Royal Rebellion: Michael Urie and Lux Pascal Make Shakespeare’s 'Richard II' Unapologetically Queer

The Astor Place Theatre is pulsing with something rare: a Shakespearean history play that feels like a fever dream for the LGBTQ+ imagination. In Red Bull Theater’s audacious new Richard II, Michael Urie and Lux Pascal aren’t just breathing new life into a centuries-old text—they’re splashing neon, queerness, and raw emotional urgency all over it, making Shakespeare’s tragic king not just relevant but unmistakably, unapologetically queer .

Director Craig Baldwin’s vision is clear: this isn’t just another Shakespeare revival. Richard II is set in the shadowy clubs and high-rise boardrooms of 1980s Manhattan—a time and place where queer power simmered beneath the surface, bursting out in fashion, music, and moments of private rebellion. The play’s central standoff—the deposition of Richard—unfolds not in a palace, but in a “LED playground” where drama and desire are illuminated by club lights and Eurythmics anthems .

For Michael Urie, this role is a decades-long obsession finally fulfilled. “It’s so dreamy because I’ve been chasing this role for 20 years,” Urie confesses. The actor’s career has spanned hit series like Ugly Betty and Shrinking, but Richard II haunted him ever since he saw Lee Pace’s shimmering performance at Juilliard. “People think of him as queer-coded. He avoids violence, gets fixated on his clothes. There are some aspects of it that I felt I could relate to,” Urie explains, his voice tinged with awe and gratitude .

This production is personal—and political. Urie notes, “I think it’s really interesting to set it in the 1980s, where we had a lot of queer people in power who were still closeted, but doing sometimes very exciting things, sometimes very flamboyant things—like a Liberace, a Halston… It was a very charged time to be a gay person, especially in power, and in the closet.” In this Richard II, those tensions aren’t just subtext—they’re center stage, fueling the king’s heartbreak, his moments of decisiveness, and his ultimate downfall .

Opposite Urie is Lux Pascal, whose Queen Isabella is far from a background figure. In Baldwin’s staging, she’s dissociating on the dancefloor as Richard makes out with his cousin, the Duke of Aumerle, right beside her—a tableau that is both heartbreakingly familiar and subversively queer .

Pascal, herself a proud transgender actress, brings layers of lived experience and empathy to the role, embodying modern queer resilience and complexity. The casting alone is revolutionary: in a genre that has often erased trans and nonbinary voices, Pascal’s presence signals a new era of inclusivity and representation for the LGBTQ+ stage .

Baldwin’s decision to recast the play in 1980s Manhattan isn’t just a stylistic choice—it’s a cultural statement. The setting evokes a time when queer people, especially those in power, were often forced to navigate closets, coded language, and secret alliances. Think neon-lit bathhouses, cocaine-fueled nights, and a soundtrack that pulses with longing and defiance. For LGBTQ+ audiences, it’s not just nostalgic—it’s cathartic, a reclamation of history and desire that the original text only hints at .

Urie’s Richard doesn’t want to rule—he wants to be free, to escape the suffocating expectations of crown and closet. As the play unspools, the tension between public duty and private yearning becomes palpable, especially when set against Bolingbroke (Grantham Coleman), who is all business, all straight, and the embodiment of the system that crushes queer possibility .

What makes this Richard II so vital for the LGBTQ+ community isn’t just the queerness—it’s the emotional specificity. Urie’s performance is a masterclass in vulnerability: every gesture, every line, every hangdog pout is a window into the heartbreak of a king who never wanted the throne, who yearns for connection and freedom but finds only isolation and loss .

The play’s queerness isn’t a gimmick—it’s a lens that refracts Shakespeare’s poetry into something raw and relevant. In one haunting moment, Aumerle sings “Everybody’s looking for something,” echoing the king’s search for acceptance and escape. For queer audiences, the resonance is unmistakable: our history is full of kings and queens, literal and metaphorical, who have sought freedom in a world that refuses to let them reign .

The supporting cast, including Ron Canada’s scathing John of Gaunt and Kathryn Meisle’s ambivalent York (recast as a Duke turned Duchess), adds further texture to this queer reimagining, challenging traditional gender roles and expectations. The glass box set design morphs from prison cell to royal platform, a visual metaphor for the shifting boundaries of identity and power .

For queer theatergoers, this Richard II is more than entertainment—it’s an act of reclamation. It asks: What does it mean to be queer and in power? Why are our stories so often sidelined, our possibilities limited to coded gestures and tragic endings? Why can’t queer royals reign well, too?

As Urie’s Richard surrenders his crown—heartbroken, defiant, and unforgettable—the play delivers its answer: Queer stories belong at the center, not the margins. This is not just Shakespeare for a new generation; it’s Shakespeare for every generation that has ever longed to see themselves on the throne, unafraid and unashamed.

In a season overflowing with revivals and reboots, Red Bull Theater’s Richard II stands out as an exuberant, unapologetic celebration of queer possibility. It’s a reminder that our histories are full of kings and queens who have loved, lost, and dared—sometimes in secret, sometimes in defiance, always with courage.

For Urie, Pascal, and the entire creative team, this is more than a play. It’s a statement: about power, visibility, and the right to rule our own stories. For LGBTQ+ audiences hungry for representation and resonance, it’s a royal feast—served with wit, style, and a crown that fits just right.