Curtain Up! "The Lion in Winter"

By Elyse Trevers

History is usually defined in terms of abstract dates and events, instead of the real- life flesh, blood, and family problems most of us face. In "The Lion of Winter," currently being staged at the Roundabout Theatre in New York City, King Henry II (well-portrayed by Laurence Fishburne) and his wife Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine (the superb Stockard Channing) spar like the typical feuding couple next door. On the surface, the king and queen seem to have it all: property, wealth, power, and three healthy sons. But further examination reveals a darker side to their regal lives -- one that demonstrates how dysfunctional families are far from unique to the twentieth century.

In the play, written by Oscar-winning James Goldman, the king has a young mistress -- the beautiful Alais, who is betrothed to Prince Richard. But King Henry also has an embittered queen whom he has sequestered in a castle far away. Henry allows Eleanor out of her prison for holidays, this occasion being Christmas. So under the guise of gathering together for a pleasant celebration, the royal family reunites; each member, however, comes to the festivities with his or her own hidden agenda.

Henry is faced with a difficult task; he must choose one of his sons to become his heir. He favors the youngest, the gangly pimple-faced John, while Eleanor prefers the eldest, Richard, to whom she has given her dowry lands, the Aquitaine. Richard and his mother have an almost incestuous relationship. The middle son, Geoffrey, bemoans the fact that he is totally ignored. The young men are minor characters in the play and in their parents¹ lives. As Eleanor notes," I don't much like our children."

The brothers are pitted against each other and against their parents, and even ally themselves with the King Philip of France against their father. The play culminates with Henry imprisoning all three sons in a dungeon in the bowels of the castle, determined to have them killed. Fearful for their lives, the young men are prepared to commit patricide with the weapons their mother sneaks in to them.

The play is at its best in the scenes between Channing and Fishburne. Fishburne, with his sonorous, deep voice and majestic presence, is commanding, while Channing, who alternates between being acerbic, witty, humorous and maternal, is more than his match. It is she who delivers the best punch lines. During a quarrel between two of her sons, one draws a weapon on his brother, who in turn complains to his mother. Eleanor wryly responds, "We all have knives, dear. It's 1183 and we¹re all barbarians."

Despite the period setting, the audience could easily confuse 1183 with 1999. Both their words and their deeds make these characters modern. During one particularly rancorous argument, anger fuels passion between Henry and Eleanor and they fall into bed together. Against the backdrop of twelfth-century English history, the story deals with contemporary issues including adultery, homosexuality, political intrigue, and lust. In fact the characters, dressed in modern garb, would fit in naturally on today's popular t.v. dramas and soap operas. Just envision "Dallas" or "Melrose Place" taking place in 1183.

Elyse Trevers is a theater critic from Long Island, New York