Richard III in particular offers as much as can reasonably be expected of a film. In Olivier's hands, one of Shakespeare's better plays (certainly not one of his best) is transformed into an intricate, subtle, coolly ironic plunge into one of those recesses of human nature that are generally avoided through the same fastidious impulses that make the manufacture of sewer covers a profitable business. In its rather stylized way, Richard is an extraordinarily honest film, and requires proportional honesty from anyone who hopes to assess it correctly—which may partly account for the fact that so far no one has bothered….

Olivier's alterations of Richard III are so numerous that it would be virtually impossible (and pointless) to enumerate them all. It is in the major changes, in any case, that the interest lies, and they are fairly easily accounted for. The pattern of Olivier's major alterations suggests the operation of two basic principles which work together almost inextricably, the first being one of economy and cinematic expediency….

The second principle is an interpretive one, involving judgment as to the relative importance of various parts of the play, and right at the heart of it is the removal of Queen Margaret. (p. 23)

As in Olivier's earlier films, the form in Richard is achieved through a complex imagistic structure with one dominant parabolic formal device. In Henry V, the device is the Globe Theater, which begins and ends the film…. Henry V is often criticized for beginning on the stage, which is attributed to Olivier's fancied theatrical orientation—but actually it works, and works brilliantly. The device which began as a textual expedient provided the film with a framework for the kind of tight structure Olivier compulsively seeks, and turned what might have been only another stagey film into a dynamic essay on the power of the camera as an extension of the imagination….

In the case of Richard III, the central device of coherence is the crown.

The crown imagery is built around three coronations, a structure facilitated by the incorporation of the coronation of Edward IV from Henry VI, Part 3 (the play immediately preceding Richard in Shakespeare's history cycle) into Olivier's film script. Olivier added the coronation partly to elucidate for modern audiences Shakespeare's version of the political situation existing in England before Richard achieved the crown, but its formal function is also evident….

The parabolic curve from legitimate king to tyrant to legitimate king is clearly defined through the use of crown images. The crown motif is hurled at the audience immediately. (p. 24)

The film is concerned, then, with the nature of kingship and tyranny, which sets Olivier's Richard at some distance from the play. Although Shakespeare's play, to a degree, shares this concern, the primary focus is on plot and character per se…. Had Olivier tried to adapt Richard III simply by snipping out some of its less inspired passages, he would have accomplished little. Instead, by giving predominance to a theme obscured in the play, he has given his film a significance that the play does not have. Olivier's film, like the play, is a portrait of an individual tyrant. Unlike the play, Olivier's film surpasses melodrama to become a portrait of tyranny.

That Olivier's film is concerned with tyranny is obvious; exactly what it has to say about tyranny is more difficult to define. There are elements of Richard (besides the crown motif) which suggest that the film takes the orthodox libertarian line on tyranny—that tyranny is an immoral infraction of human freedom, and that, inevitably, human dignity will assert itself and the tyrant will be overthrown. One of these is the consistent use of Richard's shadow, and those of his conspirators, to trace and comment on the development of Richard's plot…. Richard's shadow plays freely through the film like a familiar demon, assuming different aspects as the action progresses. (p. 25)

Reinforcing Olivier's use of shadows is his persistent weaving of religious references into the fabric of his film. Generally, religious episodes and symbols are placed in ironic juxtaposition to Richard's acts—thus, by implication, condemning Richard's conduct as immoral. In Olivier's film script, the text of the play is augmented with religious chants which serve as an ironic comment on the action….

Conventional religious symbols, like the chants, are employed by Olivier to suggest Richard's satanic aspect. Clarence and Hastings are both sacrificed to Richard's ambition, so both are associated with saintly images. While Clarence tells Brackenbury of his nightmares, he wanders to the recessed window of his cell…. The parallel of Clarence's position to that of the crucified Christ on the facing wall is unmistakable.

Hastings is likewise associated with religious images. When he is betrayed at the tower, he sits alone at the end of a long table, the rest of the coronation committee having removed themselves to a safe distance at the far end….

Olivier employs the same technique to make another kind of comment on tyranny. Richard is not only placed in opposition to religion, but his subordination of religion, his exploitation of religion to achieve his own ends, is made clear in the film through the interaction of Richard and religious trappings. (p. 26)

The film places heavy emphasis on the scene at the castle. As in the play, the entire sequence is built around the basic discrepancy between the reluctance of the assembled citizens to accept Richard and the favorable attitude which Richard's henchmen try to instill by pretending that it already exists…. At the point when the action reaches its climax, the film reaches an imagistic climax. Richard throws back his head, savoring his power. The camera cuts to the madly swinging bell, then dissolves to the bells of Richard's coronation.

Certainly Richard's descent of the bell rope is a concrete representation of his intense lust to put his new power into immediate force, but it is much more than that. The essence of Richard's tyranny, and the tyranny of every man who ever mobilized religion to gain his own ends or had an insane lust to see someone on his knee, are packed into a single visual image.

Still another aspect of Olivier's interpretation of Richard III which tends to support the notion that the film is an anti-tyranny apologue is the way Olivier has chosen to represent Richard's psychological make-up. He does indeed, as he has said, play Richard as a paranoiac—an interpretation which the play invites. Some of Richard's waspish diatribes take on a new significance when they are viewed as being partly inspired by self-indulgent delusions of persecution…. Richard is portrayed as a special kind of paranoiac—one whose resentment finds its supreme expression (and its chief compensatory device) in sadistic aggression and a lust for power that is quite literal and physical as well as figurative and psychological.

The progress of Richard's logic in his first speech suggests that his quest for power is a substitute for normal sexual activity…. The particular form which Richard's quest for power takes is suggested in a few lines from Henry VI, Part 3:

        And I, like one lost in a thorny wood,
        That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns,
        Seeking a way and yet straying from the way;
        … Torment myself to catch the English crown,
        And from that torment I will free myself,
        Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.

The passage certainly exhibits a curious selectivity. Thorns are a common symbol of sterility. They were used as such by Christ in the parable of the sower, and the next line, "Seeking a way and yet straying from the way," seems to be an ironic reinforcement of the Biblical echo. The entire figure used in the passage has strong sado-masochistic implications, and the last lines do somewhat more than imply. That Olivier went out of his way to incorporate these lines into both his stage and screen performances, along with the passage referring to bribery of nature, on the ground that they "helped to explain Gloucester's character" should come as no surprise.

Olivier seems to have been thoroughly aware of this implicit aspect of Richard's character, and he has incorporated ample suggestions of sadism and power as a sexual object into his film. Richard's relationship to his throne is one way Olivier chooses to represent Richard's concept of power…. When Richard possesses the throne he possesses it in the fullest sense of the word—and the throne admits of no rivals.

Richard's sadism is more readily apparent. From the beginning he has a marked penchant for kicking doors (Brackenbury's and Anne's), human beings (a guard in the Abbey), and, presumably, whatever else may lie within range…. The closeness of the camera to the throne and the suddenness of the cut contribute to a subjective impression of violence and emphasize the narrowness with which the scepter misses smashing Buckingham's hand, which he pulls off the throne just in time.

The violent use of the scepter, with its implication of abuse of power, is repeated when Buckingham persists in his petitioning. (pp. 26-8)

Olivier has become noted for sensational and violent death scenes in Shakespeare, and he is sometimes inclined to recall an element of his interpretation which he wants to stress at this point in his performance as a device of emphasis. In Richard III, several of the film's major motifs recur in the death scene. The soldiers cluster around Richard to kill him, pull off his armor and stab him….

The hilt of the sword, of course, provides the last ironic contrast of religion and Richard. The physical horror of his death, which is historically accurate, following More's version rather than Shakespeare's, forms a powerful comment on the fate of tyrants. The difficulty of killing him also bears implications about the nature of tyranny. (p. 28)

All of these elements of Olivier's interpretation—the crown imagery, the shadow, the use of religious reference, the portrayal of Richard's psychology—constitute a strong temptation to conclude that Olivier's film is an anti-tyranny moral fable. But Richard is designed to squeeze somewhat more meaning than this out of the concept of a tyrant, an undertaking which necessarily involves, in the interest of telling the truth, a certain amount of willful failure to assume any moral position whatsoever.

If Richard III were a moral fable, it would be natural to expect that some attractive alternative to Richard's tyranny would be presented in the film. However, this is clearly not the case. (pp. 28-9)

Olivier's film reflects the play's inherent absence of any satisfactory alternative to Richard in Edward's court. To visualize the corruption of the court Olivier added Mistress Shore, who is only alluded to in the play, to the cast of his film. She is always present in the court, ministering to the king or hovering in the background, and on the whole she is mute….

Edward's inadequacy as a king, like Richard's tyranny, is elucidated through religious reference. After Edward has signed Clarence's death warrant, he exits leaning on the arm of Mistress Shore…. In addition to religious chants, religious symbols are used to stress Edward's corruption. During the scene in which Edward tries to reconcile the factious nobles, he lies in bed clutching a rosary….

The established Church, which serves in Olivier's film partly as a contrast to Richard's villainy, fares no better as an alternative to Richard than Edward and his partisans (the second brother, Clarence, is not particularly promising as royal timber either, for he lacks the restrained unscrupulousness that characterizes Shakespeare's successful kings). In fact, the Church is subjected to a certain amount of oblique satire. (p. 29)

In Olivier's film, the conduct of the clergy is clearly presented as conforming to the general moral laxity which characterizes Edward's court. The two monks in the throne room may exchange scandalized glances, but they shrug and fold their arms. (pp. 29-30)

Perhaps it is possible to contend that Richmond is the alternative to Richard, but the film does not particularly support this hypothesis. There is even less of Richmond in the film than in the play, and what there is of him is not overwhelmingly appealing. He has a certain forthright manliness which is attractive enough—but it is hard to be persuaded on the basis of forthright manliness that there is anything appealing about him. He is too perfect a heroic figure to be believably human…. He cannot even be credited for defeating Richard. It takes Richard to do that. Richmond has all the compelling properties of a vacuum.

It is in Richard alone that the power of the play, and, even more so, of Olivier's film lies. Buckingham is the craftsman, the technician, the super-subtle instrument, Richard the master designer and driving force. He is utterly unscrupulous (which in itself is attractive enough—for the human fascination with powerful men can hardly be denied), but there is a great deal more to him than that….

The essential ambivalence of Olivier's film is most evident in his portrayal of Richard. There are, as might be expected, two extreme ways to play Richard. At one pole he can be underplayed, so that he resembles Iago—sinister and clever, but about as amusing as a vial of undiluted sulphuric acid. At the other pole, he can be overplayed to the point where he becomes a lovable buffoon with an unfortunate tendency towards homicide. Olivier's interpretation lies somewhere between the two extremes….

The Richard of the first part of the film limps up to the camera as soon as he is left alone with it…. It was the first time a cinematic character addressed himself to the audience so directly and personally, much less invited them to participate in a conspiracy. It is a delightfully brazen sort of behavior, characteristic of the audacity people admire in powerful men. (p. 30)

In addition to his comic bent for self-congratulation and his rhetorical dexterity, Olivier's Richard has certain idiosyncracies of behavior which are innocuous and rather charming. He tackles his projects with a hand-rubbing enthusiasm which almost belies their sinister nature. At times he is disarmingly absentminded. He stops on the brink of confusing the king's revocation of Clarence's death warrant with the warrant itself…. He is a Duke of Very Little Elegance. The kisses he bestows are sometimes conspicuously audible….

Of course, Olivier's Richard is unmistakably deadly. The impression is reinforced from the beginning by his high-pitched, brittle precision of speech and his curious, reptilian appearance—hard, thin lips and an incessant, lizard-like blink. (p. 31)

Once Richard is exposed as a threat to the audience, he might be expected to lose his appeal entirely. Instead, after the scene at Baynard's Castle, he begins to take on some of the stature of a tragic hero, so that the basis for sympathy shifts markedly but is nevertheless retained…. It is the familiar pattern of the tragic hero committing a decisive act which sets him irrevocably on a path of self-destruction.

Richard retains his ferocity and personal force, even when the consequences of his acts begin to close in on him…. Olivier has omitted from his film the patently tragic "recognition" scene…. Richard's horror is conveyed effectively enough, however, for the speech is replaced in the film by a grisly howl that brings Richard's attendant running.

Richard also shares the tragic hero's ultimate comprehension and acceptance of his fate. The lines which convey Richard's attempts to maintain a semblence of confidence once he reaches the battlefield are delivered with a forced jauntiness that betrays his underlying despair. (pp. 31-2)

Thus Richard remains the powerful figure of Olivier's film. A delicate ironic balance is maintained between condemning Richard as a tyrant and loving him for it, which reflects the ambivalence of the human attitude toward tyrants and, by extension, the intrinsic ambivalence of tyrants themselves. Perhaps Olivier's surest asset as a director is this ironic poise, this wry detachment, this "curious, amoral strength."… (p. 32)

Constance A. Brown, "Olivier's 'Richard III'—A Re-evaluation," in Film Quarterly (copyright 1967 by The Regents of the University of California; reprinted by permission of the University of California Press), Vol. XX, No. 4, Summer, 1967, pp. 23-32.