This scene of Lear raging in a storm out on a desolate heath is one of the most famous in all of Shakespearean plays. It is the dramatic heart of the play as we see Lear’s madness mirrored by the violence of nature.
As you read this scene notice the three different ways in which King Lear views the storm. • How many different elements does the storm have? • How does Lear change in a significant way near the
end of the scene? • How have the Fool’s humor and his message changed
from previous scene?
King Lear: 3.2The Storm Scene
The Storm
• The storm in Lear "works" artistically on a number of levels: the elemental storm, the social storm which shakes the divided kingdom, the inner storm that drives Lear mad, all are interconnected and reinforce one another to achieve a most extraordinary and harrowing representation of crisis
Kin
g L
ear:
3.2
Th
e S
torm
S
cen
e
Kin
g L
ear:
3.2
Th
e S
torm
S
cen
e
Kin
g L
ear:
3.2
Th
e S
torm
S
cen
e
Kin
g L
ear:
3.2
Th
e S
torm
S
cen
e
Kin
g L
ear:
3.2
Th
e S
torm
S
cen
e
Inner storm reflects outer storm and vice
versa
Senility
Fragility
Defiance
Intensity
Appropriateness of
Interaction w/ Fool
Effects (camera angles/music)
Overall effectiveness
HolmLear Storm/ Rage comparison
Olivier
McKellan
Lear Storm/ Rage comparison
Oliver:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aaBmRXzz54Holm:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-Z-eezXxNwMcKellenhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jn9V3gtwMrc&list=PLCCSXb0UNzwEBlmPgyl9ZyE3xdO9V53Jg
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!
Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription: then let fall
Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man:
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue
That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practised on man's life: close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
More sinn'd against than sinning.