Theatre in Review: Richard II (Red Bull Theater/Astor Place Theatre)

	Daniel Stewart Sherman, Ryan Spahn, Michael Urie, David Mattar Merten. Photo: Carol Rosegg

In Craig Baldwin's revival of William Shakespeare's most lyrical play, the title character is a man in a cage. Baldwin, who edited and rearranged bits of the original text, begins with Richard, incarcerated and stripped to his underwear, delivering a speech that usually turns up in the play's fifth act: In his end is his beginning, as T. S. Eliot might have noted. Here, the action of Richard II is filtered through the monarch's mind; he is omnipresent, if often invisible, looking on at the swirl of intrigue that undermines, and, finally, guts, his corrupt, pleasure-loving court.

Indeed, the production's singular quality is the stark contrast between Shakespeare's elevated language and the sordid details of Richard's reign. The unapologetically gay monarch runs around dance clubs (Annie Lennox on the sound system) and bathhouses with the sycophants Bushy, Bagot, and Green. ("The caterpillars of the commonwealth/Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away," grumbles Bolingbroke, soon to be the usurper Henry IV.) Richard's queen is the gang's mascot, hanging out with boys in various states of undress, watching idly while her husband makes out with one of his lovers. Cocaine will be ingested.

Many actors lend Richard a gay subtext, to a greater or lesser degree, but Michael Urie embraces it fully, a decision that makes his grasp on power seem even more fragile than usual. Manifestly unfit for the throne, he tries on and discards personas as if they were new ensembles, toying with the roles of peacemaker, despot, and cast-off king, among many others. Commenting on his shifting fortunes, he notes, "Thus play I in one person many people/And none contented: sometimes am I king/Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar/And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king." Indeed, the loss of his crown is psychologically destabilizing, depriving him of the only role he knows to play, however uncomfortably.

Throughout, despite a certain overfondness for gesticulating, Urie subtly probes Shakespeare's verse for multiple layers of meaning. Even at his most foolish, he retains a surprising innocence about the scheming that brings him down; the stunned silence with which he receives his ultimate betrayal -- agreeing to hand over the crown, he finds himself accused of crimes against the state -- is deeply eloquent. Presiding awkwardly over a game of Russian roulette played by aristocratic rivals, tensely trying to maintain the peace by revoking the banishment of Bolingbroke, and, deposed, quietly taking the measure of his prison walls, he is a man out of time, unsuited to the role life has dealt him, yet possessed of no other reason for being. Tragedy gives him a statue denied him in life: "You may my glories and my state depose/But not my griefs; still am I king of those," he says. Best known as an accomplished clown, this production should point Urie toward many other roles in the classic repertory.

Baldwin's production has the advantages of clarity and pace, making the most of Shakespeare's level gaze at the machinations of power. By hinting that Richard's enemies are motivated in part by homophobia, they are cast in an even more sinister light than usual. Trying to stabilize the country's government, they are paving the way for the unstable world of the Henry IV plays, marked by rampant rebellions and questions of legitimacy. As usual, the playwright refuses to comment: This is the way the world works, he seems to say; make of it what you will.

Baldwin's production also has its unstable aspects. Arnulfo Maldonado's set design, which places a transparent cube on a turntable at center stage, is visually striking, and it supports the concept of Richard recalling his downfall from a prison cell. (There's also a great moment when the upstage wall is illuminated, becoming the green and pleasant fields of England.) But the cube takes up too much space on the small Astor Place stage, resulting in some awkwardly overcrowded stage pictures. It also may create acoustic problems, which would explain why the actors are miked in such a small theatre. (In some scenes, actors stripped to their skivvies look mighty strange with receivers creating bulges in their briefs, and wires crawling up their backs.) Also, the supporting cast isn't always up to snuff. Lux Pascal's Queen chops up the verse, wounding its rhythm and sense. Emily Swallow's Northumberland feels strangely noncommittal. A comic sequence, featuring Jimmy Seol and Sarin Monae West as a pair of caustic, gossipy gardeners, falls flat.

Then again, Grantham Coleman's cagey Bolingbroke, biding his time until the right moment to strike, is a definite asset, as is Kathryn Meisle's Duchess of York, up to her neck in intrigue and worried sick about it. Ron Canada's John of Gaunt is a bit over the top, but he certainly makes an impression, especially when foretelling Richard's fate. ("His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last/For violent fires soon burn out themselves.") Canada is also fine as the Bishop of Carlisle, one of Richard's few friends at the end.

Also, Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew's lighting, relying heavily on strategically placed LED bars, is sensational, creating a noirish, seedy atmosphere suitable for deal-making and double-crosses. Rodrigo Munoz's costumes, aided by Bobbie Zlotnik's wig and hair designs, call up a world of intentionally trashy '80s couture. If we must have sound reinforcement, Brandon Wolcott handles it discreetly, and his effects are well-done.

And there are some of the most gorgeous speeches ever wrote, lovingly handled here, including John of Gaunt's ode to England ("This sceptered isle/This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars/This other Eden, demi-paradise...") and Richard's heartbreaking capitulation ("For God's sake let us sit upon the ground/And tell sad stories of the death of kings..."). In loss, Richard is unforgettably schooled in the world's ways: "The love of wicked men converts to fear; That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both to worthy danger and deserved death." Even if Urie's Richard earns his cage, it makes one unutterably sad to find him there. --David Barbour