I've been reading and watching King Lear tonight, and I've decided two things.
1) Watching someone go mad really isn't a lot of fun, and
2) The world would be a much easier place if people would just communicate with each other. And I include myself in that admonishment!
Also, a few years ago I listened to the audiobook of a Christopher Moore story, Fool, which is his comedic take on Lear, told from the perspective of his fool, Pocket. That is by far one of the best audiobooks I've ever listened to. The story was hilarious, the narrator was perfect, and the whole thing made me laugh until my belly hurt. I much prefer it to the actual Lear. But I'm reading and watching it, nonetheless.
If watching someone's descent into madness is this difficult, I wonder what it was like to write it. Shakespeare wrote it nearly a decade after his son Hamnet died, and some of it seems to speak so clearly to grief, to questioning the purpose of it all, questioning faith, etc. I wonder how much he got caught up in the stories he told, or whether he could look down on it all, like an omniscient narrator, and just tell the story without being caught up in the emotions.
Anyway, I've decided that Lear is a two-day project, at least. It's disconcerting and depressing being around that for more than an hour or two at a time - how did the crowd at the Globe manage without all leaving in a mass depression. Maybe the pubs around Southwark made extra money after Lear showings because everyone needed to get seriously drunk. Fortunately I have a three day rental on Amazon Instant Video. I need something upbeat next. The Taming of the Shrew, maybe. Lear has made me broody.
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