[In the following review, Hornby comments on Barry Kyle's 2001 staging of King Lear at the Globe, acknowledging its excellent use of design and blocking, as well as Julian Glover's dynamic Lear.]

The salvation of the 2001 Globe season was the production of King Lear, starring Julian Glover, and directed by Barry Kyle, a former associate of the Royal Shakespeare Company who understands the principles of staging and knows a thing or two about Shakespeare. Designs were by Hayden Griffin, another distinguished professional in his Globe debut. His costumes—modern with antique variations—were particularly effective. This was not a reconstruction of what the original 1605 production might have been like—the idea of having one such production each season at the Globe fell by the wayside a few years ago—but a vigorous, contemporary rendering that used the Globe in imaginative, intelligent ways.

The opening love contest immediately showed Kyle's ability to seize the essence of a scene. It is, of course, yet another Shakespearean ceremony, made all the more poignant when it all falls awry. If it is staged casually, then Cordelia's loathing of the artificiality of the ritual will have no impact; she will just seem like a spoiled child sneering at her nice old dad. Kyle placed a large model of Britain (in place of the map mentioned in the text) at stage center, always an unwieldy place on any stage. (The term “dead center” expresses our feelings about central positioning in general.) It dominated the scene, heavy, ungainly, hard to get around, a constant reminder that the proceedings were off kilter.

Kent and Gloucester entered the stage first, talking to Edmund, who was perched on a high post out in the yard, dressed in rough modern work clothes. Both costume and staging thus established him as literally an outcast, different from the rest, and reveling in the differences. Describing this in words may make the staging sound too obvious, but in the flesh it worked, it spoke, especially for a scene that is itself highly conventional.

Lear then entered in military garb, plus a crown, and a robe decorated with feathers and fur. There was no doubt who was king here! (And when he cried “Take physic pomp!” in a later scene, we could remember what he was talking about.) Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia came in wearing lovely gray, silver, and white gowns. This again may sound obvious, but the play itself has the simple iconography of a fairy tale. (“Once upon a time, there was an old king with three daughters. The older two were wicked pretenders, but the youngest was loving and good.”) Furthermore, Cordelia wore glasses. The play is famous for its eyesight imagery; here, she is the sister who sees through Lear's affectations. Devices like this were not some kind of semaphore code, but simple, effective images that we could easily respond to.

Kyle continued to use the stage in an effective manner, using the two pillars supporting the heavens, the post in the yard, and simple mobile props, to articulate the space. Actors took positions rather than wandering aimlessly, so that places onstage took on meaning, like the outcast area of the post. Dead center stage was a static place, but upstage center became a frequent power point. Any position within the box formed by the back wall and the two pillars became private and distant, while any position outside became public, a place for interacting with the audience. Movements had purpose, as when Lear moved back and forth from Goneril to Regan in the scene where they are stripping him of his knights. All in all, the remarkable space of the Globe was not the neutral stomping ground it has been for most of its directors, but a series of places that spoke to us and moved us emotionally.

Julian Glover played Lear as relatively young, well under seventy, muscular, vigorous and powerfully spoken. The “fourscore and upward” line had to be cut, but the choice had beneficial effects. A modern audience, seeing an aged Lear, can only sympathize with his desire for retirement. Of course, in Shakespeare's day, the very idea of a monarch retiring was anathema; God appointed kings for life. But as far as we are concerned, retirement is the norm. Why shouldn't the old boy spend his few declining years enjoying himself, while his offspring take over the work? But Glover's Lear was still dynamic, fully capable of continuing to rule, and all too ready to throw his weight around. The love contest was depicted as clearly rigged. This Lear was not truly retiring from office, but was instead planning to rule through his daughters as puppets, with Cordelia as his favorite. He was like a modern CEO or politician, hand picking a successor to take over the tiresome burdens of office, while retaining all the real power for himself.

Where Glover fell off was in the gentler later moments—the mad scenes, the stripping, the reconciliation with Cordelia. He did not have the poignancy of, for example, Ian Holm, who played the role a few years ago at the Royal National Theatre, a small man who looked much older. But all in all, this was an intelligent, affecting performance, supported by a generally strong cast.