Stacy Keach as King Lear (courtesy Shakespeare Theatre Company).

Meet the Real Housewives … of 16th century Britain?

The scheming, backbiting, and in one case, suspiciously Paris Hilton-esque (chihuahua included) sisters Goneril and Regan manage to do the unlikely: turn the epic solemnity of King Lear into riveting, train-wreck theater. These women chain smoke and cackle, strut around in fur coats and sequins, and get graphically pleasured onstage by their boy toys. Director Robert Falls, whether he’s livening up Lear’s ceremonial division of his kingdom with a rapping DJ or having his actors throwing ripped out eyeballs into a stock pot, has definitely put together a Lear unlike one you’ve ever seen.

It’s also a Lear with a bit of an identity crisis. The made-for-Bravo undertones of the Shakespeare Theatre Company production are frequently dominant, but it’s not the only vibe Falls is playing around with. His Lear is almost strangely comedic at first; the king’s famous decline into madness is played much more for zany laughs than as a disturbing decent. Those unfamiliar with the work might find themselves headed towards intermission wondering why, exactly, this play is considered first and foremost a tragedy.