In people-without-clothing news, some nudity in a Shakespearean production is causing quite a stir—but it might not be what you think. The much-heralded production of King Lear starring Ian McKellen has been taped and will be broadcast next January on PBS. In the production, McKellen has a full frontal nude scene and PBS chief Kreger will not yet answer whether or not the scene will be edited for television. The issues inherent in this story and the caginess with which it’s being dealt bring up a number of key questions.

Obviously, there are the myriad of issues surrounding nudity, both on stage and in film. Some argue that it can be artistic while others firmly believe that on some level it is always exploitative. Secondly, there is the PBS angle. Fifteen years ago, the network found itself in the midst of a similar controversy over the similarly-praised Tales of the City(which ironically also feature McKellen in a small role), a miniseries which also featured male actors dropping trou. PBS met with much criticism for airing the program and the two sequel miniseries moved to Showtime (where mature content is de rigueur).

Underneath it all, however, is an unspoken question. Would either of these arguments have happened (even with PBS involved) if the nudity featured was of a female actor? Instead of arguing about whether or not it is appropriate (which will yield a different response depending on whom you ask), we should ask whether this issue is treated the same way across the board. In Shakespeare, as elsewhere, the answer seems to be no.

Ian McKellen must be seriously peeved. The British film and stage actor has been schlepping around the world with his widely touted production of Shakespeare’s King Lear for much of the 2007-2008 season. When word broke yesterday that a new film version of the venerable tragedy was to be mounted, the natural question was who would appear in it. Currently, two of the three daughters have already been cast. Gwyneth Paltrow, who has been a rather spare presence onscreen in the past five years since becoming a mom, will play Regan. Keira Knightley, who gained fame fighting undead pirates in a trio of overblown, thoroughly awful action comedies, will play Cordelia. No name actress is attached to the role of Goneril as of yet, possibly because the character’s name will produce too many snickers among adolescent audience members. The big news, of course, is the King himself, who will be played by none other than Anthony Hopkins.

Since Hopkins name is bigger in the film world than McKellen’s, the choice is not terribly surprising. In truth, it will be very surprising indeed if he is not extraordinarily good in the film. While passing over McKellen might be sad news for his fans, Hopkins is far from a flyweight. In many ways, the casting of the daughters is far iffier. Knightley has proven herself to be a lovely photographic object, but her acting consists of talking around her teeth and posing like she’s in a period-piece body wash commercial. Most importantly, she isn’t warm, and Cordelia is the heart of King Lear in many ways. Paltrow has a habit of being either really good or utterly wan. When she last played Hopkins’s daughter in Proof, I was expecting a lot due to the raves she had received for her stage performance in the same role. I was sadly disappointed. Maybe the casting of Goneril will seal the fate of the performances of the daughters’ roles – whipping the other two actresses into shape or sinking with them.

In the past few years, King Lear has been defined largely by star turns. In the past year, Sir Ian McKellen embarked on a worldwide tour with the play, earning reviews ranging from the rapturous to the rancorous. A few years prior, Christopher Plummer took Lear to Broadway and raged mightily as the tortured King. The play is now being performed at The Globe featuring an actor many have never heard of—David Calder. A recent review noted Calder’s lack of fame while heralding his performance’s richness and psychological complexity. The reviewer also noted that the show begins and ends with Calder. For this viewer, the supporting cast was incredibly inconsistent, throwing of the balance of the production.

People of the theater are fond o f trotting out sayings about the ensemble nature of the profession and how the success of a given production depends on the achievements of all involved. Reading this review, I wondered if this is always the case. With particular regards to Shakespeare, is this true of King Lear? No one would argue that a capable cast of talented actors would enhance any production. Also, there are plenty of good parts to be had in this particular tragedy, which manages to balance a wide range of characters while still giving them individuality and complexity. Still, with a play like Lear, most folks are going to see the title character. Is it possible that King Lear has become a vehicle play over the years, a work sculpted by directors to highlight the talents of actors of a certain age?

In they-call-this-news? news, Sir Ian McKellen is having trouble getting dinner. The actor, currently in Minnesota with his much touted touring productions of King Lear and The Seagull, was turned away from an eatery located right next to the theatre. The reason? No, it was not because they hated Apt Pupil (though, would you blame them if they had?). The actor simply arrived too early and the restaurant employees informed him the place would not be open for another hour. Now, the angle of the story is that we are all supposed to laugh at how dumb the employees are for not admitting a BIG STAR and feeding him. With due props to Sir Ian for not trotting out “Do you know who I am?”, it seems that actors—particularly Shakespearean ones—cannot catch a break.

The great nineteenth century Shakespearean actor Edmund Kean’s performances were once described in the now-famous quote, “Seeing him act was like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning.” Though often interpreted as a compliment, the statement is in fact a not-so-thinly veiled criticism of Kean’s inconsistencies. In today’s theatre, an actor’s impeccable training and remarkable stage credits can be trumped by the most meager of film and television work. An actor can play every role in Shakespeare’s canon, but if he does a guest spot on Law and Order, a season on a soap opera, or a catchy, kitschy commercial, they will become his calling card. John Gielgud is one of the great Shakespearean actors of the twentieth century, but in filmdom he is best known for winning an Oscar as a bitchy butler in Arthur. Mr. McKellen, despite his long stage career, is primarily known for The Lord of the Rings and X-Men trilogies. A word of caution to the actors on the execrable Caveman series. You can play Hamlet for the rest of your lives, but those Neanderthal mugs are going to follow you to your graves.

Questions have recently been raised yet again about the validity, purpose and effects of staging a Shakespearean production in modern dress. The specific concern here is whether or not these high concept productions are beneficial or deleterious to Shakespeare’s works. It is a worthy question, but is there a quantifiable way to answer it that does not boil down to an opinion statement? Also, is it the right question to ask? In other words, by asking are we assuming primacy of the playwright?

Anyone who has seen Shakespearean stage productions or films with any regularity knows that the quality of the creative concepts applied to Shakespeare vary greatly. For example the Third-Reich-era Richard III that starred Ian McKellen was well received both on stage and in its film incarnation. Others, such as Michael Almereyda’s antiseptic 2000 film of Hamlet (set in corporate New York) have been less enthusiastically embraced. Ostensibly, the success of these interpretations hinges on how well they illuminate Shakespeare. Yet, in cases such as the aforementioned examples, their effectiveness (or lack thereof) seems to stem more from the dialogue created between the concept and the play. Ethan Hawke mumbling “To be or not to be” in drippy voiceover while walking through a Blockbuster store did little to highlight Hamlet’s existential crisis. Conversely, whatever points Almereyda sought to make about corporatization and commodification were ill served by a passionlessly delivered monologue about suicide.

Modern dress Shakespeare cannot be defended or condemned, because each production deserves to be judged individually. In evaluating them, however, making “Shakespeare” the ultimate barometer for their success is troubling. Since he was a writer who treated time and place very loosely, how much stock should artists or audiences put in these contextual elements in production?

Much press has been devoted to Trevor Nunn’s touring production of King Lear starring Sir Ian McKellen. It’s one of Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies and the title role is a monster of a part, so there’s ample opportunity for McKellen to show off his acting chops. What’s getting less attention is the play that is playing in repertory with King Lear, (featuring the same actors, including McKellen): Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull. While the productions are getting mixed reviews ranging from triumphant to indulgent, one question that stands out is why Nunn chose to pair these two particular plays together.

For McKellen (who plays the ailing Sorin in The Seagull), the parallel is clear: these are two men experiencing crises specific to the late-autumnal phase of their lives. Also, perhaps The Seagull’s Nina and Lear’s Cordelia (both played by Romola Garai, best known in filmdom for Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, unfortunately) are both misunderstood ingénues. Yet as a whole, I don’t see these plays as complementing each other. Shakespeare’s plays, while not without reflective moments, are painted on a much larger canvas than the intimate, elegiac comedies of Chekhov. There has been a tendency in the last decade to bring one playwright’s aesthetic to the production of another. Shakespeare’s plays (even his comedies) have been given dreary “Chekhovian” spins. Conversely, Chekhov has been treated with excessive hey-it’s-a-comedy-people theatrics that sometimes are employed in Shakespearean productions. I’m not sure where Nunn’s productions fall. The plays are neither similar enough nor different enough to justify each other’s company.