate and elevating wheelchairs as his power grows. Remaining seated in no way limits the portrayal. Scooting about the stage, being trapped by scenery, Richard has a growing understanding of how his illness affects some aspects of his independence. (At some performances, the role of Richard will be played by Zak Ford-Williams.) The speeches and dialogue have the heft of a man on a mission, while the side eye and gesticulations give a sense of the impatience and impertinence of Richard. His older brother Clarence prances around in his Y-fronts with an accent that resembles Daniel O’Donnell. Hardly king material. Loyal servant Tyrrel is played by Deaf actor Paula Clarke. Tyrrel’s use of sign language never seems unnatural, and while the characters take as many liberties with their gestures as they do the spoken word, Tyrrel’s deafness is integral to the role and adds depth to the character. (Though I wish at least one character had been allowed to sign properly with BSL rather than the communication being one-way.)
Patrick McBrearty play’s Richard’s strong ally and strategic thinker. There’s a warmth in their relationship and a playfulness to the way his Buckingham lobs comments and asides into other people’s conversations. A king-to-me apparently needs a wife, and Lady Anne (Ghaliah Conroy) is coerced into marrying Richard, a further abuse from the man who killed her father (King Henry VI) and her previous husband. Pleasingly, Conroy later returns in the role of Richmond to challenge Richard for the crown.
King Edward’s pregnant wife, Queen Elizabeth, senses that she has much to lose as Richard sweeps to power. Charlotte McCurry channels a don’t -mess-with-me spirit as she fills Elizabeth with passion and – at least – attempts to stand up to the bully
Katie Richardson’s score features live percussion: Allison Harding (playing the Duchess of York, Richard’s mother) sounds like she had a misspent youth in a rock band or an orchestra as she beats the kettle drums. The timpani and side drums feed into the military aspect of monarchy and assist the build-up to the epic final battle scene. While the sparse stage with blocky set are almost reminiscent of the story playing out in Minecraft, the method of disposing of bodies, the paramilitary mobs, and the riot police summon up shadows of contemporary society and power struggles.
The first half places Richard centre stage and wittily depicts his bloody rise to the top. After the interval, it is all about him losing control. Richard is struggling to catch his breath and can no longer operate his own wheelchair and is unable to dress himself. He’s losing his grip. The black drapes that created cosy locations in the first half have been removed and the audience can see behind the scenes of Niall McKeever’s set. The levity is gone, and the audience appreciate that Richard has lost his smoke and mirrors. The end is nigh.
A costume change in the final scene signals that Michael Patrick is delivering Richard’s words as an actor rather than the character. It’s a moment that acknowledges that the actor was diagnosed last year with Motor Neuron Disease. His qualification for the role is sobering and heart-breaking. It’s clearly a poignant speech to deliver, and a very emotional moment for the audience to witness. Long may Michael Patrick continue to ply his acting trade on stage. His anchoring of this version of Richard III is a career-defining performance, a remarkable living celebration of his talent and resilience. And long may his
award-winning writing partnership with Oisín Kearney continue to bear rich fruit.
The Tragedy of Richard III is a bold production with which to open the Belfast International Arts Festival. It’s very accessible to audiences unfamiliar with Shakespeare: a handy family tree at the back of the programme explains who everyone is, and I kept that page open on my lap throughout the first act. It’s also a testament to how disability can be very naturally and inclusively incorporated into theatre. It can be designed in and nothing is lost. Quite the opposite. There’s a richness to the wider representation and it expands the potential for storytelling.
Shakespeare might not be your thing, but 24 hours after standing to applaud the opening night cast, the story and the performances and the atmosphere is still whizzing around my head. The Tragedy of Richard III is seriously good theatre, and continues its run at the Lyric Theatre until Sunday 10 November.
Photo credit: Johnny Frazer, Melissa Gordon.
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