An improbable King Richard, who resembles nothing more than a crowned Johnny Depp, is rolled to the front of the stage on the tall platform holding his throne. Although this moment seems like nothing more than an outstanding blunder of theatrical innovation, after several scenes, it finally becomes clear that this bold depiction of the English king is actually rather effective.

“Richard II,” the Yale Rep’s first production of this season, begins with a suddenness reminiscent of a bad Discovery Channel documentary, hurling facts and staged violence with a lack of subtlety that borders on ferocity. The opening scene leaves the audience breathless and disoriented, as if it had fallen into a pool. After several minutes, when it is possible to follow the dialogue, the play is slower, less overwhelming and less interesting; it moves at a stiff crawl and takes almost an act to pick up any momentum.

Richard (Jeffrey Carlson) is a surprising figure. Carlson has taken a comic, flamboyant persona to a tragic role, and the product is arguably the show’s greatest strength. Carlson is often the one thread of real personality keeping a scene from becoming melodramatic tatters, as minor characters frequently succumb to a hyper-rhetorical pomposity that is the death of many Shakespeare tragedies. While many of his stiff messengers are incapable of expressing emotional dynamics except by vocal amplitude, Carlson’s character is polished, eccentric and controlled. This talent gap between Carlson and other characters creates a painful imbalance in many scenes; in particular, when Richard suffers a breakdown a la Lear at the end of Act 1, the supporting actors less support him than serve as his scenery.

Two important exceptions to that rule are Billy Eugene Jones as Henry Ballingbroke and Alvin Epstein as John of Gaunt, Ballingbroke’s father. Though Jones still shows some weakness for the peculiarly Elizabethan disease of over-performance, the power and timbre of his memorable voice lend him a substantial stage presence. In the last scene of the first act, when Carlson confronts Jones, the audience feels for a moment the sort of tension it expects from the play; before that scene, the show lacks strong character interaction, and feels more like a well-rehearsed recitation than an organic piece of theater.

Epstein is a strong actor who is the victim of a small role and some lines that fall short of Shakespeare’s crowning theatrical achievement. As he is tragically dying, he recites a (very) long monologue about England: i.e. a string of fond phrases about the English dirt and sea. Though limited, Epstein, like Carlson, wields the sort of real talent that the show as a whole lacks.

The acting aside, the production’s slightly quirky design is successful. The dark, spare set is accented by statues of kings shut in glass boxes, placed in an obscure geometrical pattern around the upper balconies. Costume and prop colors are almost completely limited to gold and white, accenting the darkness that never lifts from the stage. The soundtrack, including an operatic theme that hovers incongruously over the buzz of pre-curtain conversation, is used sparingly but not appropriately, particularly in that sudden and excessive opening scene.

It’s tempting to blame many of “Richard II’s” faults on the play’s scripts — to point the finger at the Bard. The audience was expecting more from Shakespeare, more distorted psychology, more madness, more opportunities for Freudian criticism. But “Richard II” is simply not “Hamlet” or “Othello,” and no matter how much the production tweaks the dialogue, no matter how eccentric its Richard is, it can’t escape the limits of the script.

Although the patchiness of “Richard II” does not make for a coherent theatrical experience, its innovation makes it worthwhile as an artistic statement, embodied in the figure of its striking King Richard.