Though his ruthless actions through the first three acts bring Richard to the cusp of glory, it is not until he secures the "election" of the people in III.7 that he is firmly enthroned, and that their complicity in his rise is made most explicit. It is the point in the play at which our estrangement from Richard becomes evident, as we find ourselves removed from his privileged company as conspirators, and more strongly rooted on the other side of some divide. We realize our own seduction throughout, and now sense our betrayal as Richard has claimed his crown.

Olivier's depiction of the scene shows a deliberate attempt to present it at its most symbolic level, with a number of comedic elements serving not so much to undermine the gravity of the scene, as to reinforce our notion that the citizens are no more than sheep blindly led by their wolf in shepherd's clothing. On a number of occasions, for example, we hear a phrase said by one character repeated by another, or murmured throughout the crowd (e.g., "two deep divines", "perfect love"), accentuating our belief that - on a symbolic level - the citizens lack the very capacity to speak, are left with nothing more than the ability to echo the words of others. And the general "Ahhhh" rising from the crowd as Richard appears between two clergymen is not only a genuinely funny moment, but one which reminds us of how easily taken in is the populace.

Olivier's decision to have Richard enter from above, as it is directed in the folio and the quartos, places him quite literally in a position of superiority, and the cuts during the exchange between Richard and the citizens add to our sense of their differences. When we view Richard through a series of medium/medium-long shots, it is from the point of view of the citizens, angled upward as if we too were forced to crane our necks to see him. As we look out into the body of citizens, it is as if the camera were placed on Richard's shoulder, the downward angle making them look small in comparison. It is a far more successful use of his medium than were he to cut from close-ups of Richard to close-ups of the crowd, without giving us a firm sense of the disparity in their positioning.

There is, of course, the brilliant series Olivier gives us as Richard first refuses, then implores Catesby to "Call them again," typifying the deliberate yet effective manner with which Olivier has directed the scene. We see a long shot, from the crowd's perspective, of Richard above, with Buckingham below pleading with him from among the citizens. The camera slowly pans with Buckingham as he moves closer to Richard, and we see the would-be king drop his prayer-book as Buckingham proclaims, "But we will plant some other in the throne/To the disgrace and downfall of your house." He moves toward the camera and off screen in his well-staged frustration, and Richard resignedly begs Catesby, "Will you enforce me to a world of cares?" He looks down to Catesby and says, "Call them again," and we hear the phrase repeated first by the latter, and then by a citizen in the crowd. The camera cuts to the citizens slowly shuffling off stage, with Catesby rushing towards them and imploring them to return. There is a general murmur rising from the crowd, a nondescript vocalization that cannot credibly be called speech, and the citizens are almost literally herded back towards Richard, looking far more like a flock of sheep than a body of men and women. The camera pans down slightly as we retain this shot of Richard, still above, in the distance, the citizens below him, to a conspicuous pair of horses with blinders looming in the foreground. The symbolic effect is easily recognized. The next cut is again to the citizens' point of view looking up to Richard, but the angle is far more dramatic than that used earlier, and the figure of Richard - his crowning now imminent - is more imposing than before.

The final moments of the scene, in which not a word is spoken, are again adroitly handled by Olivier. We have a long shot of Richard with the citizens leaving in the foreground, and the camera moves in as Buckingham approaches to offer his congratulations. Richard presents his hand to a dramatic burst in the soundtrack, and as he turns to offer a profile to the camera, the disturbing reaction of Buckingham is evident. Richard brings his hand lower, forcing Buckingham to his knee, and as the camera pulls out we see other concerned citizens on opposite sides of the screen look across to each other with concern, then to Richard in the center before kneeling as well. When the camera's movement stops, it presents us with a long shot of Richard framed by his loyal subjects on their knees, heads bowed, once again below him physically, though ostensibly on level ground.

Loncraine's depiction of the scene differs drastically from Olivier's, but in the end manages to create a similar effect. Perhaps most noticeable is his decision to separate the action into two smaller scenes: the first, in which Richard and Buckingham "argue" before the citizens; the second, in which the citizens show their support ("Long live King Richard") for their imminent sovereign. The success of Loncraine's version depends on these two episodes together, where neither one nor the other alone is sufficient in presenting this powerful moment in the film. The wooing of Richard by Buckingham is not so effective in that it takes place on such a small scale, with only a handful of men representing the citizenry of London. Consequently, the rally scene becomes vital in reinforcing the idea that Richard has been accepted by the people - all the people, and not just a small faction.

It is not until that rally scene that we see Richard "aloft," and detached from the people (unlike the Olivier, which presents that difference throughout). The effect is not lost, however; rather, it seems to resonate more, in that only after he "reluctantly" accepts the crown does Richard separate himself. As Buckingham urges him to take the throne, Richard is among the people, in an almost intimate gathering of some ten or twelve men. He walks on their level, walks in their midst. Although his placement in the center of their gathering makes it apparent that he is the focus of their attention, he still plays the part of being one of them. Even the audience's intimacy to the man remains, as we follow his pacing about the room with the camera, and seem to be addressed directly by him: his eyes appear to meet our own as he faces the camera and quips, "I am not made of stones."

This familiarity is abruptly jarred as we move from the comforts of that room to the cold detached zeal of the roaring crowds. Richard stands at the podium in a medium long shot, the spotlight further alienates him from us. The camera distances him to a long shot, then cuts to a view of the crowd from his point of view - small, far, meaningless. Arms thrust in unison, voices chant together in the congealed mob. We cut back to Richard, and as the camera moves in to a close-up, we feel an even greater separation than before: Richard's staring eyes - unlike his address to us just moments before - are distinctly away from us, he seems foreign. Whereas Olivier's camera pulled back to infer our distance from Richard in more than just a physical sense, Loncraine is able to initiate the same sensation by moving in. Both portrayals disrupt our relationship to Richard, assuring that our previous familiarity has dissolved.

(c) 1999 by the author. All rights reserved.