The idea of a blurred line between private and public life can be an intimidating one. But when you’re a royal monarch in a time where people can hardly make sense of an inner conundrum, it can be viewed as an envisioning of hell itself, crunching that last connecting branch to fall into a pit of insanity.
Mark Gatiss has had quite the full-circuit experience from playing the deceiving and intellectual (Mycroft in Sherlock) to the pompously aloof (League of Gentlemen) so to see him in a role that combines these elements to the point of conjuring a storm with George III’s inner turmoil, it should still manage to surprise even the biggest Gattis fan, striking an eccentric and electrifying performance as the declining mentally ill monarch. His teeth-gritting twitches, spasms and gradual incoherent nattering outline the hard realities of mental and physical health problems, almost like Daniel Day Lewis’ acting in My Left Foot to some extent where he can hardly stand and barkingly hovers over a single word. The chilling body horror, mis-coordinated walking, spurting paranoias he has on those around him (and even once believing the floor is made of water) lures you to seeing his consciousness as an increasingly vulnerable eggshell about to shatter for good anytime.
The stingingly unnecessary and superstitious ‘treatment’ methods he has to endure arguably lowers him further, ending up like a branded chained-up animal. One time he even appears with two circular blister marks on his head from another insufficient treatment, seeming rather like a devil with his horns clipped off, possibly referring to the biblical superstitions that shrouded most serious mental illnesses.
These attitudes and treatments are all one of the play’s main points: just how inept the British society was at coping with such problems. Vulturing doctors prod and scab him at every opportunity like a confused creature being barred and whipped, making obscure, inaccurate judgements from his reactions, even once claiming the substance causing his turmoil is is ‘seeping out from his legs’ when it’s a little less simple (porphyria to be exact) with the 1700s’ ineptness still holding meaning to how we see mental health today. Given how such a dumbfounding root damage is inflicted to the country’s vital figure, the chain political and social mass-hysteria that follows the country’s awry running position, as well as the underlying feelings of his wife, friends and his enemies’ uncaring search for rule are all exploited amazingly (that is IF you can peel your attention away from Gattis for a few moments).
But where the chemistry and emotional impact of George’s health is shown most is with the ruthless but efficient Dr Willis (played by renowned actor Adrian Scarborough) to whom one can first see as the show’s antagonist, giving the king a satire wooden throne to chain up his mental outbursts and give him more despised ‘treatments’. This obscurely suggests a game of power between George and captor. Two thrones, both having opposite power to which one can rule over the other with. This whole plot (with a grasping and desperate performance by Scarborough) sees an increasingly disobedient, childishly rebellious manner in George, making you question whether he’s recovering sooner than you imagined only to replace some madness with sheer stubbornness, posing a supposed mind game between the two as opposed to simply breaking a horse.
This increasingly comic and less intimidatingly abusive relationship between the two presents The Madness of George III as a sort of dark comedy, provoking some of the most memorable moments like when George natters insults to Willis in German that he doesn’t understand and when Willis introduces him to Shakespeare only to unknowingly pick the royally tragic King Lear. The show furtherly sports an array of rapid-fire humorous interventions around the king’s despair, not to mention David Hounslow’s humorously paranoid and energetic performance as Thurlow, which gave a fitting tension-reliever. His marvellously eccentric paranoias of his own wellbeing, rambling over normal traits he thinks may be signs of something serious, which he constantly debates with the ill-informing Dr Warren (Louise Jameson) intentionally strayed the attention from the king’s declining state for a nice little humorous sub-plot. His character reaches its peak towards the end where he heartily welcomes his majesty’s returning form whilst sobbingly referring to his first reading of King Lear.
One might say the play’s bitter irony is that the king moves from a ruler to a hostage of his own nation. As his mind decays, his home becomes a prison, leading to his country separating him from his wife with a heartfelt separation scene brought impeccably to life by Debra Gillett, giving an almost-equally endearing and emotional performance as she struggles to bear with her husband’s faltering condition while at least trying to spiritually connect to him.
Another interesting aspect is how the play collected true events from history while twisting them into theatrical art-form, such as George’s mockery from his interests in mundane matters over political affairs, being dubbed ‘Farmer George’ with his agricultural influence for the workers. The play makes it clear he was a man of the people who spoke to the masses, a much more humane person than other characters who only seek political gain (to which his humanity was arguably his greatest weakness). Speaking of political leaders, the Houses of Parliament here is dynamic: throwing fire against fire with the seemingly eroding king and the increasingly eager Prince of Wales. But with the committees being represented as paper cut-out heads on sticks, a supposed theme of identity crisis is held. How different is George III from these empty faces? How different is a king from a commoner at heart?
In a question session after the play, Mr Gattis and director Adam Penford discussed that the king’s mental state reflected that of the entire nation, referring the line ‘my mind is leaving out of me’ may have connected to his problem of the United State colonies draining out from British rule, which was arguably the main thing King George III was known for: losing control over America. Gattis also gave briefings on adapting the everyday mannerisms of George, such as his infamous ‘what what’ habit of filling up silences while also adapting common standards and mannerisms of the time’s royalty, offering an insightfully accurate experience while ensuring it’s not too old-fashioned to stray new audiences away from its representation of mental illness.
The production’s set-pieces are grand yet simple enough to change a scene in seconds, coming off as bright and colourful to suit a kingly figure, only to gradually dullen and having pillars starting to descend and raise like prison bars around George’s mind. The impressively room setting was cleverly executed with the single room pieces folding into different environments that interchanged flawlessly, with different angles being captured from different characters’ perspectives. Definitely one of the more resourceful and creative sets, especially for something as obsessively detailed as the Georgian period.
But as for the play’s conclusion, how it ended on a recovered note with a hopeful England and the King seemingly free from the chains of his illness and his friends’ ridicule was a surprising yet satisfying choice for conclusion, leaving you with a gloriously proud feeling for the man who had to endure so much with himself and from that of others, provided Gattis’ physical and expressive advantages in his role to slowly bring his rocky journey to the end of the tunnel in an enthralling way. On the other hand, it comes off as rather anticlimactic, as the whole content of the play then seemed like something George would humorously look back on sometime in his now recovered state (which most likely didn’t happen, as he eventually worsened in real life but the play doesn’t address it).
But while Gatiss shined bright to the point of blinding, the performances from his attendants Flitzroy (Nadia Albina) and Greville (Jack Holden) also sustained great character throughout, morphing their attitudes and trusts to these queer characters that get involved in this obscure scenario while keeping the professionalism to a peak, whereas Doctor Warren (Louise Jameson) gave quite the comedic riot with exaggerated doubts consistent inaccurate hiccups (even with some other characters) to keep a lighter side to the play rather than a plundering tragedy.
The Madness of George III is an outstanding accomplishment, pushing the sensationalist Mark Gatiss to new heights and written by Alan Bennett to split views on his situation and illness, and the scandalous public responses to one who simply can’t contain himself still holds a message to this day. Robert Jones’ fantastic artful design remained fluent throughout, especially for the finishing ceremony with a gorgeous background setting and the chemistry (or rather explosive chemical reactions) was thoroughly dynamic.
How the play even retained a mostly well-flowing sense of humour while hardly breaking the mood of Gatiss’ display is a further achievement and adds a new rhythm of energy. But, in the end, the internal struggle of one who’s incapable of beating his own enemy while the music of political pressure gets increasingly loud outside the door is the show’s beating heart behind all the Georgian royalty. And how George gradually can’t do so much to even recognise the people who care about him and slowly fade behind his tormentors is the ultimate tragedy.