Royal National Theatre's "Timon of Athens'

"Only when you've been in the deepest valley can you know how magnificent it is to be atop the highest mountain."

Richard Nixon spoke those words when he resigned as president. When it comes to low points in life, no one could speak with greater authority than that disgraced and humiliated leader.

Except, of course, Timon of Athens, Shakespeare's tragic protagonist. His fall from towering heights to deepest depths rivals that of Nixon's in its extremes. Nixon retired to a California villa and went on to write six books in a quest to justify his life, career and choices. Timon hit bottom and stayed there.

Timon's fall from grace is spectacular and also chilling in its horror. And it's all the more stunning because most of us are hearing his story for the first time. Indeed, this obscure, late play by Shakespeare (entitled The Life of Timon of Athens and co-authored with Thomas Middleton at the end of the Bard's career) is virtually unknown on our shores and rarely performed.

Sumptuous banquet

But the ever-resourceful Royal National Theatre, world leader (along with the Royal Shakespeare Company) in the production of the Bard's oeuvre, has dug it up, dusted it off and given it an updating that dazzles in its relevance to our troubled times. The result is a spine-tingling tragedy for today"“ one that, thanks to the gods, has been preserved on tape by HD Live at the National and broadcast all over a world that's reeling from the current global financial crisis.

In the Royal National's updated incarnation, Timon (splendidly played by Simon Russell Beale) is chief executive of a freewheeling, billion-dollar hedge fund (or brokerage house, it's not clear which). Athens is The City (London's analog to Wall Street), corrupt to the core. Timon is King of the Hill, at the peak of success, affluence and influence. He's an endlessly gushing fountain of philanthropy, contributing to charities generously, buying art ostentatiously, entertaining lavishly, bestowing gifts unsparingly.

The opening scene"“ featuring the dedication of the "Timon Wing" of a prestigious metropolitan museum, followed by a sumptuous banquet with gleaming glassware and flowing champagne"“ turns on the turnstile of the sleek Olivier Stage, with Timon center-stage. It's a swirling, shimmering scene of over-the-top, unimaginable wealth and power, one that's all too painfully familiar to anyone who witnessed the financial excesses of the 1990s and 2000s.

Fair weather friends

Timon's tragic flaw? Greed, yes; ambition, of course"“ he takes his limitless wealth for granted to the point of naiveté. But what turns out to be more fatal for Timon is his love and trust of his fellow man.

When his loyal steward, Flavia, warns Timon that he's spending far more than he has, he's not worried at all. "I am wealthy in my friends," he says with assurance. But soon he discovers that those sycophants— who surround him, profit from him, and accept his gifts"“ coldly refuse his requests even for modest loans.

So Timon instructs Flavia to assemble these so-called friends at another lavish banquet. Unashamed, they readily congregate at his table. As glasses clink and vintage wine is poured, coat-tailed waiters arrive with gilded dinner plates, each with a shining silver cover. The waiters place these plates before the eager guests, lift the lids— and the horror of horrors of what's for dinner is revealed.

Homeless hovel

After that dinner party from hell, Timon sinks down, down, down. This transformed Timon in homeless attire is angrier than King Lear or Shylock"“ two other Shakespearean tragic figures who also lost everything. Ruined, disgraced, humiliated, Timon has been exiled to a wasteland strewn with refuse, where he rants and raves at the morally bankrupt world that has isolated him.

And then, miracle of miracles, Timon uncovers a manhole near his grimy, god-forsaken hovel. In it he finds a cache of gleaming gold bars and coffers filled with coins. Their fiery glare illuminates the darkness with an eerie, frightening light.

"Oh no, not this, not this!" Timon cries. His mixture of joy, trauma and terror is one of the most disturbing, conflicted cries of recognition from modern man that you'll hear on the stage today.

Better than Hollywood

Then, one by one, those former friends seek out Timon, having heard that he has discovered gold. What transpires is the parable of a man who discovers the true meaning of money and pays the highest price for this knowledge.

"The world's a thief," Timon remarks toward the end of his ordeal. This fierce, unforgiving tale of wealth, corruption and man's abandonment of his fellow man hits close to home, in light of the crash of 2008 and the ensuing Occupy Wall Street movement. And Hytner's inspired, updated Timon strikes its mark harder than popular films like Wall Street and Margin Call. After all, it's Shakespeare.

Meanwhile, caution (at least for now): Avoid accepting dinner party invitations from your alleged friends unless you know in advance what they're serving.