Tour de fuss New Stage’s hysterical Lion in Winter BY BILL RODRIGUEZ
	The Lion in Winter By James Goldman. Directed by Robert Blackblood. With Nigel Gore, Sharon Coleman, Jay Miscia, Joe Ouellette, Rudy Sanda, Melissa Penick, and Alex Sherba. A New Stage production at Firehouse Theater through December 19.

There is nothing quite like James Goldman’s dramatic/comedic tour de fuss The Lion in Winter. It’s been accurately summed up as King Lear meets Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, and while it may be historical hack work, it’s hysterically so.

This New Stage production at Firehouse Theater does a good job of conveying the antic potential of the play and much of its poignancy.

The George and Martha feuding here are England’s King Henry II (Nigel Gore) and his queen, Eleanor (Sharon Coleman), formerly of Aquitaine. Nowadays all Eleanor calls home is a dank tower in remote Salisbury, from which royal prison she is trotted out on state occasions. The time is Christmas 1183, and the three children Henry is leery of are his ungrateful sons.

Henry favors the dimwitted John (Jay Miscia) to take the crown at his death, while Eleanor has always been closest to Richard (Joe Ouellette) and insists that he be heir. Sneering at all this from the sideline is a leftover prince, the brazen weasel Geoffrey (Rudy Sanda), who is confident that he can shift allegiance fast enough to whichever brother pulls ahead.

Caught in the undertow of all this thrashing about is poor Alais Capet (Melissa Penick), the king’s young mistress. In the castle to negotiate with Henry is her brother Phillip (Alex Sherba), who at 17 is king of France. By prior agreement, Alais is supposed to wed one of the princes in order to assure the peace between the two countries. This matter may be a subplot but it fuels the crosscurrents of emotions whipping across the stage. After all, since we are to believe that Alais is deeply in love with the king and he with her, the playwright can turn on the torment through her like a faucet, agonizing Henry with the prospect of losing her, and Eleanor with the sight of her lost youth and love, not to mention Alais herself.

Goldman’s play was a 1966 stage hit. He also quilled the screenplay for the film of two years later, which grabbed Oscars for him and Katherine Hepburn and a nomination for Peter O’Toole (Cliff Robertson snatched it for Charly). Smartly, the writer prevented our resenting his considerable plot manipulation by instantly removing motivations as sources of suspense. From Scene One, everyone is announcing their selfish intentions, challenging everyone else to out-clever them. Let the games of deceit and power play begin.

Brash remarks snap and crackle like breakfast at the Algonquin. "War agrees with you," Eleanor says upon greeting Richard. "I keep track of all your slaughters." But part of all this is noble, which hooks us more deeply. King Henry doesn’t want his kingdom to fall into civil war at his death, and peace would be nice for his remaining years. Lulls in the verbal give-and-take allow us to settle into such reminders, however brief, that feelings are accompanying these chessboard moves. For example, after Henry has a tender exchange with Alais and she exits, the king turns to Eleanor, who has been watching in mute pain, and chirps: "I talk like that to lift her spirits."

Director Robert Blackblood — a suspiciously perfect name for a British theater person, but an actual mentor of Nigel Gore’s — had to return to Dublin before rehearsals were done, so Gore shares directorial credit. The results are admirable, with Henry and Eleanor properly maintaining their masks for Act One, saving the emotional revelations and payoffs for later. Coleman is best with the former scenes, giving us a self-contained queen much more comfortable with suppressing rather than revealing feelings. Gore is in sovereign command of the rage-to-whimsy range of responses this king glories in employing. As Alais, Penick stays convincing, wisely remaining the beset innocent here, though there are late opportunities to let the character succumb to her dark side like the others, which would destroy our sympathy.

The other actors nail their roles. As King Phillip, Sherba keeps up the alert-eyed wariness of a young man who needs to watch each step. As Richard, to be known as the Lionhearted, Ouellette takes that sense of caution and adds steam, making this a man whose resentments are building to explode. Sanda’s Geoffrey, the schemer, is quite enjoying his evil ways. And Miscia is terrific as John, a role often reduced to a mewling simp; he finds opportunities — brief moments of frustration, usually — to give some inner dimension to the boy. Even Gabby Sherba’s lady-in-waiting, humming a madrigal or softly singing in Latin as she changes props between acts, is a delight.

The Lion in Winter is thoroughly enjoyable theater, especially when performed as well as it is here.