When is the winter of our discontent?
‘Welcome, all your Will-loving R3 fans, to the Ritz at Swindon, where tonight (drum roll), for your DELECTATION, for your GRATIFICATION, for your EDIFICATION, for your JOLLIFICATION, for your SHAKESPEARIFICATION, we will perform Will’s Richard III, for the audience, to the audience, BY THE AUDIENCE!’
There was a moment’s pause and then the curtains reopened, revealing Richard at the side of the stage. He limped up and down the boards, eyeing the audience malevolently past a particularly ugly prosthetic nose.
‘Ham!’ yelled someone at the back.
Richard opened his mouth to speak and the whole audience erupted in unison:
‘When is the winter of our discontent?’
‘Now,’ replied Richard with a cruel smile, ‘is the winter of our discontent…’.
A cheer went up to the chandeliers high in the ceiling. The play had begun. Richard III was one of those plays that could repeal the law of diminishing returns; it could be enjoyed over and over again.
‘… made glorious summer by this son of York,’ continued Richard, limping to the side of the stage. On the word ‘summer’ six hundred
people placed sunglasses on and looked up at an imaginary sun.‘… to the lascivious pleasing of a lute …’ continued Richard, saying ‘lute’ loudly as several other members of the audience gave alternative suggestions.
‘I that am rudely stamp’d…’ muttered Richard, as the audience took its cue and stamped the group with a crash that reverberated around the auditorium.
The production was the only show at the Ritz; it was empty the rest of the week. Keen amateur thespians and Shakespeare fans would drive from all over the country to participate, and it was never anything but a full house. A few years back a French troupe had performed the play in French to rapturous applause; a troupe went to Sauvignon a few months later to repay the gesture.
‘… and that so lamely and unfashionable, that dogs bark at me …’
The audience barked loudly, making a noise like feeding time at the dogs’ home. Outside in the alley several cats new to the vicinity momentarily flinched, while more seasoned moggies looked at each other with a knowing smile.
They went on, the actors doing sterling work and the audience parrying with quips that ranged from the intelligent to the downright vulgar.
The play was the Garrick cut and lasted only about two and a half hours; at Bosworth fields most of the audience ended up on the stage as they helped re-enact the battle. Richard, Catesby and Richmond had to finish the play in the aisle as the battle raged about them. A pink pantomime horse appeared on cue when Richard offered to swap his kingdom for just such a beast, and the battle finally ended in the foyer…
— Jasper Fforde, The Eyre Affair.
