King Lear, by William Shakespeare, National Theatre, directed by Sam Mendes

This should be a triumph. One of our greatest Shakespearean actors, playing one of the great Shakespearean roles, directed by a Hollywood heavyweight, joined by a stellar cast, at our National Theatre. What could possibly go wrong?

Quite a lot as it turns out.

Simon Russell Beale and Sam Mendes have collaborated countless times over the last twenty years. From era-defining productions at the RSC and Donmar Warehouse, to globe-trotting modern productions with the Bridge Project, Mendes and Russell Beale have had such a remarkably fruitful creative partnership that it was recently the subject of a book.

King Lear is one of the greatest plays in the English canon, defining careers and reflecting nations in crisis. The tragedy is simple. Lear decides he is too old to continue as King of England, so asks his daughters to profess their love to him before he hands them their portion of his kingdom. Elder sisters Regan (Anna Maxwell-Martin) and Goneril (Kate Fleetwood) dutifully oblige with hagiographic praise for Lear. Youngest, and favored daughter, Cordelia refuses to oblige, leading to her exile. Lear is subsequently shunned by the two elder daughters, resulting in his madness and adventures on the heath.

Everything about this production screams Sam Mendes. From the overly elaborate set, to the huge cast, unnecessary props, and musical-esque scene changes. This is an inverted Charlie and the Chocolate Factory set in wartime. Ninety percent of it is totally unnecessary, adding nothing to the interpretation (is there one?), and merely distracting the audience from the central action and massively increasingly the running time (220 minutes, far, far too long). I am all for elaborate stage designs if they have a point, but this feels like Mendes has walked into the National’s vast prop storage warehouse and gone wild.

That’s not to say that it is all bad. The opening scene is a fantastically grand and clear introduction to the play’s dynamics. The Gloucester subplot is well handled. Samuel Troughton plays the bastard Edmund with great energy, wit and intelligence. Likewise, Tom Brooke is suitably unnerving as his legitimate brother Edgar. Edmund’s soliloquys were undoubtedly the best moments of the production for me as they were the only moments when the play’s energy, intrigue, and brilliance were concentrated in one character.

The production and most of the actors seem completely overwhelmed by the Olivier auditorium. The voice work is horrible, beyond excruciating. Anna Maxwell-Martin and Kate Fleetwood are particularly guilty. Any attempt to project emotion comes out as a feline screech, not dissimilar to a teenager’s voice breaking. I’ve never heard such bad projection in a theatre before. There are also a number of odd and completely unjustified directorial decisions here (Lear murdering the fool???), which undermine the integrity of the production. Making leaps with a Shakespeare play are all well and good, but they have to gel. There is little coherency here.

Russell Beale is good as Lear, but he is lost in this production and one has to hope that he is given another opportunity to portray this character in a different theatre. The ending is particularly flat and confusing. One of the greatest scenes in English theatre, leaving six bodies lying on the stage, feels as dramatic and engaging as the conversations I overheard in the foyer. The play seems to just peter out, rather than reach the dramatic conclusion it should. I’ve never felt so neutral leaving a theatre, particularly Lear.

Shakespeare’s King Lear is a nihilistic and thought-provoking masterpiece that should shake you to the core. This is largely a waste of time, with a number of disparate elements that never come together. It could have been so much more.

Nothing does come from nothing.