New Ghosts Haunt Richard

I n Shakespeare’s “Richard III,” the evil king dies in battle at Bosworth Field in 1485. The night before, he is haunted by the ghosts of his victims, including two little princes slain in the Tower of London.

This time, however, due to a mix-up in Central Casting, he is visited by a different set of phantoms.

RICHARD: Now is the winter of my discontent

Though the date says it’s scarcely Indian summer;

Methinks this play is the ultimate bummer

That life affords. Ho! Who’s this gent?

(Enter RICHARD EYRE.)

EYRE: Your Majesty, I’m directing you--well, Ian McKellen, actually--in a Royal National Theatre of Great Britain production at UCLA’s Royce Hall, beginning Tuesday and running through Sept. 27. Tickets are $15 for students, $30-40 general admission. They can be charged at the UCLA Central Ticket Office by calling (310) 825-2101.

Anyway, Your Majesty, I had a hunch--call it a hunch back hunch, heh, heh--to stage it this time in the atmosphere of the 1930s, with echoes of the rise of fascism, and all that. Now, don’t tell me you aren’t tired of that clanky old armor. We’ll make you a nice pair of jackboots, and I’ve engaged an expert to teach you how to goose-step.

(Enter ADOLF HITLER, demonstrating.)

RICHARD: An odd duck he may be, but sooth no goose;

That silly mustache signifies a screw is loose.

HITLER: Dummkopf! Listen up. I’m teaching you the secrets of the Will to Power. First the goose-step. Then the art of propaganda. Master the technique of the Big Lie, and history will be yours.

RICHARD: You’re telling me. That devil Shakespeare did it;

He stole my goodness and forever hid it.

(Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH II.)

QUEEN: Well, you were naughty, Richie, you can’t dispute that. But at least you cared about the throne of England. You were willing to scheme and murder for it. That shows some strength of character. But Charles and Di? Andy and Fergie? They’ll fritter away the whole monarchy for an anorexia cure and a financial adviser in Texas. (Weeps.) What’s a mother to do?

(Enter BRIAN BOSWORTH in helmet and pads.)

BOSWORTH: Hey, dudes, how come my field ain’t even got yardage lines?

RICHARD: Begone! I’ll hie me now to battle hard.

This scene is even worse than th’ accursed Bard.

(Exit. Alarums.)