Kerr has a wonderfully trained voice, alway intelligible whether piano, mezzoforte, or fortissimo. And he does not succumb to the temptation to keep yelling constantly. He knows how to move, too, as when in the grips of neurosis he prowls around the circular platform like a caged animal. And he dares elicit a smile when he sputters at Paulina's husband, "I charged thee that she should not come about me," and then adds, sotto voce, "I knew she would." He also managers to ring true when he strips to the waist, takes off his crown and grovels on the floor while encouraging Paulina to tongue-lash him. Again and again, when he is not even speaking, we can see the character thinking.
Having seen a Leontes who combines the passionate jealousy of Othello with the impetuous tyranny of Macbeth, we meet him again as a reformed, peaceful hero who has done penance for 16 years. And he is a hero, despite all his early evildoing. As the Luke gospel says: "Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth more than over ninety and nine just persons which need no repentance." When Leontes reappears, his blond hair now whitened. Kerr makes him immediately sympathetic and speaks beautifully and movingly. When the "statue" moves to greet him (and Shakespeare tells us not to worry how we got to this point--this is a myth, remember), he breaks our heart with three syllables, "O, she's warm!" Kerr succeeds entirely in giving us one man at two different times in life, rather than two men (which is what we are more likely to get). And exactly how he does that cannot be described; it is simply a miracle of great artistry.
Kerr now adds Leontes to the list of remarkable portrayals he has limned in earlier AST seasons--including Brutus, Octavius (in both Caesar and Antony), Malcolm, Malvolio, and Angelo. In the 13 years since his graduation from Harvard, Kerr has long since developed into one of the sterling Shakespearen actors of our time.
As Leontes's opposite number, Polixenes, who first suffers injustice and later commits it, George Hearn is an admirable successor to Jack Ryland, although he is not wholly at home in Shakespearean speech. Josef Sommer, absent from the AST for several seasons, is back, once more giving the impression that he was born speaking the Bard's language. This year he is Camillo, the lord who links the worlds of the two kings; and his performance is exemplary (except that the director still insists on substituting the word "undress" for the correct "discase").
Shakespeare mentions the resemblance between Hermione and her teenage daughter Perdita. And, following a 19th-century precedent, Kahn has once again entrusted both roles to Maria Tucci, since the two characters are on stage together only in the final scene. Kahn gets around this problem by cutting Perdita's half dozen lines and using a stand-in facing away from the audience. I suppose it's ungallant to suggest that Miss Tucci can no longer really pass for a teenager, but she makes an appealing attempt. As Queen Hermione, she can speak eloquently when required to, and stand immobile for several minutes without blinking an eye when called upon to be a statue. Eight-year-old John Christian Browning is back in his former role of Mamillius, the appealing and ill-fated son of Leontes and Hermione.
Bette Henritze once more plays Paulina, who takes guff from nobody. She finds a good balance between righteous indignation and humor, and rises to the task of becoming a sort of female Prospero, guiding the course of events. Miss Henritze's voice does not have as wide a pitch range as one would like, but she uses what she has with impressive skill. William Larsen also repeats as her husband Antigonus, who is pursued and eaten by a (wisely stylized) bear.
Victor Garber, who plays Perdita's young suitor Florizel, is entirely new to me, and he's a real find. He is exceedingly attractive, the model of an earnest, ardent innocent. He speaks well (unlike Richard Backus last year), and exudes love. One could not ask for better. Richard Dix remains properly warm-hearted as the Old Shepherd, although he shaves off 13 years from the age Shakespeare puts into his mouth; and this year he has a new son in John Tillinger, who makes a droll dimwitted dupe.
The major disappointment in this production is James Cahill's portrayal of Autolycus, the peddling pickpocket. He can't seem to decide on a characterization, and he is not up to the singing he has to do. Repeatedly he does something meant to be funny, and then looks out at the audience waiting for a laugh--which fails to materialize. What a comedown after the superb Autolycus of Fred Gwynne last summer and Earle Hyman in 1958! But Sarah-Jane Gwillim and Rebecca Sand are a much better Mopsa and Dorcas than were the 1975 shepherdesses.
Lee Hoiby's music for the outdoor scenes stands up well. And, happily, the director has again permitted choreographer Elizabeth Keen enough time in the sheep-shearing festival for a substantial suite of sprightly and witty dances.
Autolycus aside, director Kahn is giving us a Winter's Tale of sovereign sway and masterdom.