Best Excuse for Driving a Mercedes Onstage at Sidney Harman Hall

King Lear
When director Robert Falls decides to locate his rousingly profane King Lear in embattled ’90s Yugoslavia, you expect a number of things: the opening scenes of Slavic decadence (pills, potent potables, and pissoirs); the especially dystopian heath; even the jig performed by Edgar, the fool, and the half-mad king. So how to surprise an audience that already knows it’s going to see a pair of eyeballs ripped from a skull before the fifth act? Easy: Drive a smoke-filled sedan onstage to deposit Regan and Cornwall chez Gloucester. Hey, it’s no elephant. But Lear’s no Aida; and these, after all, is straitened times.
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