One approach to performing the first scene is to accept these sorts of improbabilities as (Granville-Barker put it) the dramatist’s “let’s pretend.” In other words, the actors as well as the reader\audience are best advised not to question the lack of realism; because the power of Shakespeare’s mythical (or “fairy tale”?) opening lies in its capacity to generate compelling (and hence realistic?) consequences. The task of the actors and designers in the first scene, therefore, will be to suggest a ritual of “megalithic grandeur” which draws the audience into a mythic, self-contained world. Contemporary audiences tend to have more difficulty suspending their disbelief in such an extreme manner, and so other directors attempt to make the scene more credible and emotionally believable. First and foremost, the actor playing Lear tries to be a “real” person who can connect with the audience more directly (and the overall interpretation of a specific production is often revealed in how Lear is played in the first scene). The visual appearance of Lear can do this to a certain extent, but the main difficulty with realistic interpretation is that in Lear the drama is constituted almost wholly by actions, decisions, and explosions of wrath which appear without extensive filling in of motivation and intention. Compared to a play like Hamlet where we continually “get into the head” of thinking, pondering, and deliberating characters, the emphasis in Lear is upon abrupt appearance and consequences of actions. In the first scene, for example, Lear immediately proceeds to divide the kingdom, disowns Cordelia for her behaviour, and banishes his loyal minister Kent for standing up for Cordelia (and hence against Lear’s rashness).

 As a result, there seems little “text” upon which an understanding of Lear’s motivation could be built. Still, one way to create a realistic, emotionally credible performance of the scene without engaging in baseless speculation, is to take a second look at the original assumption that it contains improbabilities. Take the first part of the question, for ‘instance, and distinguish between factors which depend upon the psychology of old age and those which depend upon the nature of political power. Do elderly people usually desire “to shake all cares and business” from their life —— in other words, retire -- and what do you think retirement means? (Ask some of them!) Are there certain situations in which it is harder to retire than others? For example, consider the meaning of “patriarchal,” think of the obvious reasons why our society is often called patriarchal, and then explore the predicament of a male who has spent his life building up a successful business and then passes on power to his children. What do you think he goes through when he sees them making decisions he thinks are wrong? Imagine how much self—control must be exercized to avoid “saying anything.” Now focus these thoughts in terms of Lear: If a person has given up power then what, if any, authority can he maintain? Is wanting “to retain the name” when the power has been given up equivalent to having your cake and eating it too? If the power is political power, and more particularly, absolute power, is the desire made all but impossible? Perhaps Lear lets the natural desires of a human being blind him to the reality of power politics?

By thinking about these scenarios you might come to agree with Kent (“check thy hideous rashness”) and Goneril (“the best and soundest of his time hath been rash”) that Lear is simply “rash,” and in the process the first scene gains some plausibility. Regarding the second question, it is necessary to question the assumption that Lear himself ever planned to divide his power on the basis of the love test (a second implausibility). After all, the first line of the play suggests that the division of the kingdom has already been made and only remains to be publicly announced. And after he disowns Cordelia, Lear says that “I love her the most, and thought to set my rest on her kind nursery.” The real question, therefore, is this: why, if Lear has already made his decision, does he orchestrate this public spectacle to announce it?

To answer this, put yourself in the position of a child who knows what it’s like to be bribed by a parent. What is Lear willing to give his daughters and what does he want in return? Do you really think Lear doesn’t know Goneril and Regan are hypocrites? If he doesn’t then he is not “rash” but plain stupid. Yet if he’s not stupid what powerful emotion forces his rashness in this situation? (Susceptibility to flattery fans his rashness : pick out words or phrases which shows this) To say that the emotion is bound up with love is not to answer the question, but to ask another big one. (If a person has never seen or read the play, of course, an important question remains : on the evidence, why should Lear know his two daughters are hypocrites? This question has to be pursued later.)

Note the way that Gloucester answers Kent’s question, “I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.” For this sets up the whole point of Lear’s love test, namely, that love is the sort of thing that can be assessed and rewarded according to some kind of quantifiable measure. Indeed Regan even compares the very substance of her personality to cash currency : “I am made of that self mettle as my sister, And prize me at her worth.” Burgundy shows that he also thinks along those lines. By contrast France recognizes the intrinsic value of Cordelia -- her value which cannot be measured by quantitative means. Think about this idea that love is something beyond compare or measure. How would you express its meaning in ordinary language? and when it is expressed in that way is it overly romantic? “You can’t buy love” is one way of expressing France’s feelings: think through the implications of this -- you can buy sex, but not love; you can buy “words of love” but not love, etc.

By now you have probably bumped back into the original question, what did Lear want from the love-test? An expression of love merely? But why would anyone want that instead of the real thing? (Think about this question from Edmund’s perspective : what do Gloucester’s words in the introductory scene say about his love for his son?) However that is answered, it reveals the powerful theme of Lear, namely, that all means of expressing love are ambiguous and might be distorted. If, for instance, it is difficult to express one’s love in any words, and not just in quantitative terms (what is missing? how can love be expressed therefore?), then just imagine Cordelia’s predicament : her sisters say the words without the feeling; she has the feeling, but if she uses the words do they taint the feeling? It is easy for Goneril and Regan to satisfy their father, but Cordelia has the impossible task of faking the real thing! Does this provide any background help for actually performing her part in the first scene (and experimenting with her two asides)?

Edmund’s answer to his father’s question about the letter (“nothing my lord”) is identical to Cordelia’s answer to her father’s question. All the profound allusions built into the word “nothing” in the latter context, however, are absent here -  it merely evokes a couple of jokes from Gloucester. Or is that true? He enters, clearly disturbed by Lear’s abdication and its consequences, and hence the seemingly jocular tone covers a deeply perturbed consciousness which immediately breaks out on reading the letter. Gloucester’s response is just as rash as Lear’s. Indeed, is there any difference in the rashness?

 One way of pursuing any difference is to think about the character of Gloucester’s refusal  to  see, or perhaps more accurately, about what it is that he sees as opposed to Lear. Lear, that is, “heard” Cordelia’s words with his own ears, yet, as we have seen, the meaning of those words was highly ambiguous; her words certainly might not deserve Lear’s response, but what Cordelia meant was far from clear. What Gloucester sees (quite literally) is unequivocal. His problem is to figure out whether in fact the words (and hence meaning) are really Edgar’s, and to determine whether they are, requires a quite simple enquiry. In sum, Gloucester’s “problem” is far more literal, unambiguous and ultimately explicable than Lear’s, yet Gloucester leaves it in Edmund’s hands to fester and be complicated. Why? Because of his (similar? aged?) rashness.

Many critics have pointed out that very rarely in this play do we get a private, “inside view” of the character’s thinking and hence motivation. Edmund is one of the exceptions, and the three, perfectly spaced soliloquies in this scene provide the best example of this. Notice that they are in blank verse, but when he converses with his father and brother, he speaks in conversation. So even though Edmund is invariably judicious and careful in conversation, the very form of his private talk is revealing. Nevertheless, the more general point might be that the very fact that we do get close Edmund entails a kind of sympathy. Perhaps this is a variation of the so—called “hostage paradox” where close proximity and revealing intimacy breeds, by its very nature, a strange bond?

In terms of dramatic function, Shakespeare draws Edmund in the tradition of the “intriguer” or the “stage-manager” role in Jacobean theatre. In other words, we see him planning and then entering into the action, trying to manipulate it according to his pre-conceived plans (although improvisation in tactics, strategy and goals is also used). The entrance of Edgar (“pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy”) is a good example, and it also points out a possibility for dramatic weakness. In other words, such twists and turns of plot might seem artificial and contrived, and lead us to see Edmund’s solil6quizing as a kind of parody. How far can Edmund play some of his lines for laughs? Is part of his appeal his semi-cynical sense of humor?

Perhaps an exercise in picking out “ifs” in his lines is useful here (at least 10 in this scene). For this grammatical hypothetical emphasizes the uncertainty of Lear ‘s world —- the sense that nothing is fixed, ordered, or structured, but rather dependent upon human will (and, of course, willfulness), and subject to extreme change. Edmund is the paradigm of social mobility -- the landless bastard who eventually aspires to replace Lear as king —— and the formula role of intriguer is turned into a meatier, Machiavellian role partly through the anguished use of Machiavellian ifs. In other words, Edmund does play lightly with some of his thoughts (it is up to the actor to determine which ones) but in others there is a hard concentration on the possibilities of the actions pondered. The fact that Edmund is partly motivated by his illegitimacy also gives that seriousness an edge. And of course, our contemporary belief in equality, and hence our agreement in principle with Edmund that merit rather than birth should determine our role in the world, once more heightens his appeal (at least to this point in the play).

Some critics (Maynard Mack is the best example) have argued that Goneril and Regan are “paradigms of evil.” The whole play, they claim, is strongly influenced by medieval morality plays in which characters are largely emblematic of vices or virtues, and in which the point is to portray the battle of good and evil. If this line is taken, then clearly Goneril’s references to Lear’s “riotous knights,” etc. are purely lies, fabricated to provoke a fight. Lear, therefore, must be played as a maligned father.

How is this substantiated by the text? At least one of Lear’s knights seems "polite" enough, but think about the very fact of one’s “house” being occupied with 100 “guests” with lots of time on their hands, and controlled by someone used to getting his own way all the time. Do the intrinsic dynamics of the situation inevitably lead to the huge “dinner table fight?” Under Peter Brook’s direction, Lear’s knights clearly cause the fight; Goneril is the “victim.” This is probably going too far ... but how far? If Shakespeare is constructing a drama to grip a first-time spectator, surely he wants to reveal Goneril’s deepest (most real?) tendencies slowly, concealing unequivocal evil until just the right moment? In a play, we never receive a privileged, narrator’s point of view. The reader\audience must construct his and her own interpretation of the action from words uttered, words open to a wide range of acted context; even stage directions, and, above all, (directed) behaviour, already contain conclusions drawn regarding intent, etc.

The critical literature on the fool role in general, and also on fool in Lear is enormous. I refer to the Shickland article (UCCB library reserve) as just one example, because it raises the historical questions but also gives very specific advice as to how to play fool in this play where the main issue is Lear’s identity confusion. Think of all the stories about “split-identity”, “doppelganger,” etc. and ponder the function of fool here. Ask how people understand the moral concept of “conscience.” To what extent does fool remind Lear of Cordelia, his rashness, the consequences of his rashness, his emptiness (his “nothingness”), etc.

Also be aware of fool’s prudence and care for material comforts. He not only reminds Lear of “deep” matters, but of all sorts of perks, comforts, and possessions, he can no longer depend on after his abdication. All this comes out in the very specific, homely and material images in fool’s language. Think of the dinnertime setting, too. Many of fool’s lines refer to food and drink so he is probably making use of that in his antics. How? Does it matter if fool is fat or skinny? Think of any practical jokes\stage business he might play to give a visual point to his words which are often very hard to follow. Unless fool acts the fool his character will be quite abstract and tedious in the theater.

The emotions of the short scene v are very complicated, and the interplay between Lear and fool has to work in an intuitive rather than logical manner here. Although he is still ridiculing Lear, surely he has to be some sort of comfort to him now. Gesture, therefore, is important, and maybe the scene (and act) could end with a touching tableau of Lear as a kind of child (Goneril has referred to his childishness repeatedly) with the childlike fool comforting him? This is a threatening scene too, because the image of a lonely Lear huddling next to fool is prophetic; there is a dramatic need for comfort, even though the reader\audience senses that nothing can ward of f the threatening demons.