King Ellen

How Barnard professor Ellen McLaughlin is spending her summer “vacation”

by Marie DeNoia Aronsohn

In theatrical circles, there’s a belief that by the time you’re old enough to understand King Lear in Shakespeare’s epic drama, you’re too old to play him. Lear is an old man, raging against time and the indignities and weaknesses of age. Ellen McLaughlin — award-winning playwright, stage actor, and adjunct associate professor in Barnard’s English Department — is neither old nor a man but has a unique understanding of the enigmatic character informed by her childhood and, especially, her mom.

McLaughlin’s mother went to graduate school when she was in her late 40s and got a Ph.D. at age 50. One of her mother’s academic papers focused on King Lear and made a lasting impression on McLaughlin: “My mother had dealt with mental illness all her adult life; it was an absolutely terrible problem for her and for all of us. Her thesis, which I think is fascinating, was that Lear is actually bipolar, which was something she knew too much about.”

This summer, McLaughlin is playing the complicated protagonist in the Colorado Shakespeare Festival production of King Lear. The role, notorious for being among Shakespeare’s most challenging for performers, requires memorizing long passages of complex dialogue and bringing to life a vastly conflicted character.

“Men [often first] play Lear when they’re too young to play it, because that’s the tradition in England,” explains McLaughlin. “You play it when you’re young so that when you get old enough to play the role, you can hang on to the words. It is a lot to memorize.”

King Lear has haunted her since childhood, when her parents took her to the Arena Stage in Washington, D.C., to see a production of the classic tragedy. Specifically, the play features the violent blinding of one of the characters, which deeply upset McLaughlin as a child and disturbs her to this day.

“I must have been nine or 10, and the blinding of Gloucester was probably one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me. It was totally traumatic. It is the worst thing that Shakespeare ever does to an audience,” she says.

In the play, King Lear demands that each of his daughters profess their love so he can gauge how to divide his kingdom; he plans to reign until his death while they and their husbands do the work of running the country. But Cordelia, his youngest and favorite child, will not participate. She loves him deeply but won’t make a game of it. The king, enraged and wounded, banishes her — one of several tragic mistakes that lead to catastrophe; the king is cast from his kingdom and ultimately loses his mind.

From Cordelia To Lear

“Cordelia’s refusal is still one of the great moments of speaking truth to power in literature,” says McLaughlin. “I can’t think of anything that is quite on that level of somebody who says, ‘No, I’m not going to play this game. Even if it costs me my life.’

There’s no heroism like that that I can think of in literature. Everything else looks sort of shallow by comparison.”

Young Ellen was shocked — but also spellbound — by that very first production at the Arena theatre. “I remember sitting in the audience,” says McLaughlin, “and when the curtain calls happened, as the [actor who played] Cordelia was taking her bow, I saw the light hit her back, and I thought, ‘I’m going to play that part.’”

In her 20s, McLaughlin did appear in a production of King Lear as Cordelia; the experience was profound. She recalls the time when her father, a man who used crutches and a wheelchair due to physical challenges triggered by polio, made a solo trip across England to be in the audience.

Toward the end of the play, during a scene that always “undid” her, in which her “stage father” King Lear, now crippled, kneels to her as Cordelia, McLaughlin suddenly noticed that her father was there, in the front-row disabled seating. She was overwhelmed with emotion. “I was just awash with that recognition scene,” she says.

McLaughlin believes her time as Cordelia years ago will serve to deepen her portrayal of the king this summer. McLaughlin will play Lear as king, not queen, and without going to great lengths to conceal her gender.

“I’m hoping that at some point the audience will stop thinking about the fact that it’s a woman playing the part, and they’ll just watch an actor interpreting because that’s, of course, what people were doing during Shakespeare’s day [when women were not allowed to perform on stage],” says McLaughlin. “If I’m doing it properly, what I bring as an actor to the party is worth letting me have a whack at it. I’m terrified, but I am so excited by the challenge.”

Taking The Stage To The Page

McLaughlin, an accomplished theater professional, is, by all accounts, more than up to the challenge. Her commitment to the role is a signature trait of her approach to her craft — on stage and in Barnard classrooms. She began teaching at the

College in 1995. As a playwright, McLaughlin brings her signature courage to the blank page.

“Writing is much harder than acting,” says McLaughlin. “Because you sit down, and you know that nine times out of 10, you’re going to fail. But in those rare moments when you really feel like you’re in touch with something bigger than yourself, and you’re actually able to articulate it, it’s exhilarating on a level that nothing else is. Those are rare, but they do come, and that’s what keeps you doing it.”

She is bound to tap that same drive and determination as she faces down the daunting work of crafting her own version of King Lear to present to audiences at the Colorado Shakespeare Festival. The Bard’s enduring drama continues to capture the current imagination. A recent article in The Atlantic, “The 400-Year-Old Tragedy That Captures Our Chaos,” compared the HBO series Succession to King Lear. McLaughlin, however, sees the play as a singular work of art — one that has few, if any, true comparisons.

“

King Lear is about what happens when you lose everything, including not just your political power and your financial power. You lose your mind. You lose your eyesight. You lose your clothes. I mean, you lose everything. You’re reduced to an animal. And that’s where Shakespeare takes it. It’s not where anybody else has ever taken it,” she says. “It is one hell of a part.” B