In promotional material for this show, I’ve branded it as a “tale of power and greed.” But that’s not the whole truth, is it? I don’t think any character in this show grasps for power for power’s sake alone. There’s a promise implicit in the things that create power: title, land, money, and relationships. The promise, as we’ve been told throughout the history of capitalism, is that power brings those things that everybody wants–– to feel happy, safe, and loved. 

Yet this play teaches us that the pursuit of power at all costs is precisely the thing that loses us those realities of happiness, safety, and love. Edmund loses the chance for real romantic connection with either sister by refusing to pick one, and he loses a brother’s genuine love through his own machinations. Lear would rather lose his daughter than be perceived as weak in the public eye, and he would rather keep a ceremonious display of power– his hundred knights– than humble himself for his daughters’ needs. Goneril and Regan’s close sisterly bond crumbles in the face of their own grabs for power, and Oswald’s social climbing leads to his downfall.

Everybody gets power; no one is happy, no one is safe, and no one is loved. 

Only the characters that rebuke the hunt for power are able to touch something real in this world. Kent, by humbling himself even in the face of Lear’s rage, tastes true friendship. Edgar, by debasing himself and transforming into Poor Tom, breaks away from his privileged life and understands what’s important in the world. The Fool, by rejecting the ceremonies of those in power, is able to speak truth in a way unlike anyone else. Gloucester, after having lost his station and eyes, finds genuine closeness with his son and repentance for his misdeeds as a father. 

And Lear, of course, reaps the consequences of his pride tenfold. By the end of the play, he’s transformed into the King he should have been from the first, but it’s too late then to wield that power to do good in the world. The work to make a better world, led by something truer than the pursuit of power, must be performed by the younger generations: those who have witnessed this cautionary tale and learned from it.

This lesson feels eternal, but its timeliness now, during our unique moment during the decline of late-stage capitalism, is unquestionable. I’ve positioned this play aesthetically and functionally in a contemporary landscape to ground it in an audience’s mind: this is not a story for a legendary British royalty, nor for Elizabethan audiences. This is a story for all of us, here, now, and it could not be more relevant to our modern times.