Once upon a time, there was a prince who assumed the throne late in life. Vowing to rule wisely, when his advisors proposed a law violating his conscience, he refused to grant his approval, and when his kingdom's voting body objected, he voided their power, throwing his country into turmoil. The ensuing unrest spurred his elder son to depose the royal sire in order to restore peace and unanimity, while his younger son longed only for an "unpredicted life" with his leftist working-class girl friend. As our own recent election amply demonstrated, governments often surpass sausages and babies as creatures whose manufacture is better left a mystery. Intrigue in high places — especially those recounted in un-rhymed iambic pentameter, albeit couched in fluent vernacular — continue to beguile consumers of classic drama and popular television, nevertheless. What distinguishes Michael Bartlett's speculative play is that the "King Default" is modeled on the person we know in real life as Prince Charles of England. His sons likewise bear a striking resemblance to real-life heirs William and Harry Windsor, as does the former's scheming wife to the Duchess of Cambridge (nee Kate Middleton) and the royal consort to the Duchess of Cornwall (nee Camilla Parker Bowles).
Such a premise might herald a shrill-voiced Monty Pythonesque farce, or perhaps an academic exercise in counting syllables. Bartlett's industry is not squandered in service of cheap laughs or cheap bathos, however, but instead emerges an astonishingly eloquent and articulate parable of a well-meaning man facing existential crisis when confronted with leadership. By the time Charles reluctantly bows to the will of his subjects and renders his abdication, he is forced to acknowledge his place in the universe as "better the thoughtful prince" than a ruler unable to cope with an inheritance he did not anticipate. Audiences in the United States have less of a stake in Bartlett's grim prophesy (for the record, Elizabeth II continues healthy and robust at age 90), a factor not lost on savvy director Gary Griffin, whose technical team serves up a sumptuous production, replete with spectacle and soliloquies stitched together by an incidental score ranging from Elgar to The Clash. Robert Bathurst leads an ensemble of actors navigating Eva Breneman and Kathryn Walsh's impeccable speeches with a verbal expertise creating characters whose difficult choices arouse our immediate sympathies. In the end, duty triumphs, but romantics can still hope for Alec Manley Wilson's Harry to follow the promptings of his heart, much as his predecessors—his father and Uncle Andrew included—did, not so many years ago.
