Crazy as it seems, we are in the last weeks of this extraordinary summer during which I have been playing Prosper(a) in The Tempest and John of Gaunt in Richard II.
To be given the opportunity to return to this theater I love—led by an artistic director, Tim Orr, whose integrity, warmth, and wry intelligence sets the tone for a wonderfully generous, kind, and dedicated company—has been everything I hoped it would be and a bit more. Just going to work every day in the shade of the foothills of the Rockies has been a total pleasure.
As for what I get to do—between the two roles, I have had the chance to speak some of the greatest language ever written by Shakespeare, which is to say, some of the most sublime language ever written for an actor to speak.
The Tempest, which we started with back in May, is pure joy to do, and the best kind of challenge. The production is charming and disarming—the Miranda and Ferdinand are by far the best I have ever seen, and the clowns inspired. There are parts that reliably move me to tears every night. The music, composed and performed by Jordan Coughtry, who plays Ariel, is simply beautiful when it counts. But the glory of it for me is the chance to travel Prospera’s arc from an obsession with revenge through to forgiveness, along with a renunciation of my fury and all the powers I have garnered during my long years of exile. That act of willingly ceding power is unique in the canon, as far as I know. Shakespeare is doing something fiercely original as the character strips herself down to the mere humanity of that final address to the audience, “Now my charms are all o’erthrown, and what strength I have’s my own, which is most faint…” It’s an astonishing thing to get to do every night.
I cherish each chance I get to inhabit this island, this sweet eternity, the last imagined place, one can’t help feeling, where Shakespeare’s spirit resided.
Tech rehearsal for The Tempest (the tips of Prospera’s green boots visible, propped up on the seat in front of me.)
Set: Matthew Crane
Karen Slack playing Caliban (in her own clothes)
Richard II, is an entirely different animal—a tricky, delicate play, full of hidden motives and murky political machinations—all too familiar at this moment in American history—and the production takes full advantage of the weather we live in now. There are some marvelous passages in it, the most famous of which—John of Gaunt’s “sceptered isle” speech, that heartfelt lament —is mine to deliver. The speech is a mighty slalom course. I just try to stay upright on the skis while I take the turns and let Shakespeare do all the work. Every chance I get to try to do justice to it is a gift.
Tech rehearsal for Richard II (note the kneepads and Tshirts)
Set: Matthew Crane
End of Things
Hard to believe that the end of this enchanted summer is looming, but so it is.
I will miss all of this. So much so that I can’t really think about it. But it’s another reminder—as if I needed them in this business and at this age—to savor this sweet, fleeting time as it passes.
As I said last night:
“… And like the baseless fabric of this vision
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces
The solemn temples, the great globe itself
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And like this insubstantial pageant faded
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
