What: The Lion in Winter by James Goldman When: Thru Dec. 18 Where: Black Box Theatre Cost: Thursdays: $5; Friday thru Sunday: $15 general, $10 students, seniors. Call 909-9300 for info or reservations.

The Lion in Winter roars with passion

by Paige M. Travis

The holidays are a time to gather with your loved ones, a time to count your blessings—and each other’s faults. Ah, families. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t banish them to the furthest castle in the kingdom. Unless you’re King Henry II of England in The Lion in Winter.

James Goldman’s 1966 play is a refreshingly unsentimental choice for the holiday season. Wherever you land on the Scrooge-to-spirited scale, cute Muppet specials and ridiculously hokey jewelry commercials are enough to give anyone a sugar crash. Why not realistically portray a family together for Christmas, an honest scene of what happens when Mom, Dad, three princes, the King’s mistress and her brother the young King of France meet up at the castle for some holiday cheer? Jealousy, sniping, knives, threats of war—now that’s more like a family get-together.

“What shall we hang: the holly or each other?” Henry asks, almost eagerly, early in the first act, referring to the power struggle at hand. The aging king must choose an heir to the crown from his three living sons: Richard, a 26-year-old warmonger known as Richard the Lionhearted; Geoffrey, the ignored, bitter middle child; and John, 16, still an impetuous kid. For the holiday, Henry has brought his wife Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine out of her imprisonment in another royal castle. Also visiting is King Philip of France, who has come to either collect his sister Alais’ dowry or oversee her marriage to one of the princes, per a long-ago agreement between the two kingdoms. But Henry hesitates—he doesn’t quite trust any of his sons, and, as Alais is his mistress, he doesn’t want to give her up.

All the yelling, grumbling, and back-stabbing this family dishes out makes the Bickersons look like the Waltons. But what keeps it from being a medieval Jerry Springer is Goldman’s deliciously witty dialogue. In quick succession, comebacks, harsh retorts and sly putdowns are laid down with precision and cunning. The king and queen’s estrangement hasn’t impaired their ability to push each other’s buttons. Trying to decide if they really love each other or just love to hate each other is as difficult to figure as which one of the idiot princes would be the best king.

With his white beard grown long upon his chest, actor Bruce Borin embodies King Henry with royal entitlement. His power is unquestionable. He’s not entirely evil or heartless, just a product of his life’s ambitions: to build and grow a kingdom that will live on after his death. Borin’s ability to deliver a line is unsurpassed; he’s simply thrilling and captivating to watch. He mocks, goggle-eyed, the 17-year-old prince of France (Lee Lenox), who swaggers into court, but he also commends the young heir on his bravado.

His relationship with his sons is equally complex. Richard (Orion Protonentis) is a thug of few words who has the strength and confidence of a born ruler. He has his mother’s blessing, but his father favors young, impudent John (Jarron Vosburg) as his heir. Clever but needy Geoffrey (Fisher Neal) is practically invisible to his parents; he realized long ago that his best chance for a good position was to ally himself with John, who needs the intellectual backup.

The character with the most influence on all these power-hungry men is queen mother Eleanor (Susannah Devereux), who mostly weathers with aplomb the barbs her children and husband throw. The New Zealand actress, who has charmed our city’s theater scene for several years, matches Borin in her royal manner and wicked manipulation. Even as she lives as a prisoner at her husband’s behest and watches his open infidelity, she retains her pride and active sense of battle. What battles she can win, she’ll try her damnedest with all her wiles.

The Black Box Theatre set is sparse, allowing every footfall to practically echo through the easily imagined castle halls. A few pieces of bulky, ancient-looking furniture evoke the period—1183—without being too specific.

Under Katie Norwood Alley’s direction, the actors seem to find their individual characters’ personalities while feeding off a kind of group energy. As the mistress Alais, who is a pawn in the king’s negotiations, young actress Sasha Kocuba has the most trouble expressing the range of emotions that a woman in Alais’ position would feel.

The play’s best scenes are between Borin and Devereux. Their frisky fighting is like medieval Moonlighting—romantic, fierce, and based in both deep-seated desires and hurts. Strip away their historical baggage—the burdens and duties of royalty—and these are human people; Borin’s and Devereux’s touching and alive performances make that absolutely clear. And because they are so ultimately likable, you want a compromise, a resolve, a happy ending of some sort. But that won’t come. Even at Christmastime, the lion is still a lion—a brave and ruthless animal.

December 9, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 50 © 2004 Metro Pulse