THEATRE REVIEW: Richard III - HOME, Manchester

This collaborative production between Headlong, Alexandra Palace and Bristol Old Vic, with Royal & Derngate, Northampton and Oxford Playhouse, and directed by John Haida, is a mini-masterpiece, due particularly to a tour-de-force performance from lead actor, Tom Mothersdale. Scuttling around the stage like a deranged and wounded spider, Tom’s performance can easily stand alongside other iconic Richards – Sher’s & Spacey’s - but Mothersdale brings something new, a barely concealed tender vulnerability and at times a subtle introspection to the role.

Here we have a man in pain, a possible PTSD sufferer, who has been told since his unholy birth ‘with teeth’ that he is not just a worthless ‘false glass’ perverted reflection of his father, but truly evil. No wonder then that since Richard is so unlovable in the eyes of others, he is ‘determined to prove a villain’, and his dogged dedication to ruthlessly seizing the glorious crown, annihilating anyone who stands in his way, can be seen as a desperate and doomed attempt to beautify himself and claim his own happiness in life – with scant regard for any punishment from God.

For a character who could so easily fall into panto villain territory, there is some quiet thoughtfulness in this portrayal – and the possibility that Richard may have actually been redeemable if shown some kindness. The direct eye contact with the audience (one eye obscured by a clouded contact lens) and the inviting of us to comment on his demonic actions (“What?” he repeatedly and innocently asks) makes us complicit and even sympathetic, even when – especially when – the ghosts of his victims line up to mock him as he dies on the battlefield. He is left utterly alone, in his darkened hell, with only his reflection in the gothic mirrors onstage reflecting back at him his own loathed image.

Mothersdale has, he says, ‘accentuated’ his own scoliosis and just adopts a leg brace to give Richard his believably twisted shape, and the visceral nature of this staging shoots out as blood, spit, dirt and even chalk dust sully Richard throughout

Richard does not trust women and does not value a woman’s love – insouciantly marrying & murdering a spouse when necessary – and it seems that he has been psychologically damaged in the first instance by his mother, whose lacerating tongue he shrinks fearfully from, bending away from her vicious words and her blows. What is most shocking in the play is not the murder of young innocents but the ferocious denunciation of Richard by the one woman he loves and seeks to protect, his mother.

The play takes a useful liberty with the text – beginning not with the famous ‘winter of our discontent’ monologue but with Richard gleefully taunting and then bloodily despatching Henry VI in the Tower; we are immediately in no doubt of the ruthlessness and origins of the crippled Richard’s motives.

There are some lovely, deft human touches, such as Richard’s slightly weary and annoyed uncle shtick as the princes repeatedly take turns to pat and harass him: I have never seen the character played with such downbeat and shrugging humour.

Although it’s definitely Mothersdale’s show, there is solid support from a uniformly excellent ensemble cast who strike the moral, outraged and grief-stricken notes in retaliation to Richard’s barbarism.

The staging is strikingly spare & modern – a mirrored backdrop overhung by an illuminated circle rounding the real crown, and with sudden flashes of red light illuminating and blares of synth blasting when the murders occur – and never jars but only heightens the sudden shock assassinations.

I could give some glib and obvious parallels to current global politics, but frankly, there is no need: read what contemporary relevance you will into the play, it’s enough to just appreciate this meaty tragedy, cleverly and passionately executed. As Mothersdale said when asked in the Q&A afterwards about who he took his inspiration from, “I know, but I’m not telling you”.

Reviewer - Tracy Ryan
on - 1/5/19