Finding Lear’s Shadow: Compagnia de' Colombari's King Lear at the 2026 Craiova International Shakespeare Festival

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Photo by Albert Dobrin of King Lear at the 2026 Craiova International Shakespeare Festival

Compagnia de’ Colombari’s King Lear, directed and adapted by renowned experimental theatre director Karin Coonrod, has a habit of scrambling to extend the performances in other places due to popular demand. 

It premiered at the Yale University Theatre for the International Festival of Arts and Ideas in New Haven, Connecticut, in June 2024. Because of interest from New York City for the raw, radical interpretation of the oft-produced show and the powerful cast (who all happened to be available, a rare thing with actors), the company rallied to transfer the show within a month. Colombari’s King Lear enjoyed a sold-out, limited four-show run in July 2024 at La MaMa’s Ellen Stewart Theatre. 

That was more of a preview run, for King Lear returned to take over the ever-flexible Ellen Stewart Theatre January 23 through February 8, 2026 for the official Off-Broadway engagement. Opening weekend was during the first street-closing snowstorm of one of the most frigid winters the city has seen in years. Despite that, the show received critical raves (including a New York Times Critic's Pick by Helen Shaw, who crowned it: “A Stunning ‘King Lear’ That Reveals, Finally, a King in Full"), repeat attendees and sold-out performances. 

Word of the success spread around the world, and shortly after the La MaMa run ended, Romania came calling. Colombari’s King Lear was invited to perform at the 2026 Craiova International Shakespeare Festival for two performances, on May 27 and 28, 2026, in Craiova, Romania. As a biennial festival, this would be the next chance until 2028. The show was hot and ready; the actors (seven out of ten who were available), the creative team and the Colombari company were committed to making this rare opportunity work. 

The production employs Coonrod’s signature multiplicity, in which multiple actors of varying ages, genders and cultural backgrounds share an iconic role, with surprising and impactful results. That was witnessed with her Merchant of Venice in the historic Jewish Ghetto of Venice in 2016 on the 500th anniversary of its founding, where five actors split the part of Shylock, then came together for a “howl that rends the night” (according to Ben Brantley’s review in The New York Times). 

In King Lear, ten actors play Lear in the opening scene, stripping off their paper crowns to transform into other characters, then reuniting at times as a regal legion. But absolute power and royalty are as fragile as a paper crown, and finally, only one Lear remains. That “Last Lear” originated with veteran actor Tom Nelis, whose obligation to return to the role of Grandfather in Ragtime on Broadway prevented him from joining his fellow Lears in Romania. So the Last Lear was replaced by another Colombari veteran actor (and friend to Nelis as well), David Barlow. 

Barlow generously offered to share his insights and observations behind the scenes of his process as the new Last Lear, and his experiences at the 2026 Craiova International Shakespeare Festival, with European Stages. Here are edited excerpts from his Lear Diary:

May 24

When director Karin Coonrod reached out to me about joining the Compagnia de’ Colombari production of King Lear in Romania, I was both happily surprised and warily daunted. I would be taking on the acting track of Tom Nelis, a superb actor whose Broadway engagement in Ragtime prevented him from traveling to Europe. 

Normally, one expects Lear to be played by an elder statesman—Sir Ian McKellen comes immediately to mind, along with countless actors who have earned the role over the course of long careers. I mean, at 54, I’m no spring chicken, but I never dreamed I’d be rubbing elbows with the role this soon—if ever. 

But Karin’s compelling adaptation of the play initially allows for the king to be represented by a diverse cast of ten actors. She offers multiple windows into Lear’s prismatic psyche as he plummets from self-satisfied bombast to bare-forked animal. With great care, she has charted his wild descent into the dark night of the soul and subsequent inner awakening. 

That said, Tom’s track does do much of the role’s heavy lifting. One by one, all the other Lears drop away until there is only one Lear left standing—raving mad in the wilderness, commiserating with the blinded Gloucester, and reuniting with his youngest daughter Cordelia. It is not an assignment to take lightly—indeed, to embody that text is one of the great privileges any actor may be granted. 

A few years ago, a friend asked me: if you could only have one Shakespeare play with you on a desert island, which would it be? My answer: King Lear. The play is existentialism before existentialism, Beckett before Beckett. And now—gulp—here was an opportunity to seriously delve into a text I’d always held in the highest regard. 

So, back home in New York, I threw myself into preparation, which, of course, included letting my white beard grow unchecked. Luckily, it has come in so bushy it might give ample sanctuary to a nest of hornets—or at least one mid-sized marmot. I now marvel at how Appalachian mountain men or orthodox priests can tolerate chewing on their own mustache at every meal, or continually dousing it in their morning brew. 

Alas, one must suffer for one’s art. 

There are two other newcomers to this iteration of the production: KenYatta Rogers (playing Gloucester) and Nomè SiDone (playing Edgar). The three of us had a week of rehearsals in Brooklyn to wedge ourselves into a production that, following its heralded run at La MaMa in New York, was already a well-oiled machine. I had seen the show there, and knew I’d be teaming up with terrific actors. Compagnia de’ Colombari is a big-hearted group of artists, all of whom have embraced us with the same warmth and goodwill that Karin herself engenders. 

So, how does one approach the task of portraying this character’s titanic journey, and in such a compressed process? Well, aside from studying a video of the show shot in January, my plan was simply to get the words into my brain as quickly as possible. There is nothing worse than fretting about what the hell is your next line! Each actor has their own process, of course, but for me, coming to work with the language memorized is what will best secure any chance of having an organic exploration in the room. 

And what language it is! 

What a curious joy it is to map out this man’s confrontation with his own self-deceit—to enter the raging current that sweeps away every illusion of status and significance on which he has built his sense of self.

For him to wake up, all of it must come tumbling down.

May 25

Over the years, I’ve come to prefer an approach to acting Shakespeare that, above all, honors the poetry and meter of the text. By that, I don’t mean to suggest that playing Shakespeare well merely requires the recitations of a gifted technician (nothing could be more deadly!). Rather, it is to stress the importance of trusting that this playwright always has your back. Shakespeare—especially with such a masterpiece as King Lear—always provides exactly what is needed in every instant to activate the human imagination—no more and no less. The text consistently supports the actor in simply “say what they mean and mean what they say,” and, in doing so, is on the line. I suppose it’s similar to playing Bach or Chopin—the music is already impeccably notated, now all one must do is practice to the point of allowing it to flow through one’s instrument unobstructed. Open the spigot of your heart, follow the rhythm, and Shakespeare’s iambic beats will usher you into the deepest wells of the human collective unconscious. 

So no, I’ve never felt drawn to method-based approaches to Shakespeare. Emotional recall, backstory, sense memory—that all seems unnecessary, distracting even. 

But…but but but… 

This particular role has, in fact, stirred many personal reverberations. Lear’s archetypal journey into the shadows has felt eerily reminiscent of the inner disintegration I underwent in my mid-forties. It was a harrowing time—textbook mid-life crisis stuff. I guess I was somewhat the poster boy of a man staring into the proverbial abyss. And I’d be embarrassed to admit how much I struggled during that period of my life had it not been such a necessary part of my own growth. 

Sure, I have never divided a patrimony amongst my three daughters (I don’t have children), and my most kingly estate in life so far has been a one-bedroom apartment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I have never been cast out by my own kin or dispossessed of all earthly rights. But while considering the play’s cathartic themes of loss, I can easily remember how not so long ago I’d been utterly consumed by questions of identity and self-worth. Desperately, I tried to fend off the crippling dread of losing a core sense of purpose and belonging.

This uncontrollable sense of failure is perfectly depicted in the theologian Richard Rohr’s book Falling Upward, in which he describes the “two halves” of life:

The first half is marked by the establishment of ego strength, which one attains through achievement and external signs of success—both necessary and healthy. The second half begins when that first structure—so assiduously built over time—eventually collapses under its own weight. According to Rohr, many people—regardless of age—never leave the first phase. And while one might consider that a blessing, it can ultimately lead to calamity. As we see with Lear, who even in his twilight years has stayed trapped in the pursuit of control, status, and certainty, he is blind to the catastrophe he will so carelessly set into motion. In one of my favorite quips that the Fool employs to skewer his master, he says: 

“Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.”

Genuine maturity requires surrender, humility, and a much deeper participation in reality. That is most often precipitated by profound feelings of loss, failure, mortality, grief, disillusionment, and unexpected change. Rohr calls these moments “falling upward” because what initially feels like a crisis or disaster can ultimately become a doorway to deeper wisdom. 

Instead of asking: 

“How do I succeed, acquire, and control?”

One may begin to ask:

“What is essential?”

“Who am I beneath these roles?”

“How do I love?”

And it is love—and true love’s compassion—that becomes the very engine of Lear’s transformational journey. At the height of the storm that rages both in and outside his mind, he awakens to the suffering of all those who are less fortunate: 

“Take physic, pomp, 

Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, 

That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, 

And show the heavens more just.”

Lear suddenly let’s go of his victimhood and petulant cry for retribution to consider the plight of others. He is willing to feel what they feel and thus close the gap of separation between himself and his fellow man. 

Later, in the light of Cordelia’s unconditional love and incredible sacrifice, he has finally surrendered all pretensions of importance to simply delight in the communion they share, even in the face of impending doom:

“Come, let’s away to prison.

We two alone will sing like birds i’ th’ cage.

When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down

And ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live,

And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh

At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 

Talk of court news, and we’ll talk with them too—

Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out—

And take upon the mystery of things

As if we were God’s spies.”

As is the case in so many—if not all—of Shakespeare’s plays, wisdom (or the lack thereof) is best demonstrated in how we love.

May 26

A couple of nights before our departure for Europe, we did a “share out”—three scenes performed for a small audience in the basement rehearsal space of St. Paul’s Church in Brooklyn. It was helpful to have a crack at a portion of the play in front of people before leaving the States, to get it more in the body and feel some synergy with those who had come to cheer us on. For some, it was their first encounter with the play. 

And now, here I am sitting in a crisply appointed apartment in the Romanian city of Craiova. I have a panoramic view of distant forested hills beyond the foreground’s post-Soviet industrial sprawl, and the Kaufland Mall five stories below. The city’s old center is a half-hour walk away, or a quick trip by tram. That is where we have skirted off to take in the local charm and enjoy the friendly pulse of beer gardens, old churches, and a myriad of theater spaces presenting productions from all over the world. Oh, and a balloon ride a few stories above the Shakespeare Village. This “village” is set on the grounds of the city’s hippodrome in Nicolae Romanescu Park. The balloon was tied down, so we didn’t float that far up, but high enough to have a great view of the stage where the Romanian blues band The Southern Cockroaches were letting it rip with a grand set of Nashville standards. 

There seem to be few Americans here, and yesterday my Uber driver was eager to practice his English. The conversation quickly turned to politics, at which point I offered my requisite apologies for the US’s latest batch of geopolitical blunders, while he denounced the rampant corruption that has long infected his country’s government. And suddenly it occurred to me I was again discussing the universal themes of King Lear. In Lear’s addled tirade to Gloucester, there is a moment of shrewd clarity when he advises his blinded friend to:

“Get thee glass eyes, 

And like a scurvy politician, seem 

To see the things thou dost not.”

May 27

Wow! We teched and ran through the entire show all on the same day we had our first performance. And in withering heat. Our space, Teatrul Colibri, is a large children’s theater without air conditioning. And Craiova has been unseasonably warm. So, if there were ever a time and place to summon one’s inner actor warrior, it was today. With more bodies in the space, and in full costume under the lights, our first show may as well have taken place in one of the inner rings of Dante’s Inferno, which I suppose is strangely appropriate. But we pushed on and, from all accounts, gave a damn good show. 

Could the Romanian audience understand us? Was the temperature as tough going for them as it was for us? I’m not sure. But there’s one thing I’m clear about: this country loves theater. The audiences are present, tuned in, and willing. 

May 28

Today, a number of us saw Declan Donnellan’s Two Gentlemen of Verona performed by an outstanding troupe of Spaniards. My god, they were good! I never thought I’d have such a blast watching a production of that play. Not one of my favorites, to be sure, but now my earlier judgments are under review. It was also fun to listen to the play in rapid-fire Spanish. As I’m fluent, I’d say I caught a solid 50 percent of what was said. Otherwise, I was taken by the fantastic comic timing and physical alacrity of every single performer. 

Then several of us scarfed down a traditional Romanian meal at Restaurant Casa Ghincea (think cabbage stew, sausage, polenta, etc.) before hopping in an Uber to get back to our hot box of a theater. 

With last night’s show under our belt, everyone was poised to release into this final performance of King Lear fully. And we did. For me, I was continually coaching myself not to turn this evening’s effort into some great apotheosis of all my hard work. It would be what it would be. Stay present, be in the moment, exactly as it is. Just tell the story. 

And then, at the play’s dénouement, turning to Cordelia (played by the wonderful Celeste Sena), I saw the tears in her eyes. Lear says to his daughter: “Be your tears wet? Yes, faith.” 

Yes… faith indeed.