King Lear: words cannot describe the raw authenticity of Ian McDiarmid's performance

There was method in the madness, only it was the method of an only-just pre-teen boy: ‘Ian McDiarmid was brilliant in Star Wars, dad. We have to go. It’ll be brilliant,’ insisted my Harry.

I must admit to having my doubts, though, as we entered the auditorium to take our seats for the in-the-round production, I was struck by how bleak the set was. Crucible is the right word, for so black, hollow and sparse was the empty stage that it could have been a long-since cooled receptacle of smelted metal.

It was against that backdrop, though, that we were privileged to witness acting the like of which I have not seen. I am conscious, now, that I am unable to convey in mere words the power of Ian McDiarmid’s portrayal of the cognitive decay of the ageing king.

Clearly, a man of years is required to play King Lear; it is a tale that tracks the decline of an ageing monarch’s mental health in his latter years; one betrayed by greedy daughters hell-bent on carving up his dynasty for themselves. Of course it needs to be a man of years, otherwise you are asking too much of your audience in the suspension of its disbelief.

Yet, so authentic a performance is McDiarmid’s; of maniacal, demented, cruel decline - mere yards from where you are sitting - that it is impossible not to fixate upon him. His energy. His timing. His spitting, hot hatred melted into tragic helplessness. He was magnificent.

Whether the Fool, played by Max Revell, is Lear’s conscience, his moral compass or his illness we debated. I rather think the two things are true all at once. Revell, I learned in the programme notes, began his creative career in breakdancing and body-popping, and it is the physicality of his performance that had me observing Fool differently to that which I once thought.

Revell has such incredible control of his body; his contortions and distortions of his limbs, head, neck and body; his entangled, twisting, bending, stretching. I could not help but equate all of that with that which happens inside the mind of someone in the clutches of mental decline and illness, and for this I thank Revell for offering me a new lens through which to read a character I had long pigeon-holed as something else.

I would also like to place on record to Mr McDiarmid, whose career my 12-year-old told me had peaked in his portrayal of Emperor Palpatine, my appreciation for what I think may well actually represent the peak of his career: his portrayal of William Shakespeare’s King Lear.

“Same time next next week, dad?” said Harry as we headed back towards the Winter Gardens.

*This production runs to 19th September at Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre.