King Lear Is All of Us as We Age

Gene Kahane reflects on playing the titular role

Having raised and taught children, and having loved and helped my parents through their last years alive, I understand well the line Lear cries out, “Reason not the need,” in the middle of the play. It was what my very young sons felt when they wanted something but were unable to explain why (usually a treat or a toy). And what my dad essentially said when he refused to give up his home for one where there were others to help take care of him. Fortunately, my mom’s dementia was such that she did not protest when we moved her from her house to assisted living, and then later to a board and care facility. So when I finally felt the time was right to take on the role of King Lear, I’d already done years of preparation. I had no idea how much more I’d have to do in order to play the lead part in what I’m now certain is Shakespeare’s most tragic tragedy.

The first big challenge was not emotional, but physical. At the end of the play (spoiler alert) Lear carries in the body of his youngest daughter, Cordelia, whom he had estranged in the opening scene. “Howl, howl, howl, howl!” he bellows before laying her down and kneeling beside her. But my 66-year-old knees—maybe from youth hockey, maybe from running the Bay to Breakers 21 times, maybe from riding a single speed bike—had no interest in cooperating. The first time we rehearsed the scene, even without the actor playing my daughter in my arms, I had a hard time getting onto the ground, and an even harder time getting up. I live in a two-story house and use the handrails going both directions daily on the steps. We had to re-think the scene, and ended up with me laying Cordelia on a bench and sitting on a platform behind her. I still carry her in, but I needed accommodations to make it work and ice/Advil afterwards. As my actor/son shared with me, the challenge of Lear is that when you’re young enough to handle the physicality, you’re too young to get the part, and when you’re old enough to get the part, you can’t handle the physical. I may get a tattoo to commemorate playing Lear, and if I do, the word humility would be perfect, perhaps in a lovely script.

Lear’s path is unpleasant, both to watch and in some ways to play, but there is a truthfulness to him, from his arrogance to his madness to his sadness. He is the older everyman—ubiquitous, historic, contemporary. He’s my parents and yours, or your grandparents. He’s the senior muttering to himself as he pushes a walker or cart. He’s the annoying expert on everything offering unsolicited advice to strangers in line for groceries. He’s the one who stashes extra rolls in his pockets, never throws anything away, and sometimes smells from lack of bathing. There is a special scene our director added to the play where I enter using a walker. She praised me for looking so convincing, hunched over, struggling with the wheels and brakes. I thought to myself, well, it’s easy when your mom had trouble setting the brake on the exact same model and ended up falling and breaking her leg. Or when you tried to help your dad with a four-legged cane, this after a stroke left his entire left side paralyzed. In borrowing from those experiences I hope I’ve honored my parents, and all those who work so hard to continue to strive to be mobile using their devices. Think about how we celebrate when a toddler first toddles, and how hard we fight to keep upright, moving on our own power, years later. Think of how we celebrate learning to bike on two wheels, and how hard we fight to keep pedaling using three or four later when balance starts to go.

And so why, why do this play, why play this part, why ask audiences to come and sit and see their present or future up on stage, someone who describes himself as a man of more grief than age, but in truth is plagued by both equally? My favorite teacher’s adage (okay, among my favorites) is that art is a window and a mirror, letting us see and learn about others and ourselves, and in so doing to reaffirm that as humans we all have access to our humanity. The scholar Harold Bloom said that Shakepeare helped invent us by putting truth on stage. We not only have a responsibility to look at and through the mirror and window, but an inherent need to do so.

Playing King Lear has, at times, broken my heart. Seeing King Lear will, at times, break your heart. But trust me on this, hearts mend, and especially when we are together, putting them to work on both sides of the curtain. See you at the show, everyone.

King Lear is being performed by the Foodbank Players on October 19, 20, 26, and 27 at 2 p.m. in the Healing Garden. Admission is free. All donations go to the Alameda Food Bank .

Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players , a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at gene@alamedapost.com . His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane .

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