It's not necessary to be a history buff to relish the unsavory doings of that medieval family Henry II, his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their sons Richard, Geoffrey and John. As told at the Hippodrome State Theatre in James Goldman's engrossing drama, "The Lion in Winter," this family's behavior could make headlines in today's most sensational tabloids. The play pits husband against wife, parents against sons, brothers against brothers and parents in a lustful, greedy, pernicious quest for power.
The time is 1183, when the family gathers for Christmas on James Morgan's set of a gloomy stone castle. Henry (He's called "the master bastard") and his young mistress, Alais, have been reunited with Eleanor, Henry's queen, whom he's graciously released from jail for the holiday, and with their sons. The purpose of the reunion is to settle on Henry's successor to the throne.
Each of the brothers has reason to believe in his unique ability to rule. Each parent backs a particular son. Each holds a trump card, or think as much until they come up with deuces.
Goldman's plot follows an ingenious course of twists and turns, many so quick that the protagonists must perform an about-face just as they are revealing themselves. Stormy, passionate, cruel, tawdry, their relationships run the gamut of bizarre emotional behavior. All that's missing is love. And surprisingly, that tender emotion also makes its appearance (if not in its usual form) before the play ends.
To be sure, if "The Lion in Winter" is about human beings' lust for power, it is also about a contrary love between the Henry and Eleanor who, despite infidelities, betrayals, wars, and imprisonments are unable to dissolve the glue that binds them together.
As played by Sara Morsey, Eleanor's tongue drips with acid. At the same time, Morsey conveys the angry disappointment of a woman of 60, considered no longer attractive and discarded by her husband. Morsey's Eleanor is a portrait of love turned against itself, getting even with exquisite bitter ironies.
Unfortunately for this Hippodrome production, directed by Lauren Caldwell, the rest of the cast indulges in a shouting match. Henry, Richard, Geoffrey, John, Alais, and Philip, the French king who is Alais' half brother, go at it full throttle throughout the play. At times, the yelling is so loud. words and whole sentences are lost in the din. In so literate a play, the loss is inestimable.
As Henry, Traber Burns leads the cacophony, followed by Robin Bloodworth as a howling Richard, Dan Bright as Geoffrey, and Heath Ward as John. Brik Berkes as Philip manages to inject some subtlety into his lines. But even Abby Lindsey as Alais, Henry's young mistress, finds her voice, and it's a very loud one. The play would be so much better served were there nuances among the endless stream of hysterical shrieks.
Still, no one's attention is likely to be diverted from the action on stage, or from the spectacle of a production that's beautiful for its elaborate period costumes by Marilyn Wall-Asse, Robert P. Robins' arresting lighting of Morgan's cold set, and the sound of medieval music arranged by Douglas Maxwell. In the play's closing moments, there is a silence of sorts as Henry and Eleanor exit hand in hand. Calling a truce perhaps; looking forward to the next ambush?
It's a good moment. Would there were more in this "'Lion" that roars so eloquently.