The controlling metaphor of this production was that of Richard as Player–King. More precisely, he was presented as an Edwardian impresario, a barnstorming actor-manager taking charge of a huge battle-scarred theatre (complete with magnificent red curtains, well-worn backcloths and stage flats) to play out his compulsive fantasies, only to discover that his play will ultimately escape his control. As the play drew to its close, the ghosts reappeared, as Richard was about to fall before the victorious Richmond. The back wall, which had, up until now been understood to be the real back wall of the theatre, made up of unadorned brick, with random bits of rope, switches and hooks hanging upon it, now, astoundingly, flew up to reveal another bare back wall, before which the ghosts stood in eerie, silent accusation. Among them was the little Duke of York, perched on the rocking-horse seen earlier in the children's nursery, only now being rocked with a vengeance and sending huge shadows leaping up behind. Richard – and his audience- now learnt that there was another theatre, within which Richard's stage was merely one more playing-space briefly held in his power. Now his play was done and the spotlight must be yielded to another star player.

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The first thing to be seen as the audience settled into the auditorium was the unobtrusive figure of a stage-sweeper slowly moving across the rear of the stage with his broom, preparing the ground for the ensuing performance. Then huge red velvet curtains descended as the house lights went down. The curtains were parted by a pair of gloved hands, quickly followed by the whole figure, dapperly dressed in ivory top hat and tails. Straight-backed and graceful, the man stepped out into the spotlight, surprising and disconcerting the audience as he began the play's famous opening speech. He gestured to the band, visible above on one side of the stage, to instruct them to follow his cue for the music appropriate for nimble capering and lovers' dances. He himself danced an elegant waltz with an invisible partner, only to stumble, lose his balance, almost fall until, at the line “But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks….” he shape-shifted before our eyes into the role of Richard with all the requisite physical encumbrances (and more) demanded by the text. He angrily tore at his clothes, ripping them off to reveal beneath them another, darker outfit, with heavy, dark brown boots, one with a built-up sole, orthopaedic body brace and arm strap, and a strawberry birthmark covering one half of his face.

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The Edwardian setting provided the women in the play with heavy, restrictive dresses. Their outbursts of grief and anger registered all the more powerfully in such a society of decorum and buttoned-up restraint. In this scene, Anne was genuinely convinced of Richard's assertions of repentance as she gradually abandoned her curses and yielded to his pleas.

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The audience's first view of Richard as King was the golden crown waved up and down through the curtains, quickly followed by the gloating face and figure of the new King. Spinning around to show off his magnificent scarlet and ermine cloak, he had no doubt that the audience would be glad to share in his exultation. The curtains then opened and he clambered up to sit on his strange throne – a combination of umpire's chair and baby's high chair. His ungainly movement and grinning face were very different from Buckingham's effortlessly suave, understated elegance.

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Poised high above his soldiers, Richard circled the stage at great speed on his improvised chariot, pulled by one of his men. The ensuing battle could be seen only at floor level since the heavy red curtains were kept closed and raised only a few feet above the stage floor. This allowed the audience only glimpses of a confusion of booted feet, gun-carriage wheels, dropped weapons and the “noises off” of explosions and gunshot.

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Elizabeth's sombre mourning dress contrasted markedly with Richard's bright uniform and gleaming crown. Her grief and moral outrage were painfully clear as she refused to allow her children's murderer to win her over. She could barely remain still as he gave her a parting kiss and her promise to let him know her daughter's mind in the matter of her marriage was merely a means whereby she could stop the debate and leave the stage.