Turn that crown upside down, Harry!
Turn that crown upside down, Harry! MICHAEL DOUCETT

Performing now at Seattle Repertory Theatre, King Charles III is a fictional political drama based on the very real British royal family, written in blank verse by English playwright Mike Bartlett. Queen Elizabeth II has died, and now trepidatious Charles is King. Camilla, Kate, and Will are vying for power while Harry falls for a manic pixie dream girl/Socialist named Jess. Parliament needs the King’s signature to pass legislation restricting freedom of the press. On matters of principle, Charles refuses, challenging the purely ceremonial role of the monarchy in British democracy.

Neon tubes illuminate ogival arches while dead kings oversee the action on Daniel Ostling's 17th-century auditory-church-meets-streamlined-Gothic set. Mark Bennett’s sound design is a stunning combo of choral dirge and thumping club beats, exemplifying the general theme of archaic and contemporary elements existing side by side. More on that tip: there’s a tank, a ghost Princess Diana, protesters in Guy Fawkes masks, and a white feminist monologue by Kate/Lady Macbeth. Bartlett’s blank verse script plays along thematically, as well. The language is readily understandable, but, despite the verse's quippy rhymed couplets, it can be a bit lulling/boring to the ear.

While the technical elements of the play are aesthetically pleasing and the blank verse clever, this play is ultimately just another masculine crisis story: Who is Charles if he is not the King? Born to it, conditioned for it all his life—what is a man without his principles and his privilege?

Written as a doddering old man, Charles is meant to gain our sympathy. But any comparisons to our current challenge of leadership roles are both unnecessary and undesirable. As a ‘political piece,’ I can understand how a company would be attracted to this script. But I doubt they see how besotted it is with privilege, platitudes, and trite portrayals of women.

Take the example of Jess. She’s Prince Harry’s Socialist paramour, an art student, and woman of color “…currently exploring Islam’s relationship to pornography,”—all non-normative, manic pixie dream girl traits. She asserts her position in potentially divisive conversations with Harry, but he always silences her with “You’re really beautiful” or some variation of tone policing via “romantic” gesture, which she accepts. But once Harry realizes he can no longer ignore his position of privilege, he leaves her behind, having fulfilled her role as the woman who helps the brooding young man realize his destiny. Sigh.

As a literary device experiment, King Charles is well executed. As a story, it’s a three-hour long, mansplained crisis of Shakespearean proportions, and really, Seattle, do we really need more of those?