I don't need to understand every choice Horton has made. I'm content with scenic designer Kathryn Rathke's blazing ceremonial floats and Horton's alternately bebop and operatic linguistic orchestrations. I'm okay with not knowing why Cordelia should be played simultaneously by three different actresses (Heidi Darchuk, Jennifer Pratt, and Desiree Prewitt, in a robotic, thankless task), as long as I believe the piece itself comprehends its own quirky little secrets. It doesn't. Most of the cast is stuck making one-note comments on their roles, and the show doesn't even really work on its own terms -- though, I'll confess, I'm not quite sure what those terms might be. If Horton wanted to stage some grand comic riff on the tragedy, the evening is not funny enough; if the production simply wants to inspire some fresh realizations, then it must also be considered an eye-popping failure (pun intended). Despite whatever might strike some as clever or imaginatively hallucinatory (and yes, there are several such moments), there isn't an honest instance of dramatic revelation. The production stomps noisily from flourish to flourish, squashing any possible epiphanies underfoot.
As for Jamieson, he's a bright young kid who should be congratulated for handling the language without stumbling. He's memorized everything and goes through Horton's paces, but he's never truly inside the role, and come on, how could he be? For him to convey even an iota of an old man's monumental unraveling is impossible. Yes, Lear is petulant and full of childish pride and vanity, but Horton has put this kid, and the Bard himself, in a pretty cheesy no-win situation just for the sake of an audacious metaphor.
