Sunday Morning! Richard III by William Shakespeare

Power corrupts. But it does so in some fairly predictable ways. The beneficiary of nepotism who vastly overestimates his own talents; the toady who wants to feather his nest while helping no one else; the hypocritical demagogue who rails against corruption: these are types familiar throughout history. Power seems to attract the corrupt and middling, so its abuse really comes as no surprise. Good leaders, meanwhile, are as startlingly rare as hen’s teeth.

Wickedness is active. The genuinely wicked seem seldom to seek a quiet life and simple employment. Wickedness seeks a level above the rest of us. Nevertheless, evil men must be somewhat rarer than we think because we tend to be predictably lousy at dealing with them when they arise. Give us a piss poor state senator and we have jokes at the ready. Give us a truly malevolent psychopath in a power position, and it takes a while to realize the only way to “manage” them is with a jail cell or a chopping block.

Such is the predicament of everyone in Shakespeare’s play Richard III who is not named Richard of Gloucester.

As the play begins, it’s the end of the War of the Roses and England is at peace with Edward IV on the throne. This is welcome news for those who have been exhausted by years of bloodshed. Yet some men are not cut out for the gentler pursuits of peacetime. Edward’s brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester, was born deformed and not fit for a life of courtly seduction and cultured charms. His opening monologue, with its famous sardonic opening line, Now is the winter of our discontent/ Made glorious summer by this sun of York, gives a good idea of the state of Richard’s soul and his intention to take the throne by deceit and trickery, following the familiar model laid down by Machiavelli. Incidentally, I think Al Pacino plays it correctly here, rather than all the declaiming most Shakespearean actors tend to do:

Richard frequently addresses the audience in the early acts of the play and we know from the start that he has no scruples, no pity, and no line he won’t cross to in order to gain the throne. Thus he’s a fun character to watch. Some of the pleasure of seeing Richard play everyone off each other in the early scenes is how brazen he is in dissembling. He manipulates Edward into sending his brother Clarence to the Tower with a false prophecy, promises Clarence he will rectify this situation and save him, and then, once the deed is done, comes to the King’s chambers to feign peace and throws Clarence’s death in the king’s face. Edward is horrified at his own horrible mistake and why no one stopped him, asking: “Who spoke of love? Who spoke of brotherhood?” In his weakened state, this is too much to bear and he dies soon after. If you only knew the history from the play, you might not realize that Edward IV’s second reign actually lasted twelve years.

Making the audience complicit, Richard shows how easy it is to tell people what they want to hear. He tells the pious that he’d rather pray than rule. He tells the misogynists that the women in power have corrupted the kingdom. He tells the war-weary that he only wants to be loved by good and peaceful men. He seduces the widow Lady Anne, in spite of being more than a little responsible for her widowhood. He has his young nephews put in the Tower of London and eventually killed. He has quite a few people killed, in fact, and once he reaches the throne even turns against Lord Buckingham, the Steve Bannon of his rise. The lesson seems to be that a man can get far with an utter lack of compunction. And, to be fair, it’s something humanity has had ample opportunity to learn by now.

What’s fascinating is how the other character’s respond to this shift in the moral climate. Buckingham joins Richard’s faction. The widow Margaret sees the danger early on and warns the others, to no avail. Edward’s Queen, Elizabeth, eventually takes flight. Poor brother Clarence has a terrifyingly prophetic dream of escaping by sea, only to sink to the bottom of the sea, which is covered with the riches of other dead; he winds up dead in a cask of wine soon after. Warned by another prophetic dream, Lord Stanley hangs back and finally turns against Richard. Like Buckingham, Caseby thinks he can accompany Richard on his rise to power because he wouldn’t possibly sting someone so loyal. Lord Hastings is perhaps the biggest fool, trusting Richard and his own meager talents, and losing his head for the trouble.

In general, the two big mistakes seem to be either trusting Richard, or thinking you’re cynical enough to play him. Another thing we know by now: power also corrupts everyone in its vicinity.

Laurence Olivier’s Richard III is also great fun, incidentally:

Things change once Richard finally ascends the throne. Once the master manipulator, he turns paranoid and loses control of the situation; everyone, including his mother, turns against him. There’s a sense that power actually moves of its own accord and Richard was never really in control of anything. During his terrible rise and reign, he could have simply been an instrument of God’s vengeance. Was he the mover or the moved?

Regardless, he will end the House of Plantagenet. The night before the Battle at Bosworth Field, Richard receives his own prophecy from the ghosts of those he has betrayed, who give him the blunt instructions: “Despair and Die.” By the end of the battle, he will pathetically offer his kingdom for a horse.

In Shakespeare’s version of the history, Richard remains a useful reminder that centralizing power in the hands of one man can cause all sorts of problems when that man has no higher aim than having and using power. As if a reminder was needed.

And so, in this the weekend of our discontent, what are YOU watching, playing, pondering, reading, creating, or ascending?