In this production, the storm rises and falls, and the whole becomes a sort of huge stichomythic dialogue between Lear and Nature rather than a ludicrous replica of a lyric tenor trying to sing over an unyielding Wagnerian fortissimo. Yet further experimentation with these scenes can probably make them still better.
From time to time Carnovsky adds grunts and expletives that are not in the text, but they are always in keeping with the part. And as he exits before intermission and enters after it, he keeps repeating, "A king, a king!" This occurs but once in the text, but its repetition serves to make clear the precise nature of the idee fixe that forms part of Lear's insanity.
I can find no fault with Carnovsky's handling of his subdued dementia, the reconciliation with Cordelia, and his death--with one exception, and this seems a serious flaw.
What I have in mind is Lear's very last five lines--the most daring and unorthodox valedictory speech ever penned, though made up of nothing but short, everyday words: "Thou" It come no more,/ Never, never, never, never, never!/ Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir./ Do you see this? Look on her! look! her lips!/ Look there, look there!"
Lear has Cordelia's lifeless body before him, and mourns her. Carnovsky delivers all these lines in the same mood--one of depression. This is, I believe, a misinterpretation. Shakespeare wants a change of mood here, and he makes it possible by inserting the infinitely touching but essentially irrelevant "button" line.
In the concluding distich, Lear dies a happy man. (His words here are not madness; despite the textbooks, Lear has recovered from his dementia before his death.) Suddenly he sees something on her lips, and he has a final moment of beatific joy. "Pour on; I will endure," he had yelled at the storm. Like Job, he does endure; and like Job he gets his reward, if only for an instant. He waited; and Godot has arrived.
What does he see on Cordelia's lips? We don't know. For us, as for John Henry Newman, "Omnia exeunt in mysterium." But for Lear, the ultimate question is answered, and the answer comes as a sudden flash of enlightenment analogous to the Buddhists' satorl. This ecstatic discovery is what Lear should convey to us in his last two lines.
(I have, of course, no use for the idiotic happy ending, with Lear restored to the throne and Cordelia blissfully married, that for ages afflicted productions of the play until Macready restored Shakespeare's original text exactly a century and a quarter ago.)
The rest of the company on the whole displays an admirable high quality. Philip Bosco conveys the fervor and noble loyalty of Kent, who is to Lear what Horatio is to Hamlet. In the earlier parts of the play, the Gloucester of Patrick Hines is somewhat perfunctory; but after being blinded, his thereby improved "sight" spurs him to the most eloquent work of his career. His prayer and his final dialogue with Lear are extremely moving. (But why did the director place his "suicide" leap on the flat part of the stage when a six-inch "cliff of Dover" was available a few feet forward?)
As Edmund, Douglas Watson moves lithely, has the proper glint in his eyes, and articulates cleanly, even exaggerating and toying with the alliterative b-sounds in his lines. James Ray does not always keep Edgar in focus, but Lester Rawlins brings pathos to the half-witted wisdom and grotesque postures of the Fool. The evil of Tom Sawyer's Cornwall is well spoken, as is that of Nicholas Martin's Oswald.
Of Lear's three daughters, Carrie Nye's Regan has strength and all the requisite viciousness. The other two are the chief disappointments in the cast. Rosemary Murphy looks hateful enough for the arch-villainous Goneril, but she lacks the requisite venom in her diction. Cordelia does not have many lines, but is a fully drawn character. As Anne Draper plays her, she emerges rather neutral. The role is pivotal for Cordelia represents the future ideal of love (as Edmund represents the primitive past and Lear the civilized present). This Cordelia does not emanate sufficient love.
Nevertheless, this Festival production is impressive and purgative. And Carnovsky's king is classical tragic acting of rare stature; we are not likely to see a better Lear in our times.
(Ed. Note: The drive to the Festival Theatre in Stratford, Conn., takes three hours via the Massachusetts Turnpike and Exit 53 from the Merritt Parkway. Reservations in advance are advisable, and free picnic facilities are available on the grounds. All performances begin punctually; and, a half-hour before, there is an exhibition of expert juggling on the lawn. Forthcoming issues will carry reviews of "Henry V" and "The Comedy of Errors," which will be played in repertory with "King Lear" through Sept. 15.