Summary 
Modernized production foregoes political consequence for personal tragedy, emphasizing a poetic character study rather than historical detail or commentary upon the divine right of Kings. An intelligent and arrogant Richard is tragically unaware and conceited, finally coming to self-realization only upon being stripped of his crown and straight-jacketed in prison. Strong, focused drama, intelligently realized.
Design
Directed by David Petrarca. Set by Russell Metheny. Lights by James Ingalls. Costumes by Virgil Johnson. Sound by Rob Milburn. Music by Miriam Sturm and Rob Milburn.
Cast
Jeffery Hutchinson (King Richard II), William J. Norris (John of Gaunt/Abbott of Westminster), Martha Lavey (Duchess of Gloucester), Chuck Huber (Bolingbroke), Christopher Bauer (Mowbray), Tyress Allen (Duke of Northumberland), Kyle Colerider-Krugh (Greene), Mike Nussbaum (Duke of York), Gina Lo Verde (Isabel), Steve Pickering (Lord Berkeley/Gardener), Matt De Caro (Bishop of Carlisle), John Reeger (Sir Stephen Scroope), Mary Ann Thebus (Duchess of York).
Analysis
The Goodman Theatre's modernization of Richard II focuses on the title character and the personal tragedy he brings down upon himself, minimizing both the plot elements of the historical chronicle as well as the underlying political machinations. An elegant contemporary design, including projections of rolling clouds overhead, give the production a sophisticated modern feel, with metallic chrome surfaces. The chic opulence is belied by an enormous metallic grid upstage that ominously represents a protective fence, a confining cage, and the 5.5 prison cell. Rolling sets of Gothic scaffolding and a corrugated stone tower also contribute to the sense of looming cataclysm, as do shafts of light that illuminate from odd angles and the dissonant bursts of sound effects.
The throne itself is suspended from the fly and comprised of a series of reflective mirrors, both modish and refined, yet indicative of the tragic vanity of its occupant. Jeffrey Hutchinson's lanky Richard, isolated within this cold expansive court, displays coldly distanced intelligence with a few sudden bursts of emotion, only coming to terms with himself in human terms, ironically, once he has been dethroned and imprisoned. Hutchinson's Richard is first shown center stage, standing with discomfort next to the coffin of the recently passed Duke of Gloucester. His awkward attempted embrace of his grieving aunt is rebuffed and he stalks offstage in a snit of social ineptitude. The flamboyant Richard, superbly depicted by Hutchinson as stubborn rather than weak-willed and as confidently arrogant rather than politically inept, speaks with poetic brilliance and behaves with unpredictable narcissism.
Richard's costumes - impeccable Italian-style tailoring with liberal splashes of bold color - subtly reflect those of his "caterpillar" court favorites, who lounge about him in effeminate and gaudy club outfits. Richard's 3.2 return from Ireland - portrayed as a monarch's heartfelt return to his beloved homeland - is nonetheless played by Hutchinson within a conspicuous floor-length overcoat the color of carroty ginger. Bolingbroke and his officious soldiers, in contrast, are blunt and direct in conversation, and attired in military jackets and berets, with black boots and gloves. Later, when Bolingbroke has assumed the throne in 5.3, his court is uniformed in dreary gray business suits with conservative ties.
David Petrarca wisely directs this tightly focused production with striking bits of flourish - such as Bolingbroke's staff of attorneys throwing down stacks of legal briefs instead of gages during the 4.1 trial scene - around the strong centerpiece of Hutchinson's eloquent and self-absorbed egotist. The first three scenes are reordered so the audience is immediately aware of Richard's (and Mowbray's) complicity in the death of the Duke: with the initial appearance of the King, he is immediately identified as dishonorable and culpable in a murder, as well as self-centered and socially incompetent. Later, Petrarca shows Richard immured within the 1.4 comfort of his homoerotic friendships with Bushy, Green, and Bagot, luxuriating within a hot bath, then rising, completely nude and dripping with a well-posed lack of self-consciousness.
Petrarca minimizes supporting characters but depicts them with intelligence and a strong visual sense. Northumberland, tightly buttoned-up in a general's medal-laden military regalia, resembles a cigar-chomping old-time member of a Joint Chiefs of Staff, almost stalking the lithe Richard with an intimidating physical presence. Bolingbroke, a self-assured and rather boyish young soldier, seems slightly taken aback by his political success, his confidence shaken by the adjustment from battlefield rules to the business suits and lawyers of the political arena. At the conclusion, he seems dour and destined to be lonely and alone, like Richard out of his natural element, albeit for different reasons.
While some of the lesser roles range in effectiveness, from an oddly comic Gaunt to the typically staid and disapproving Yorkist relatives, Mike Nussbaum's dignified Duke of York stands out as a well spoken voice of reason and nobility. Most memorable, however, is the portrayal of Queen Isabel by seventeen-year-old deaf actress Gina Lo Verde. Marvelously animated in facial expression and endearingly vigorous, her genuinely tender interaction with Richard lends to the sympathy earned for both characters as well as insights into the vulnerability and physical as well as emotional isolation rendered by leadership. Lo Verde signs her entire role, which is spoken aloud by a lady-in-waiting, except for her final, poignant farewell passage, once she is banished, to her to-be-imprisoned husband and King: "must we be divided?"
The emotional ache of the royal parting begins Petrarca's poignant conclusion, with the dethroned Richard straight-jacketed and confined to a tower prison cell. Sobered by his loss and humbled by his disgrace, Hutchinson's Richard becomes kingly in his eloquent despair, something of a royal martyr, as he conjures lush consoling music within his imagination. When Richard smashes a mirror into shards he is not only expressing humility and anger at the sight of himself, but destroying the humanity-reducing sparkle of the mirrored throne from the first act. Finally, when he is killed by Bolingbroke's assassin, it with a ferocious, sudden burst of fate, and the sense of tragedy in the loss of an intelligent and newly realized world leader is keenly evoked.