Richard

Richard feels wronged by life. He is narcissistic by nature, his ambition boundless. From the very first scene, he makes it abundantly clear how he intends to seize power: ruthlessly and inhumanely. He manipulates, lies and deceives. He flatters his enemies into becoming his allies. He has his own brother murdered. After the king’s death, he makes the king’s two young sons disappear. Richard is a master of his craft — until cracks begin to appear in his regime, allies turn away, and the ghosts of his victims confront him with what he has done.

A ruler cannot exist without those he oppresses. We know the names of tyrants, we follow their strategies, we analyse their lies. But the voices of those who suffer under their rule fade into the margins. In Richard, this imbalance is redressed. As Richard tightens his grip on power, the life of a woman in occupied territory unfolds.

A woman who wants nothing more than to live — to live on the land where she was born, surrounded by those she loves. A woman who continues to love and to dream despite the violence inflicted upon her. Those in power do not even acknowledge her existence. They push her aside without remorse, deny her, ignore her, erase her.

Richard lays bare a pain we see all too seldom. Not the pain of the ruler who falls from power, but the quiet, everyday pain of those who must struggle to survive under his rule.