Category Archives: Historical

Henry VI part 2 – February 2008

8/10

By William Shakespeare

Directed by Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Wednesday 20th February 2008

This is a play which starts with a union, and ends with division. Actually, the division starts within a few minutes of the play’s opening, so it’s not a gradual slide into conflict, but the infighting does become more bitter and twisted as the play goes on.

OK, so Suffolk thinks he’s going to rule through his lover, Margaret, and the various nobles are split into more factions than a Big Brother House. The play opens with the king and his nobles coming onto the stage, and Suffolk presenting Margaret to the king. Henry had his back to us, but even so, I could tell he was as excited as a child on Christmas day. Admittedly, this is one child that would definitely go to church first before opening his presents, but presumably he’d already prayed that day, and now he wanted to get to the unwrapping bit pronto. I noticed that Margaret’s response to the king was different than my text, though his next lines were the same, and I was also aware of the Duchess of Gloucester looking like an advert for Rennie’s. The before bit. This marriage doesn’t sit well with her. I was also looking out for the reactions to the news that Maine and Anjou had been handed over to Margaret’s father, and there was plenty to spot in this area. Only Cardinal Beaufort (Bishop of Winchester as was) seems unruffled by the news – he prefers to take advantage of Humphrey’s discomfort rather than be concerned for England’s welfare.

Once the king, Margaret, Suffolk, the Duchess and her train have left to crown the new queen, Gloucester deliberately closes the doors to speak to the nobles. He really pours his heart out to them, listing all the effort that went into winning France and keeping it, recognising the efforts of all present, and grieving that it’s all been lost, only to be brought up short by the Cardinal pointing out that they still hold France. Partially true, but with Maine and Anjou frittered away, the rest will be difficult to hang on to. Humphrey recognises that he can’t keep his temper now that the Cardinal’s started talking, and leaves. The Cardinal now holds forth on what a dangerous person Humphrey is, suggesting he wants the crown for himself. Buckingham’s comments to Somerset about removing Gloucester are made at the front of the stage, almost as an aside from the other characters. When the Cardinal leaves them, they carry on plotting, pointing out the Cardinal’s faults, and suggesting that one or other of them could take over as Protector once Humphrey is out of the way. These are the Lancastrian faction.

When they leave the stage, the Yorkists are left. Salisbury, Warwick’s father, then sums up the situation, pointing out Humphrey’s good reputation, and the merit and power of his son and York, as well as himself. They agree to work against Somerset and Suffolk to support Gloucester. (These plays do sound like a geography lesson at times.) Before they leave, there’s a nice bit of humour as Salisbury refers to “the main”, meaning the main chance, but Warwick responds as if he’d said Maine, and throws another wobbly. Patrice Naiambana played Warwick very strongly; not as much of a hothead as Hotspur, but still aggressive to the point of humour at times.

Finally, York is left on stage on his own, and confides to us his view that, as the rightful king, he feels the losses in France more keenly than the others. He plans to keep his intentions secret, and support the Nevilles (Salisbury and Warwick) and Humphrey until he finds the right time to make an attempt on the crown. It’s clear from this scene (and this has all been one scene), that bickering, rather than Henry, rules in England. I did feel yesterday that I wasn’t always sure why the various characters had chosen the sides they had, but today it was all clarified. The mounting death toll added to the pressures; as family and friends are bumped off, the desire for revenge supplemented the desire for power, and there’s a strong sense of events spiralling out of control, certainly out of the control of such a weak and reluctant king as Henry.

Scene 2 shows us the ambition of the Duchess of Gloucester. Her husband is wandering around, unable to sleep, and she tries to persuade him to take the crown for himself, first through straightforward suggestion, then through the pretence of a dream. He chides her for her ambition, and she uses the pretext of the dream to pass it off, but we’ve been given a very clear insight into her lust for status – an early version of Lady Macbeth. The king sends for Gloucester, and he heads off, leaving his wife to consult her séance arranger, Hume. He’s procured the services of some notable occult practitioners, and the Duchess rewards him handsomely before leaving. It’s quite a pattern in this play, characters leaving the stage, so that the ones who are left can give us another point of view or more information. On this occasion, Hume tells us that he’s working for the Cardinal and Suffolk, to bring about the downfall of Duke Humphrey through his wife. In the process he slyly infers that both of his employers are “crafty knaves”. It’s one of Jonathan Slinger’s cheerful villain parts, most of which seem to occur in this particular play, and he does it well.

The next scene starts with three men, all scruffy, waiting to present their petitions to the Lord Protector. Unfortunately for them, the queen and Suffolk appear, and they don’t get out of the way quickly enough. The queen and Suffolk ask what’s going on, and are not pleased to find the petitioners would prefer to deal with Gloucester. The queen and Suffolk take their papers, and find one complaint against the Duke of Suffolk himself! Another doesn’t affect them specifically, but Margaret still tears it up, as the man has the cheek to plead to the Lord Protector instead of her. The third man has a complaint against his master for speaking treason. His master has said that Richard, Duke of York is the rightful king, and his apprentice is grassing him up. Mind you, he isn’t the most articulate chap, and there’s some humour in his dialogue, especially when he reports that his “master said …. that the King was an usurer” instead of usurper. This is a more weighty matter, and Suffolk takes advantage of it. The others get short shrift.

Once the proles have been carted off, the queen vents her spleen, beautifully it must be said, but still… She’s just not happy that she’s a queen in name only. She wants to be running the show, and yet everyone else has more power than she does. She’s particularly upset about the Duchess of Gloucester, who flaunts her wealth and status every chance she gets, and sneers at the queen’s poverty. To make her points more effectively, she snuggles up to Suffolk in a way that leaves no doubt he carried out all the parts of the marriage in France before handing her over to Henry. If they weren’t so villainous, they’d make a lovely couple. He reassures her that he’s taking care of the problems, and, well, political plotting is obviously a turn on for a lot of these characters, but with so few women around, this is the only time we see the effect of it.

They do pull apart just before the king arrives on stage, and now we have probably the most important set of arguments of the play, those which start the removal of Duke Humphrey as Protector, the last bulwark against outright civil war. The king can’t or won’t choose between Somerset and York for the Regent of France job. In the general bickering, Margaret speaks up, and is admonished by the Lord Protector because she’s a woman – the man does have some failings after all. Unfortunately he also mentions that the king is old enough not to need her advice, which gives the circling vultures their cue: if the king is old enough to speak for himself, why does he need a Lord Protector? Like a pack of sharks homing in on a stricken whale, they take turns ripping away at his political flesh, until his only option is to leave.

Taking advantage of this, the queen drops her fan, instructing the Duchess to pick it up. When she doesn’t do it immediately, the queen strikes her, and then pretends she mistook her for a waiting woman. Without her husband’s support, the Duchess also leaves, but not without a dire warning to the king, and the threat of revenge. I must mention here that tonight the fan in question had taken on a life of its own. Earlier, when Suffolk and Margaret had seen off the petitioners, she gestures with her fan, and the fan bit flew off the handle and landed on the stage (far right corner from us). Katy handled it well, although she looked on the verge of a giggle or two, and, gentleman that he is, Suffolk rescued it for her when he was next over that way.

Now Gloucester returns, having cooled off by “walking once about the quadrangle,” – delivered so as to get a good laugh – and the sniping between York and his foes resumes over who will be regent in France. Gloucester has declared York to be most fit, but then the question of York’s treachery is raised by Suffolk, and by the entrance of the earlier petitioner whose case Suffolk was most keen to make use of. The petitioner, Peter, is on the balcony to our right, while his master, Horner, whom Peter accuses of treasonous words, is on the stage balcony. York is quick to distance himself from a suspected traitor, while Horner defends himself by pointing out that Peter is just trying to get revenge for being told off about his work. Gloucester steps in to decide the matter – York cannot be regent in France because of this suspicion, so Somerset gets the job, while Peter and Horner will have a fight to determine who’s telling the truth. Nowadays, they’d be selling their stories to the tabloids, but things were much more civilised in Henry’s time. Peter’s a bit upset, though. He’s not a fighting man, and reckons his master will win, so naturally he’s not keen on the idea. Tough.

This is a long scene, and there’s lots going on. I noticed how much less fighting there is in this play compared with Part 1. By this time yesterday we’d had several battles, and lots of (off-stage) dead bodies. Today we have lots of words, but little action. I got the impression, with this being Will’s first staged play (allegedly), that he knew how to do the speeches and arguments, with their set rhetorical forms, but didn’t know how to do battles so well. Even in Part 1, the third in terms of the writing sequence, the battle scenes are more confusing than in later works, such as Henry V, or even Antony and Cleopatra. This may be because he was under pressure to complete his smash hit history trilogy as quickly as possible, or it may be because he didn’t yet appreciate how to make the short, sharp battle scenes flow better. Or he may have been sticking more to the actual history, without adapting it to improve the dramatic effect, or he may have wanted to do it that way, or any combination of these, plus any other reasons you can think of. Anyway, it’s a good start, with lots of political manoeuvring – it reminded me of the Sunday tabloids, with stories of sleaze, corruption and sex scandals galore. All we needed was the violence, and that’s on its way.

Scene 4 shows us the séance organised for the Duchess by Hume. A couple of men, Southwell and Bolingbroke, come through the doors, accompanied by three women, one dressed in white, blindfolded and with her ankles tied. The men greet Hume, and set up the séance. The witch, Margery Jourdain (or Jordan as my text has it, which brings completely different images to mind) has her blindfold removed, and stumbles her way forward across the stage, looking for the right spot to do her work. Near the front, she finds what she wants, and drops some object out of a bag. The others come forward, and one of the chaps trails a wet cloth round her to make a circle. A rope is dropped down, and the women attach Margery to it (I do so want to call her Jordan) by her feet. As it rises up, she’s gradually lifted until she’s hanging upside down. She uses the trick knife to cut her arms, and I assume they were running with blood (this is the gore-fest history cycle) although I couldn’t really see it in the gloom. By this time, the duchess has appeared at the balcony, and passed a piece of paper to Southwell(?), which contains her questions for the spirit being conjured. He reads them out and notes down the answers. As Margery is dangling over the stage, the trapdoors underneath her open, and the Talbots appear, with son John being dangled from a rope himself, and his father just appearing above the stage floor. The actual spirit in the text is called Asnath, but the change works very well, especially as all the ghosts created earlier could be expected to have unfinished business, and to be hanging around waiting to make contact. The prophecies are mostly as in my text – an obscure one about the king and the Duke, Suffolk dying by water, Somerset should avoid castles – but there’s a final one I haven’t found, although I will check elsewhere. As the spirit is descending back into – hell? limbo? the under stage space? – there’s a final question (sorry, didn’t realise I needed to memorise it) to which the mischievous answer is “Gloucester shall be king”. Anyone who knows the future as we do can get a shiver of enjoyment out of that one, even if it is an interloper to the text. In any case, the Duchess is about to be hauled off to prison for her part in the witchcraft, so there isn’t much time for her to be deceived. No, this extra line is for the audience, and to add another link between the plays. Nothing wrong with that, and I certainly found it entertaining. [checked in RSC’s complete works tonight – definitely an invention. 21/2/08]

After this, the Dukes of York and Buckingham burst into the room, and arrest everyone. Buckingham takes the paper, and passes it to York on request. When York has finished commenting, Buckingham asks to have the paper back, so that he can be the one to take it to the king. York hands it over, with reluctance, and after a couple more lines, heads off himself.

The king has been hunting, and now he and his party arrive on stage, where the talk is all of falcons and the like. Gloucester and the Cardinal are there, and in no time they’re having a go at each other in hunting terms. The king tries to calm things down, but they simply stand further back and snipe at each other more discretely, though not so quietly that we can’t hear them. When the king looks round to see what’s going on, they smile and talk as if there’s no problem, then get back to their feud. They even organise a duel without the king knowing, although I wasn’t too clear about this, as the king interrupts this part of their discussion.

Before things get really violent, a crowd appears through the doors, crying “miracle” and suchlike. It’s a ragged band of poor people, accompanying a man on crutches, who claims he’s been healed of blindness at St Alban’s shrine. His wife is with him, and they’re all celebrating the miracle cure. The king questions him, and shows a great deal of sympathy, especially when he finds out the poor man was born in Berwick. (We laughed.) It’s not till Gloucester starts to question him that the truth comes out. He claims to be able to recognise colours that he’s never seen, as he was born blind. They realise he’s just a conman, and to avoid a whipping he forgoes his crutches and leaps over a stool to run away. While this shows Gloucester’s wisdom, the next moment brings news of his wife’s arrest for witchcraft, and the mood changes. Gloucester is ready to leave his wife to whatever justice she deserves, but will it be enough to stop him being ousted? It’s also clear that the king has been sadly disillusioned by this scene with the supposed miracle. It’s not that he’s too naïve, rather that seeing too much villainy saddens him, and makes him want to leave the roughness of ordinary life alone to devote himself to God. It’s part of Henry’s growing up process, which continues on through the next play as well.

York, Warwick and Salisbury all come on now, York carrying a bag. This is where York will explain his title to the crown to the other two (and us) by means of stones. He dumps the stones on the ground, and uses them to lay out the royal family tree, starting with Edward III, the king who liked to bonk. It’s a long-winded description, which gets through enough stones to build a rockery, and also gives us a laugh when Warwick exclaims “What plain proceeding is more plain than this?” Both he and his father are persuaded, and so the secret pact is formed.

Now the Duchess of Gloucester faces judgement. Henry sentences her to do the public penance bit, and then be exiled internally on the Isle of Man. The witch is for burning, and the accomplices for strangling. One of the poor chaps has been seriously tortured, by the look of him; he’s lying upside down on some kind of trolley, and the others don’t look too good either. Gloucester is naturally upset at his wife’s crime and punishment, and it’s not long before Henry asks for his staff of office. He plans to reign himself, so Gloucester hands it over, and wishes the king well in his government of England.

When he leaves, there’s much rejoicing from the queen and Suffolk.  York reminds them that this is the time appointed for the trial by combat, and so they leave the stage to the combatants. Both Peter and Horner have been drinking, Horner more than Peter, and he’s getting pretty drunk by the time the fight starts. Peter is still nervous, and doesn’t want to do it, but has to defend himself when Horner comes at him. It’s a messy fight. Horner is obviously the better swordsman, but Peter defends himself well, if clumsily, and eventually lands some lucky blows which make Horner stagger. With a bit more luck, Peter knocks Horner down, and he suddenly changes his plea to guilty. I felt there was a suggestion that the Duke of York may have promoted the drinking himself, as he was worried what Horner might come out with, but I may have been mistaken – I can’t see anything in the text to support it, although it could have been implied in the acting. The king is content that the outcome is fair, and based on God’s justice, and so they leave.

Gloucester appears on the balcony to our right. He’s looking for his wife as she completes her public penance, so that he can speak to her before she’s off to exile. When she comes on, she’s wearing a tatty white robe with some sheets of paper pinned to it, her hair is a mess, and all in all it’s not the smartest outfit the costume department have ever produced. She’s a bitter woman; not only has she lost the regal position she believed was hers, but she’s been made a public laughing stock as well. Gloucester tries to persuade her to be patient, but that’s not in her nature, and she makes her feelings quite clear. Gloucester is summoned to the parliament, but not before she’s warned him to be careful of his own life. He’s a sweet innocent babe compared to her; he thinks he has to do something wrong to be at risk of execution. Hasn’t he been watching these plays?

At the Parliament, Henry’s courtiers, beginning with the queen and Suffolk, lay into Humphrey for all they’re worth. Henry doesn’t believe them, and for once he actually speaks up for himself. Somerset arrives to inform them that France is now completely lost, and then the Duke of Gloucester also turns up, and finds himself immediately accused of being a traitor. The charges start with taking bribes, through abuse of his legal powers, and he ends up being put into the Cardinal’s keeping on some unspecified charges which will no doubt be clarified if the case ever comes to court. Henry is hopeful that Gloucester will clear his name, but the Duke, wise at last, realises there’s little chance of that. When he’s taken away, making references to the wolves gathering round the unprotected sheep, I was more aware of vultures circling, looking for the moment to land and start the feast. It doesn’t take long, as Henry, mourning the arrest of Gloucester, leaves the nobles and the queen to handle business. Is this wise? They immediately set about planning Gloucester’s death, and there’s no shortage of willing volunteers to do the deed. The Cardinal offers to sort it all out, and they shake hands satisfied that their biggest danger is out of the way. Nice people.

News comes of rebellion in Ireland, and there’s the usual nonsense to be got through about whether to send York or Somerset. For once, these nobles appear to be able to sort things out for themselves, because it’s not too long before York is given the order, and Suffolk promises to supply him with troops. All leave except York, and he stays to relish his position. He needed troops, he’s getting them. While he’s away, he’s arranged for Jack Cade to stir up trouble in England, which will let York test the waters. Either Cade will be killed, or York can play the hero in dealing with him. A satisfactory outcome, whatever happens.

Suffolk is seen chatting to two men who’ve killed Gloucester, and then Henry turns up, hoping to see his uncle get a fair trial. Suffolk heads in to wake the Duke, and returns with the news that Gloucester is dead. Henry faints, and there’s a mild panic – it’s noticeable that the queen doesn’t rush to help her husband. When he revives, Henry’s quite bitter, for him, about the treachery around him. While he complains, the queen and others are all concern and wide-eyed innocence about the Duke’s passing. Margaret even has a lengthy speech saying how wounded she feels that the king could treat her so harshly. At least she doesn’t pretend to shed any tears.

The news of Gloucester’s death has spread quickly, and now Warwick arrives to warn that the natives are seriously restless about this. Henry sends Warwick to find out how Gloucester died, and he returns with the body, bed and all. He proceeds to do a visual autopsy – it’s not CSI, but he still manages to work out that the Duke was murdered. And it’s clear he believes Suffolk to be responsible for it. Not that Suffolk is going to admit it, and the slanging match goes on for some time. There’s a lovely bit where Warwick claims that the presence of the king “makes me mild”, and then goes on to use language that’s anything but! The commons have their say, and Suffolk is banished by the king, so he and Margaret have to say their goodbyes.

Cardinal Beaufort is the next to die; we see him lying in his own bed, the same one Gloucester had died in, and then being lifted up by a wire. He’s eventually let down, and is joined by Gloucester, and these two old sparring partners seem to be reconciled in the afterlife. The next to join them is Suffolk. His boat is rowed by two figures we see a lot of – Talbot father and son – and Suffolk is soon joining the growing list of dead people wandering around the stage.

The next two characters to come on are wearing fishes heads like masks, a neat segue from the previous scene. They turn out to be two characters who are part of Jack Cade’s rebellion, stirred up by York. Their makeup is distinctive – they have black lips (once they take the fish heads off). There’s a bit of audience participation at this point. They get someone up from the stalls, and bring a briefcase along as well – we’re meant to think it belongs to the audience member. They check out the contents – amongst other things, it has a copy of a play – Richard III by Shakespeare. These characters make impolite comments such as “seen it – it’s rubbish” (Jonathan Slinger makes this comment himself, I think), and then take the audience member off to be executed. Don’t worry, it’s only pretend, and Steve had spotted the backstage staff asking a group of students for a volunteer, as well as planting the briefcase, so no complaints this time.

The Jack Cade section was full of militant hoi-polloi treating people badly and cheering on their leader, who kept making ridiculous promises which come to nothing when the real troops arrive back in England. Cade himself escapes and is killed in a walled garden by a chap called Eden, who takes his head to the king and is rewarded with a knighthood. To be honest, I’ve never seen the point of the Jack Cade interlude, and I suspect it had more meaning in Shakespeare’s day, but this production keeps it lively, and as the ghosts get to wander around to swell the numbers, it’s good fun spotting them as well.

York returns from Ireland with all his troops, and he’s confronted by Buckingham who asks why he’s brought all his men with him. It’s difficult for York to hold back his real intentions, and his passion, but he manages to cover himself by claiming he only wanted to see Somerset put in the Tower for treason, and to put down Cade’s rebellion, which has already been done. Buckingham tells him that Somerset is already in the tower, and York has to go along with this and send his soldiers packing. However, before that can happen, Somerset turns up with the queen, and York realises he’s been duped. So the two sides square up to each other, and the battle begins. The battle of St Albans, as it happens, which the Yorkists win, and ….. But you’ll have to wait for the next play to see how it turns out.

This is a wordy play, with less action than the others, but still very enjoyable. Again I was aware of the political manoeuvring, and the personal hostility that was based on so many people having a claim to the throne. Ever since Richard II was deposed, there’s been nothing but trouble. I was also aware of how much these performances have come on from a year ago. The detail is amazing, and there seem to be more and more connections between the events and the characters of each play. I’m glad we gave ourselves more time to enjoy them this time round, and I’m looking forward to completing the set over the next couple of nights.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Henry VI part 1 – February 2008

8/10

By William Shakespeare

Directed by Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Tuesday 19th February 2008

Now that we’ve seen the rest of the cycle, these productions make more sense than before, although they were good already. Henry V appearing on the balcony at the start of this play, with his coffin being lowered into the pit, then climbing down into it headfirst, was a more powerful image this time around. From the Winter School, we learned that his costume had changed, to reflect the actual costume used in Henry V, and this definitely helped. In general, I felt the production had loosened up a bit, with everyone being more expressive in their roles. I found the final scenes, with Suffolk wooing Margaret, much funnier than I remembered. I also noticed that Richard Duke of York, at the end of the flower picking scene, looked uncomfortable as Warwick cheerfully predicted ten thousand deaths – an echo of his troubled reign as Henry IV?

The play opens with a paean of praise to Henry V, the king they’re just burying. This gets things off to a bad start, as it’s clear they’re missing him already. The bickering hardly holds off for the funeral – in no time the Duke of Gloucester and Bishop of Winchester are at each other’s throats – literally so in a later scene. What comes across is the personal animosity between the men. Perhaps the Duke, as Lord Protector, has the edge in being justified, but on the whole it’s pretty even, and pretty vicious.

The French dauphin is, of course, the one who upset Henry V so much with his balls (tennis, that is), and is still played wonderfully for comic effect by John  Mackay. He swirls on, with shorter coat tails this time, but still with a magnificent head of blond locks, followed by his nobles, likewise preening themselves to the verge of a hernia. These parts certainly seem more effective – I was much more aware of Joan before, but now they all stand out. Joan herself seems livelier, and the fight scene with the Dauphin was entertaining. I don’t remember if we see Joan’s three ladies in red in this scene or later – they weren’t so noticeable to me this time, I suspect due to the different angle.

For one scene, the Dauphin, Reignier and Alençon come on dramatically, posing as for some action movie, only to scuttle away from the fighting. John Mackay also has the nerve to show us his bottom (anatomical, rather than the character from Dream), as the French leaders sneak out of Orleans after the English retake it.

Talbot was as powerful as before. This time, I remembered his trick with his sword. While most of the English characters hold their swords in front of them, point upwards like a cross, Talbot lifts his hands up and strokes the sword over his head to bring it in front of him (at least, that’s what it looks like). Once he’s dead, I noticed the other Englishmen were doing much the same thing – a belated tribute, perhaps.

The scenes showing us the real start to the Wars of the Roses were also good, though this time I felt that perhaps Richard of York would have been better to get the information from Mortimer before arguing with someone else over his right to the crown. Still, it sets the situation out fairly clearly – we will get a more detailed explanation in tomorrow’s play – and is sufficient to explain the animosity between Somerset and York which results in neither of them helping Talbot, leading not only to his death, but that of this son. There’s a nice exchange between Talbot père et fils, where they bat lines back and forth, arguing over which of them should fly the battle and certain death. It’s nicely done, and the repetitive rhythm adds a touch of humour.

With all these strands in place, it only remains to show us the beginnings of the loss of France, which is what this play’s about. I was very aware this time that, according to Shakespeare, the battle between the French and English was evenly matched on the whole. Although Joan helped the French to some victories, the English kept winning towns back. It’s a war that could have gone on even longer, had English rivalries and factions not intervened. The mealy mouthed way both York and Somerset deny their assistance to Talbot (via Lucy) is a perfect example of the way some politicians and other leaders will happily see innocents crash and burn rather than give an inch of help to the opposition. And all the time they blame the other. I liked the staging for this, with York descending on the grid, and then Somerset appearing later on the balcony, emphasising how far apart these men are (and yet, how similar).

The peace negotiations were more entertaining for me this time around. Our position gave me a better view of the French and their machinations – they’re such naughty boys. With peace came the opportunity to ransom prisoners, and having taken the entire audience prisoner, Suffolk is about to sort us out when Margaret appears. This was a pretty quick change for Katy Stephens, as she’s just been burned to death as Joan, but she really scrubs up well. Again, I was more aware of the details in this scene, with Margaret trying to find out from Suffolk what her ransom will be, and him talking to us about how he fancies her, but wait he has a wife, bugger, OK he’ll woo her for the king, and then …… I liked the way she retaliated when he did finally decide to engage her in conversation, by making her own asides. She also shows her ambition and power at the very end, as she steps out of the frame, and walks about a bit before striding off as the lights go down. A right little minx, this one.

I was a bit surprised to realise how late in the play we first see Henry VI himself. He doesn’t come on till Act 3 scene 1, for his coronation, and to welcome the Duke of York back into the fold. I felt this performance was even more child-like – enthusiastic and eager, a royal puppy – and fitted in well with him being persuaded so easily to ditch his betrothal to the French King’s daughter and marry Margaret instead. I also want to mention the earlier scene with the mayor of London parting the Duke of Gloucester and the Bishop physically, and ordering them away. Matt Costain did a very nice mayor, with a few moves at the end, and the eyes gesture to someone in the audience.

In fact, the whole performance included the audience much more than before. We were involved at just about every opportunity, collectively or individually, though fortunately no one was taken off to be executed. (Must check what seats we’re in tomorrow – Row F, that’s a relief!). I was also conscious that this is a prequel, as Will had written the other two before finishing off the trilogy with this one. As a result, some of the play only makes sense if you know the story continues. In particular, the play ends with Suffolk’s declaration that he’ll be running things once Henry marries Margaret – pointless unless there’s more to come. However, as prequels go, it’s a good one. I’m not sure how well it would stand on its own, though, and as these plays have only been done in combination in my time, I’m not sure I’ll ever find out.

What else? Richard of York does the hunchback thing when Joan’s captured and is trying to use her magic. Henry V gets out of his grave when Bedford, with only one arm, opens it up, and the ghost heads into Rouen to recapture it. Bedford was also the first dead person to get up and walk off, though there will be plenty more this week. Incidentally, the text I have makes no reference to his arm being missing – here Joan picks up and displays a severed arm, and Bedford’s arm is clearly truncated. The revival of Henry V is also a Michael Boyd invention, though nothing wrong with that.

The ladder and rope work all seemed to be smoother this time, and less intrusive, although as we were slightly under the circle that may have helped to lessen the effect. I did like the pulling down of the blue ribbons of cloth. The Bastard of Orleans keeps rushing on, yelling his head off, and scaring the Dauphin. So when he takes off his helmet, the Dauphin says “Bastard. Of Orleans.” Nice touch.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

War Horse – January 2008

6/10

By: Michael Morpurgo (novel) adapted by Nick Stafford

Directed by: Marianne Elliot

Venue: Olivier Theatre

Date: Thursday 24th January 2008

Although I enjoyed this production, I probably found it less good than some of the reports we’d heard, mainly because our expectations were higher than usual. The horse puppets were indeed fantastic, and I certainly cried at the end, but our distance from the stage meant we weren’t as involved as we normally like to be. I had hoped that the size of the production would carry that far back, but I did miss seeing the actor’s expressions clearly. Another reminder that we like to get up close and personal with the action, though preferably not within soaking range.

The set was sparse and effective. At first, I thought the strip of white, torn paper across the centre of the stage was actually in front of a curtain of some sort. As the action progressed, I realised the stage was open to the back, and the way this strip was  lit made it seem to be floating in the air. It also allowed for scenes to be projected onto it, giving us information on the time and place of each scene, and showing some shadow puppeteering for the action that couldn’t be fitted onto the stage. The floor had the revolve painted up as streaks and patches of brown and grey. This very effectively suggested furrows, mud, rutted paths, and probably a few other things as well. A bit of this decoration spilled over to the rest of the stage, which was otherwise plain black floorboards running front to back. I noticed what seemed like a forked tree trunk in the shadows to our left – this turned out to be a plough – and to our right were a couple of boxes. Doors, carts, wagons, and even a tank were brought on as needed.

The key to this whole production has to be the marvellous puppet work. Apart from the horses themselves, there was a goose, running around, pecking at the ground and hissing at people, several birds flying across the sky at different times, a young girl in occupied France who makes friends with the horses, and a rather nasty crow who shows an unpleasant interest in the corpses littering the place. But the horses were spectacular. Full sized puppets, with two men inside them working the legs with hand controls, and another chap at the head, giving them life and movement. They were rarely still, always shifting and nosing at things, as horses do, and even though I could see the person working the head, it was easy to forget that and just see the horses.

I did find it a bit more confusing when Joey, the star of the show, was a foal. He was so small that there were three people working him from the outside, and as they were dressed the same as the actors, I did find it hard to tell sometimes whether they were people holding the horse or non-existent puppeteers. This was especially true at the horse market, with lots of folk milling around. However, we soon got past that, and seeing actors actually riding these magnificent puppets was quite amazing. It was particularly sad when we got to the later stages of the war and some of the horses were bags of bone, dying as they tried to pull the guns from place to place. It was heartbreaking to see them die.

It was certainly a sad story, and I fully expected Albert to find Joey just as he was breathing his last – a truly sad ending. I was surprised when this animal actually managed to survive, despite the hard work, the lack of food and all the other hardships, but then the story is aimed at children. The basic plot is that Joey is bought as a foal by a farmer who’s  in competition with his more successful brother-in-law. He spends all the mortgage money on him, and his son, Albert, trains the horse up so they can sell him. Albert and Joey get on really well, and then Albert finds out that his silly father has bet that Joey will plough a strip of land by a particular Sunday – I forget what it was called. As Joey is more suited to riding than ploughing, no one expects him to win, but Albert keeps working with him (he has a whole week, after all!), and sure enough, Joey manages it, just. Thinking Joey’s now safe, and his, Albert lets his guard down, and his father then sells Joey off to the army as a cavalry horse, just in time for him to be shipped off to France for WWI. We then see Joey’s story, as he gets to meet Topthorn, the other horse in the story, and they’re ridden in a cavalry charge, only to have their riders shot off the top of them. The horses then wander round the battlefield, until a German cavalry officer finds them, and recognising their quality does his best to protect them. The opportunity comes when horses are wanted to pull an ambulance cart. At first, it doesn’t look like Topthorn will handle the harness, but Joey remembers it from his ploughing days, and volunteers. Topthorn then joins in, and the cavalry officer takes advantage of this and a later opportunity to take on the identity of a dead ambulance man, to keep the horses safe on a farm over the winter.

By this time, Albert has joined up, thinking he’ll be joining the cavalry regiment and be able to find Joey, only he’s sidetracked into the infantry, and gets caught up in the fighting. Joey and Topthorn are taken back into service pulling the German artillery, and eventually Topthorn dies. Joey survives, and wanders over the battlefield, until he gets caught up in some barbed wire in no-man’s land (OK, I was crying by this time). The German and British soldiers have a temporary truce to try to recover him; the British soldier wins the coin-toss, and takes him back to their lines, but he’s badly injured. Albert has taken a shell-blast and is temporarily blinded, and both he and Joey end up at the same medical station. As the medical staff are declaring that they can’t treat the horse, Albert is talking with his mate, and Joey recognises his voice, and I can’t go on, I can’t see the keys for the tears…..

(Several tissues later…) Well, it all ends happily, as I said before, and if it hadn’t been so sad, I think I would have enjoyed it more. I accept it’s a sad subject, and I don’t expect it to be tarted up, but maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for something so powerful. I’m still glad I saw it, and some of the images will stay with me for a long time.

One other thing to mention was that much of the Germans’ dialogue was in German, without surtitles. A bit confusing, but nicely realistic, especially as one of the German officers was suspicious of his colleagues who spoke in English.

At the end, all the puppeteers came on as themselves to begin with, and after taking the first bows, they dashed off. I was hoping they’d come back on as the horses, and they did, rearing up, and taking their bows beautifully. I still feel like I’ve seen actual horses on stage. This was a masterpiece in many ways, and I hope they can find some other way to use these magnificent puppets again.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Henry V – January 2008

10/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Saturday 19th January 2008

Cast changes today – Patrice Naiambana played Chorus instead of Forbes Masson, and Matt Costain played Orlean instead of Kieran Hill. Given these indispositions, it may  be that the comments at Winter School about lacklustre performances have their basis in illness. God knows, we audience members have been suffering, so it’s not too surprising if the cast have had their problems as well.

You may be wondering at what point a production/performance earns a ten-star rating. Well, it varies, but today it was about two minutes into the opening speech. Eschewing the customary request to turn off mobiles, we went straight into the opening Chorus. After some silent sword practise, Chorus begged for “A muse of fire” and gave us a very expressive rendition of the speech, including a slight amendment. Instead of asking if “this wooden O” could do the biz in representing the field of Agincourt, he asked if “this rusty shed” could do the job. Massive hilarity (the Courtyard theatre is, indeed, a rusty shed, though as nice a rusty shed as one could wish for).

Fortunately this change, although well received, didn’t bring the shed down, and next up was the chat between two churchmen about how to avoid losing a lot of the churches’ wealth to the crown. Apparently the strategy is to pay the king lots of money, which kind of misses the point – these two just wouldn’t cut it as tax dodgers. They head off for an important meeting, allowing the King and his advisers to enter and start the discussion that is central to the whole play. Does Harry have any right to claim France as his own, or not? If he does, it means war, lots of deaths and possible defeat, or victory, glory and money. If he doesn’t, we all go home early. We already know the Archbishop of Canterbury is inclined to advise the King to go to war, as then he can offer to help financially and get off the tax bill, so it’s no surprise when he does just that. Before this, when the King enters, Lord Scroop was carrying his crown, and offers it to him. Harry doesn’t want to wear it at that time, so Scroop keeps it during this discussion. When we get to the arrival of the French ambassador, then Harry puts it on, indicating to me that he still has some reservations about his kingship, and keeps the formal show for formal occasions.

Meanwhile, the Archbishop has been explaining that Salic law, which the French have been saying bars Harry from the French crown, applies only to lands in Germany, and that many French nobles and kings have claimed their titles through the female line, validating Harry’s claim. Only he doesn’t say it anything like as quickly (60+ lines). It’s a lovely performance from Geoffrey Freshwater, expressing the boring tedious detail clearly while still making it funny. There were several laughter points during his long speech, especially when he says “So that, as clear as is the summer’s sun”, given the fog of confusion we were all in by that time. Harry listens to it all patiently, and the further arguments of his lords, and clearly decides to go ahead with claiming France.

Now is the time to hear the French ambassador. He arrives through the doors at the back (this is unusual for the French – see later), and delivers the message from the Dauphin. (Although it’s often pronounced as “Dolphin”, they didn’t do it that way this time.) A large box descends from the heavens, carrying the tennis balls the Dauphin has sent in jest – a bitter jest as it will turn out. Harry gets really angry, and opens the box by striking it with his sword. All the balls fall out, covering the stage, and Harry tells the ambassador to tell the Dauphin where to shove it. He leaves, and the English prepare for war.

I’m always worried when there are lots of potential leg-breakers scattered about the stage, and the tennis balls definitely qualified. I also get a little worried that it’s going to take ages to get them all off (health and safety) and the momentum will be lost. This time, Chorus and two helpers brought on very wide brooms, and with a united front, swept most of the balls from the front to the back of the stage. It didn’t take long, and didn’t clear up all the balls either, but it helped, and at the end of it, Chorus was able to step forward for his next speech. In this, he tells us of the English preparations, the French concerns, the English traitors ready to kill the king, and that the next location is Southampton. As he tells us of the traitors, they step forward at the front of the stage, and I realised that Scroop, the crown-carrier, is one of them. For me, this brought home the degree of treachery far more than words alone, although Harry will use plenty of those to express his feelings later. Scroop’s closeness to the king, and the level of trust the king placed in him, were exemplified by his role as crown bearer, and for him to change allegiance means something has gone terribly wrong in Harry’s England. Today, I saw that Harry’s own actions before becoming king, his rowdy youth and dissipation, have contributed to this treachery, as few people have any faith that he will turn out to be a good king. Plus this continues the theme of king-killing and civil war that will become so familiar down the road. So for once, this scene made sense on a lot of levels. I recognised Harry’s unexpressed offer of mercy if the traitors show any themselves towards a prisoner. It reminded me of the courtroom scene in The Merchant Of Venice. They don’t advocate mercy, and so their fate is sealed. For this scene, Harry was sitting roughly centre stage on a crate and fiddling with an arrow, with the three lords in front of him. At one point, when the king had moved closer to them, they moved forward as if to kill him then and there, but he’d already moved back out of their reach, so their attempted assassination was thwarted.

I’ve run these two scenes together because of their connection, but the actual performance, and the text, have another scene between Chorus and the king. It begins at the end of Chorus’s speech, when Bardolph runs on at the back to relieve himself against the metal drum. (I think it was a physical need rather than artistic comment on the set.) In this scene we meet Pistol again, and Nym, who are at odds because Pistol has married Mistress Quickly, who also appears in the scene. I have to say I found much of this scene unintelligible. To show why, here is a small snippet of the dialogue:

Nym   Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

Pistol “Solus”, egregious dog? O viper vile!

The solus in thy most marvellous face,

The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat,

And in thy hateful lungs, yea in thy maw pardie—

And which is worse, within thy nasty mouth.

Any suggestions? Bear in mind I don’t have an editor’s notes to hand during the performance. Admittedly, this is the worst bit I could find in my text, and there were some good bits. For example, Keith Dunphy portrays Nym as a depressed sort, with not too much weight to carry between his ears. This contrasted nicely with Nicholas Asbury’s rowdy Pistol, and the two finally come to some sort of accommodation with each other, mainly through Bardolph reminding them there’s a war to fight. Maureen Beattie’s Mistress Quickly keeps hovering on the border of good taste – the wrong side of the border, that is. She inserted a delicious pause in the lines

“for we cannot lodge

and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live

honestly by the prick of their needles,”

after the word “prick”, which got a good laugh. So the time was not wasted after all.

Following this was the discovery of the traitors, and then the Eastcheap boys are back to describe the death of Falstaff. I didn’t get much from this scene in terms of the dialogue, but I do remember thinking that Pistol is, in effect, taking over from Falstaff as the chief rogue of the crew.

Now to France, in an environmentally friendly way – no air miles for us. Three trapezes descend from the lofty ceiling, while the King of France himself appears on the balcony with a couple of attendants. The trapezes were necessary as the French court’s tailor (aka the wardrobe department) had seen fit to add excessively long tails to their coats, making it impossible for them to walk anywhere without tripping over their clothes. This created a nice popinjay effect, added to by the way that they casually swept up their tails and carried them over their arms from time to time. When the Dauphin (John Mackay) did come down to earth, and stood with his back to us, he looked for all the world just like a 1930s starlet in some glamorous evening dress, with his curly blond hair and sweeping train. The only down side to these costumes was that the lord nearest to us was in line with the king, and when his tails hung down, we couldn’t see what was happening on the balcony. But it’s a small price to pay for such a striking visual effect.

During this scene, the Dauphin comes across as an effete youngster, full of himself and the glory of the French court, and treating Henry with contempt. The Constable of France (Antony Bunsee) however, is a shrewder individual, who has picked up on what the ambassadors have told them of Henry. Perhaps the French king, with an echo of Henry IV, will find himself regretting that he didn’t have a different son and heir once the war is over.

The messenger from England is the Duke of Exeter (Miles Richardson). He brings a stern message to the French king – get off the throne, or else, backed up with a detailed pedigree which he hands to one of the lords on trapezes. It’s ironic that Henry V is telling another king that he’s a usurper, when many in England, and even more in his son’s time, will say that about his family’s claim to England’s crown. This is yet another example of the way in which Shakespeare is constantly comparing and contrasting his historical characters throughout these plays, and these all make Michael Boyd’s interpretation both more interesting and more valid. Anyway, this scene is good at setting up the tensions between the sides, and showing the Dauphin’s readiness to fight as well as suggesting his complete inability to make a good job of it.

Now Chorus has some more work to do, and takes over 25 lines to tell us that Henry’s sailed to France, and is now besieging Harfleur. More to the point, the French king has made an opening bid of his daughter’s hand in marriage and some minor dukedoms, and Henry’s said “no”. With the line “and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches”, there are some loud bangs, several trapdoors are flung open on stage, and Henry comes on to inspire us all to go back to the beach. Sorry, breach. It’s a rousing speech, and I certainly felt included in the ranks of the listening troops, though thankfully I didn’t have to fight.

After this morning’s talk by Nicola Watson, I was much more aware of the use of Pistol, Bardolph and the rest as a counterpoint to Henry. Bardolph’s first line is “On, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach!”, a rather half-hearted imitation of the king. He doesn’t inspire much in his hearers, and it’s not till Fluellen comes along and chivvies them back to the action that they go, leaving the boy to tell us what a bunch of rogues they all are. I feel sorry for this lad. He was given to Falstaff by Prince Hal, and now he’s been taken over by Pistol and the others, and dragged off to war. Perhaps Henry really does think war a noble enterprise, or perhaps he’s just forgotten the lad, but I can’t help feeling he could have looked out for him a bit better. The boy himself wants to get away from them as he’s not keen on a life of crime, but alas, too late.

Now the next scene is a difficult one, and I still can’t claim to know what it’s about. I liked the performances well enough, but it feels too much like a joke about a Welshman, an Irishman, a Scotsman and an Englishman, only without the punchline. Fluellen is obviously a man who has studied the accounts of historical battles a great deal – his production of a large book while on the battlefield shows how obsessed he is with the subject – but how this relates to the other characters I have no idea. I will pay closer attention when we see it another time, in the hope of learning more.

The next scene is interesting. Henry addresses the governor of Harfleur, threatening all sort of dire consequences if he doesn’t hand over the town at once. He goes into a lot of detail, while taking care to suggest that the rape and killing would be entirely because his soldiers lost their cool, and nothing to do with him. Bit cheeky, that. In any case, the governor’s reply suggests that Henry could have saved his breath, and his 43 lines, as the town is only too ready to surrender. I guess this scene just shows how ruthless Henry’s prepared to be. Of course, when I’m watching it, I get as carried away with the wonderful words as the next man, and it all seems to make perfect sense – this RSC house writer certainly has a way with words. I can’t make up my mind whether, if he was around today, Shakespeare would be a highly paid Hollywood script writer, or speech writer to US presidents. Or possibly both.

Meanwhile, back at the palace, Katherine, the French king’s daughter, is showing good foresight by taking an English lesson from her maid. It’s a lovely little scene, especially as I know enough French to be able to follow most of it, and these two ladies did it very well. Katherine was suitably pouty at being corrected by her maid, when she’s convinced she’s an excellent student. The exchange lightens the tone nicely, as we’re about to have some really tough scenes, with actual deaths.

Elsewhere in the palace, the king is discussing the situation with his courtiers, and after insulting the English invaders, they get down to business. All the French lords are sent off to tackle the English troops, but the dauphin is told to stay at home with the king, which really annoyed him. He flounced off beautifully in a temper. (Girls will be girls.)

Now Gower and Fluellen are at it again, discussing what’s going on in the fighting, which is elsewhere as it happens. Not that I wish to call these chaps cowards, or anything…. Along comes Pistol, to inform us that Bardolph is to be hanged, and to ask Fluellen to speak up for him, which he refuses to do as discipline is important to him. Pistol heads off in a temper, after passing some choice insults, and Gower and Fluellen get a chance to talk of those knaves who brag about what they’ve done in war, without having actually gone to the trouble of doing it. Pretend war heroes.

The king turns up, and is told of Bardolph’s pending execution. Again, he has to make a choice, and although it’s difficult, he sticks with the kingly role –“We would have all such offenders so cut off”. The French herald turns up again, and delivers some fighting talk. Harry’s response is interesting. He appears to give away too much information by saying that he doesn’t particularly want to fight at the moment, thanks very much, then brags about his troops when they’re fit and well, then accuses the French of being braggarts, then basically ends up by saying, come on then if you think you’re hard enough! Oh and he makes it clear there’ll be no ransom. It’s an intriguing combination of ideas, making him look straightforward, sensible, and capable of handling whatever’s thrown his way. At the end of this scene, as the king leaves the stage, he and we see Bardolph and Nym hanging behind the open doors, and that’s the end of the first half.

To start the second half we get one of the funniest scenes of the whole play, and there aren’t a lot of those to be had in this one. The French, languidly dangling on their trapezes, are waiting for day to break so they can go and kill themselves some Englishmen. That’s if they can find any to kill, because most will probably run off, and there are so few of them anyway, most Frenchmen won’t get a chance if they’re not quick. They pass the time discussing armour and horses, and the dauphin demonstrates rather too much fondness for his horse. Writing poetry in praise of one’s steed is probably over the top in most social circles, and from the reactions of the Constable of France and Orleans, it’s certainly not something to shout about in the French Court. After the dauphin heads off to put on his armour, they bitch about him beautifully, and after a messenger has told them how close the English are, they start champing at the bit to get at them. They even put on some Lancashire accents to make fun of their opponents – very amusing. Their manner was just so contemptuous that it made the whole scene very enjoyable. The dauphin was neighing to emphasise his horse’s attributes, and the Constable caught the bug. He found himself saying “naaaaay” at one point, and looked so disgusted with himself. (Couldn’t find it in the text, presumably an addition.)

Now the play’s spin doctor, Chorus, gets going again with a detailed description of the pre-battle line up. Suitably warmed up, we see Henry conferring with his brothers, and then taking Erpingham’s cloak so he can wander about anonymously among his troops. Firstly he meets Pistol, or rather Pistol emerges from one of the trapdoors. When Pistol finds out that Harry Le Roy is kinsman to Fluellen, he makes a rude gesture and heads off. Not the best of starts for the undercover king.

Next, Fluellen and Gower come on, and Harry listens in. Fluellen is concerned that their camp should be quieter, so that the French won’t overhear them. When Gower points out that French aren’t holding back the noise, Fluellen responds that if the French want to make asses of themselves is that any reason why the English should join in?  A good point, and applicable in many situations. Then three other soldiers come on stage. Harry disputes with them the king’s responsibility for his soldiers’ deaths, and gets into a particular argument with Williams, played by Lex Shrapnel. Echoes of Hotspur to the fore. They exchange gloves, agreeing to challenge each other after the battle, if they both live.

After the soldiers leave, Harry talks us through the burdens of a king. It’s a bit like his father’s complaint when he was having trouble sleeping, but Harry goes into greater detail. This was well delivered, but still I can’t help feeling Harry’s glossing over the problems that other people have, in order to concentrate on and amplify his own. Still, it confirms that he’s not fully comfortable with his kingship yet, although he’s definitely accepted the role of soldier. When Erpingham finds him, he has time for a prayer, which lets us know how much he’s doing to gain pardon for Richard’s death, and then  he’s off to lead his troops into battle.

The next scene in my text shows the French preparing to fight, which I don’t remember clearly at this time, and then we have the build-up to the most rousing speech in Shakespeare. With his captains all talking about the opposition’s strength, and Westmoreland rashly wishing for more troops on their side, Harry comes along and gives us his inspirational “St Crispin’s day” speech. It’s a really good piece of motivational speaking; well, it gets me going, anyway. This time, I wasn’t so aware of the words, more of the emotional sense and the effect the speech has on others. It was lower key than some I’ve heard, but more in keeping with this performance of Henry. It certainly has the desired effect on his men, and after another long rebuke to the French herald, they get down to some serious fighting.

The first sign that the England team might be winning is the arrival of Pistol, the boy and a French noble whom Pistol is attempting to take as his prisoner. The language barrier is proving a bit of a problem, though, and the boy helps out here, having a smattering of French. They do a deal, and head off, leaving the boy to comment on Pistol’s knavery and the lack of protection for the English luggage.

Now the French nobles are running away, having found the English too strong. One noble is determined to fight on, but the rest melt away in shame. Even so, when Henry arrives back on stage, to learn of his brother’s death, and that of Suffolk, the battle’s not completely over, as the French troops have rallied. Henry gives the order for all the French prisoners to be killed, and then it’s back into the action again.

It may have been before or after this scene that we see the boy being killed, as the French attack the luggage. I remember Henry seeing his body as he comes on stage, and being deeply affected. I suspect it happened just before his line “I was not angry since I came to France until this moment.” Either way, he really is in a temper, and ready to lash out at anyone. Not a good time for the French herald to come calling, then. Fortunately, he’s not asking for a surrender this time, he’s asking for leave to collect the French dead and wounded, and this stops Henry’s anger in its tracks. He now seems tired, and unsure of the situation, as he asks who’s won the fight. He is very clear that they had God’s help to do it, and stops for a quick prayer before the comic interlude.

Fluellen is busy reminding the king that his grandfather had fought well in France, and the king is happy to agree, when he catches sight of Williams, wearing the glove he gave him. Henry calls him over and asks about the glove, getting Williams to explain the circumstances, and Fluellen to support Williams’s determination to fight. All quite innocent at the moment. But, after sending Williams off to fetch his captain, Gower, Henry asks Fluellen to wear the other glove, telling him he picked it up during the battle, that it belonged to Alençon, and that anyone who challenges him is a supporter of Alençon and an enemy. Fluellen readily accepts the glove, and the honour that he sees going with the task, and is also sent off to fetch Gower. Henry sends his brother and Warwick after him, to make sure no harm comes to anyone, and follows on after them all. I have no idea why he does this, other than to prevent Williams having to accost the king, which would be embarrassing all round. I suspect it had greater meaning in Will’s time, but at least it came across clearly in terms of what’s going on, even if the why is still vague.

Naturally enough, Fluellen and Williams spot each other and come to blows, or at least nasty words, but Warwick and then the king come along before anyone’s injured. Henry’s challenge to Williams to explain his actions the night before is quite a strong one – he looks like he’s not prepared to forgive and forget that a common soldier had the nerve to treat him the way he did – but Williams mounts a good defence, pointing out that the king was in disguise, and so it’s all his own fault. Said more tactfully, perhaps, but that’s the gist. Henry likes his answer, and gives him money, which Fluellen adds to by another shilling, a bit cheeky I always think. This is the same streak in Henry that we saw in the tavern scenes when he’s baiting Frances, the drawer, to say “Anon, anon, sir”, and it’s not his most attractive side, but at least he recognises the consequences of his actions, and isn’t arbitrarily punishing others for his choices.

Next we hear the roll call of the dead. I find this a moving speech, and here it’s clear that Henry is moved as well, as much by the French losses as the English. As they leave, and Chorus fills in the gaps before Henry meets with the French King (back to London, rapturous welcome, back again to France), the cast bring on coffins, wooden boxes which they place in rows so that they can place a platform over them. I realised what they were doing, and thought it was an interesting point, to see the peace being forged over the dead bodies of the English who fell in battle.

First we see Fluellen forcing Pistol to eat a leek, and then the French court assembles on the platform for the final scenes. It isn’t long before the French king leaves with the English nobles, to sort out the details of the peace treaty, leaving Henry and Katherine to be watched over by Alice. I often think Henry’s speeches at this time are a contradiction. He says he’s no good at wooing speeches, but goes on at great length in flowery terms, which makes him seem a bit of a liar. This time, Henry does come across as a soldier with no great resources in rhetoric, who really would be happier “vaulting into [his] saddle with [his] armour on his back”. Katherine is won over, though rather shocked about being asked to kiss Henry before they’re married, and all ends happily. Chorus adds the finishing touch by informing us that in the next Henry’s reign it would all be lost again, and so the cycle both ends and begins.

It was great to finally see this key production in the cycle, and to have all the threads drawn together so well. I can see why Geoffrey Streatfeild found it easier to play Prince Hal after getting this play under his belt, as it answers so many questions. It was great fun, and I hope we can see it again sometime.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Henry IV part 2 – January 2008

6/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Richard Twyman

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Friday 18th January 2008

Unlike yesterday, when we saw a play much improved since the summer, tonight we saw a play which improved in some areas, but which seemed determined to focus its energy on the audience directly in front of the stage. As we were to the side, I found I lost quite a bit in various scenes, especially the tavern scene, although most of the rest worked reasonably well for us ‘outcasts’. Still, Hal’s performance had come on from the summer, and there were a lot of interesting echo points within the cycle.

To start, Rumour entered as before with Richard’s cheap coffin. (Well, he’d spent all of the treasury during his reign, so there probably wasn’t enough money to get him a decent one.) I noticed that Rumour (also Bagot, of course), woke Richard by kissing his hand, which I think is new, and for some of the lines, e.g. “The acts commencèd on this ball of earth”, he indicated by gesturing toward the coffin that Richard’s killing is the source of everyone’s problems. As before, he kindly included all the audience in his “household”.

Next we see the results of Rumour’s naughty ways, as Northumberland is beset with conflicting reports of the battle. As usual, the man who’s wrong, Lord Bardolph, is the most cocksure, and the most crestfallen when the real story is accepted. I noticed that Chuk Iwuji was playing the messenger with the bad news, here called Sir John Colville, though in the text it’s a character called Morton. Chuk also played the messenger part assigned to Scroop in Richard II, and brought similar bad news to that king, drawing out the delivery of it so long that the king had time for several speeches and changes of heart before being finally overwhelmed by it all. Here, Northumberland prevents such a long drawn out affair by going straight to the important part, Hotspur’s death, and keeping the focus on that. A tiny reverse echo, but we’re starting to pick these up now. Sir John Colville also ends with the good news here, while Scroop leaves the worst till last.

Now Falstaff and the Lord Chief Justice (LCJ) have their first sparring match. This came across clearly, and at the end, when Sir John says “I will turn diseases to commodity”, he added a cough, very appropriate at this time. I did feel that Falstaff was lacking the joie de vivre that really has to be part of his character. I felt there was a lack of smugness in the line “I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.” On one level, Falstaff actually believes the lies he tells, and that bolsters his already large ego to a point of insufferability, but it also makes him partly innocent of wrongdoing (at least in his eyes), and allows us to like him even as he’s being loathsome. I didn’t get that from tonight’s performance, nor an alternative reading that satisfied me, but the verbal sparring with the LCJ worked well enough, and Falstaff’s relationship with the prince was established sufficiently for Hal’s changes towards Falstaff to show up clearly.

The plotting by the rebels wasn’t so clear this time, and here I felt the reason was that the actors were simply talking too fast for me to make out what they were saying. This happened a few times tonight, and I would rather they hadn’t trimmed ten minutes off the running time (it’s not a competition, lads) and given us more time to savour the dialogue. Mistress Quickly is next up, bringing the officers to arrest Sir John. Again I missed some of this, but I found Maureen Beattie’s performance as the flirtatious but “respectable” widow just as funny as before. Between coming on to the LCJ, and then casting her eyes down in an attempt to look like a virtuous wronged woman, she kept us well entertained.

Now Hal is wheeled on, on the bed, in repose, as it were, and we get a reprise of his first scene with Falstaff. This time, it’s Poins who gets the bottle and soaks the prince’s head. Apart from that, there seemed to be more activity than I remember, but again it didn’t come across so clearly as before. From checking the text, I see that Poins is supposed to take the letter from Hal and read out the bulk of it; in this version, Hal continues to read to the end.

The discussion among Northumberland, his wife and Hotspur’s widow, is a confusing scene at the best of times. The ex-Mrs Percy has a good speech, about Northumberland honouring his son’s memory by not dashing off to help others when he refused to help his own son, and I can hear the sarcasm and bitterness of it on the page, never mind in performance. Here it seemed more like an intellectual argument, and Northumberland’s change of mind was inexplicable. Other than letting us know he’s not going to turn up for the battle again, I can’t see the point of this.

The tavern scene was largely lost on me, although I did pick up on some minor details in Falstaff’s performance, especially the way he interacts with Pistol, exchanging looks with him as he lies back in his chair, Pistol above him. One change was that instead of Peto bringing in the news that the King is at Westminster, it’s good old Rumour/Bagot who does that job. It’s also Rumour/Bagot who takes the letters from the King to the Earls of Surrey and Warwick at the start of the next scene.

The King wasn’t looking well in that scene, and he didn’t get any better by the end of it. After the insomniac speech, pretty well done I thought, the Earls arrive, and Warwick begins to show his reasonableness, advising the King not to get things out of proportion. He refers to Rumour during this speech, and it just so happens Rumour has reappeared to underline this reference – he is a busy boy. Now we get some additional lines stolen from Act 4 scene 3. After Warwick and Surrey have calmed the King, Rumour arrives to inform him that Northumberland and several of the king’s other enemies are dead. To prove it, he carries a bloody head in a sack, and throws it at the king’s feet, just as happened at the end of Richard II. The king then takes a funny turn, not too surprisingly, given his guilt at Richard’s death, and possibly even at his deposing. I wasn’t aware that this was a tweak to the text at the time. It just seemed to flow naturally, and made sense of the King’s condition. Following this, Richard II himself appeared on the upper story of the metal drum, and after the lords left, Henry stood, looking at Richard, as the ashes/dust/sand fell from above on his head. Blackout. I liked this ending to the first half, which I’m confident is new since the summer.

I was getting a bit worried in the interval, as I’d told a number of people that there was something worth watching on stage before the second half started, and it seemed to take a long time to get going. But eventually we were treated to Davey (Matt Costain) giving us his silent comedy version of putting up the bunting. Just as good as before, and this time there was a strapping young man in the vicinity to help him get back on his ladder.

This sets the scene very well for Shallow’s orchard, the first time we see the Gloucestershire part of the play. I’m often surprised by how late some scenes appear, and how little we see of some characters, and I reflected that my memory of the previous performance had left me thinking that there were more rural scenes, and that they came much earlier. Ah well, so much for my memory. Still, it means I’m constantly surprised, and often delighted, when I watch plays again, so maybe it’s no bad thing.

I found this the best Shallow and Silence I had seen when we attended in the summer, and I wasn’t disappointed this time either. These scenes, plus Hal’s performance, were the best things tonight for me. Shallow was just as lascivious, Silence just as laconic, and I’m grateful that Michael Boyd hasn’t found a way to add pongorama to his theatrical toolkit, otherwise Mouldy would have been assaulting all our nostrils for real. I still hanker to have a bird falling from the sky after Mouldy has discharged his musket, but maybe that’s too ‘cheep’ for Michael Boyd. (Sadly, ‘cheep’ puns are not too cheap for me.) Unfortunately, I find myself preferring Shallow and Silence to Falstaff in this production, therefore it’s not so easy to enjoy his desire to gull them. The suggestion that maybe Falstaff and Shallow have enjoyed a sexually intimate relationship when at St Clements Inn is clearly expressed in Shallow’s leering when talking about a night they spent together, although as they also talk about  a “bona roba” at this point, it may have been a really wild night!

Next we have the betrayal and capture of the remaining rebels (they’re dropping fast), which was less clear, but still got across the rebels’ stupidity in trusting Prince John. More specifically, the Archbishop’s stupidity – some of the others are not happy to send their troops away. This ups the stakes, and shows a greater level of ruthlessness which will only get worse as civil strife reasserts itself a play and bit away.

The next scene, where Falstaff accepts the surrender of Sir John Colville, is straightforward, but relatively uninteresting apart from Falstaff’s paean on the virtues of sherry sack, which is good fun. Now we return to the dying King, and another good scene where we get to see Henry and Hal’s final reconciliation before Hal becomes Henry V. I very much liked the way Geoffrey Streatfeild shows us Hal having to learn to be a king. So often, once his father dies, his heir simply rips off his cloak and becomes Superking in an instant. Here we get to see the process he’s going through, dealing with his father’s death and what that means on a personal level, as well as the massive change it makes in his life by giving him the crown. Steve saw an echo in the way Hal is lying on the bed beside his father as they’re wheeled off, to the original way Hal and Falstaff first arrived on stage, lying side by side on a bed. I noticed that Hal and the king hold the crown on either side, just as Richard and Henry do in the deposition scene in Richard II. I felt Clive Wood is showing more of the King’s vulnerability and how the illness is affecting his mind, while Geoffrey Streatfeild is showing much more of Hal’s emotional state.

After a short trip back to Gloucestershire, we see Hal’s first steps as king. The court, in the persons of Hal’s brothers, Warwick, and the LCJ, are gravely concerned about the new king’s likely attitude. Hal himself has clearly not yet grown into his kingship, and this is emphasised throughout this scene. The most telling example is Hal’s treatment of the LCJ. Initially, the new king is angry about his earlier treatment at the LCJ’s hands, even clenching his fists in anger, but the LCJ’s arguments win him over, and the new king realises not only that he still has a lot to learn, but that he needs the help and guidance the LCJ can provide. It’s an interesting demonstration of his character’s growth, but more is to come.

The last scene in Gloucestershire gives us a chance to laugh before the emotional finale. Silence has obviously had too much to drink, and is no longer silent, breaking into song every few minutes. Davey is cooking apples on a fire pit, and the rest are busy trying to join Silence in drunkenness, despite Davey’s procrastination in dishing out refills, when Pistol arrives with news of the King’s death and Hal’s succession. Off they all trot, full of the expectation of plenty. Shakespeare cunningly undercuts this immediately, by showing us Doll Tearsheet and Mistress Quickly being dragged off to prison, despite Doll being pregnant by a sofa.

After the coronation, the procession of the king and his court comes down the spiral staircase from the top level. As King Henry reaches the balcony, Falstaff calls out to him, and receives his rebuke and rejection. This costs Henry dearly. It’s clear he’s torn. Although he knows he has to reject Falstaff to fully claim his new life, he doesn’t want to hurt him as such, and the emotional cost is clear on his face. After the rabble have been imprisoned in the big wire cage, Henry reappears at the front of the stage, looking directly at Falstaff, and they stare at each other for a long moment, as the LCJ and Prince John, on the balcony, prepare us for the next play. Finally, Henry turns away, and stands alone at the front of the stage as the lights go out. It’s a very good visual and emotional image to end on.

One point I missed going through – at the start of these plays, members of the cast have been coming on to ask the audience to switch off mobiles, etc. Tonight it was the turn of Hal himself, and Geoffrey Streatfeild did a lovely bit of hesitation before announcing which play was on tonight, as if he couldn’t quite remember. Also, immediately after his father’s death, Hal appears dressed in black to talk to his brothers and the LCJ. This is the only time he wears this colour in this production, and for me it signals his change of allegiance, as well as simply being his mourning clothes. For the coronation, however, he’s back to his splendid white, so it won’t just be business as usual with this king. Roll on tomorrow and Henry V.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Henry IV part 1 – January 2008

8/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Thursday 17th January 2008

This was a huge improvement on the first performance we saw, way back in August last year. At that time, the production seemed terribly under-rehearsed and unsure of itself. Now it’s come together wonderfully, to give us a really good look at this “roaring” play.

The main improvement is in the performance of Hal himself (Geoffrey Streatfeild). From his earlier, rather stiff performance, he’s blossomed into a lively, energetic prince, full of expression and fun, enjoying the tricks he and Poins get up to, and holding his own in banter with Falstaff. He also shows more of the king to be, albeit in small glimpses. When swearing to the king that he would do great deeds which would shine so bright as to obscure his murky past, he was sincere, but it was still bravado – he hasn’t done any of it yet. It was noticeable how the king’s attitude changed as Harry showed his worth on the battlefield; he obviously realised he had been mistaken.

The dialogue with Falstaff came off remarkably clearly. I think the main problem I have with the language in this play is the archaic terms, which make it difficult to follow. It’s easier when the nobles are discussing war plans, as they tend not to get too highfalutin – it’s a practical business, warfare, at least under this regime. But in the playful exchanges down Eastcheap way, the language can stretch and scratch its balls, so to speak, and it often does.

The playfulness between Hal and Falstaff also came across more tonight. I liked the way Hal impersonates his father’s posture when playing him, and his delivery of “I do, I will” gave me the impression of the boy growing up into the man, and seeing what he will have to become. Mistress Quickly’s reactions to Falstaff’s portrayal of the king seemed stronger; she was really enjoying herself tonight. In general, David Warner’s performance as Falstaff seemed more assured. I expect this was partly because Hal himself was giving him more to work with.

The scene with Hotspur ranting and raving went a little better tonight. There’s still too little reaction from his father and uncle though. After a lifetime of listening to the lad shout the odds at every opportunity, you’d think they’d be a bit tired of it by now, but these two were pretty stoic about it all, except when Hotspur’s yelling after the king. I’ve seen it done with much more reaction, and as well as being funnier, it allows the other characters to breathe a bit, too.

I enjoyed the “anon, anon” sketch last time. I could see what Hal was trying to do – get Poor Francis, the drawer, to reply “anon, anon” to everything he says. It’s a pretty shabby trick, but then nobles in Shakespeare’s play don’t always act nobly. The timing didn’t work quite so well tonight, I felt.

The fight between Hal and Hotspur was interesting. Hotspur is obviously the odds-on favourite, with his wealth of experience at killing people, but Hal’s learned some sneaky tricks during his time at Eastcheap, and puts them to good use here. He actually bites Hotspur at a crucial moment, which floors him, literally, and then Hal can finish him off. Except that this Hotspur refuses to be killed. Terminator-like, he heaves himself across the stage, still trying to kill his opponent, but eventually the red eyes flicker and die, as it were, and Hotspur is finally dead. Not that that will settle things. Falstaff’s quick to claim the glory, and here Hal is surprisingly willing to let him, and even seems glad about it. It’s surprising because one of Hal’s reasons for playing the dissolute prince-about-town was to gain all the greater glory when he shows his true colours. I would have thought he’d be at least a little miffed that Falstaff steals his thunder.

For the robbery scene, the almost compulsory rope work was involved, and I liked Bardolph’s interpolations of “shit” and “bollocks” when he couldn’t get up the ropes to get away. I’m sure Will would have approved.

Before the battle, I noticed for the first time that Hotspur’s arguments to his wavering colleagues are identical to those that Hal will use later before the battle of Agincourt. The fewer soldiers, the greater the glory. With Hotspur, I get the impression he’s just saying it for himself, as a natural expression of his belligerent nature. With Hal, it becomes a tremendously stirring speech, designed to rouse his men for battle. This was one of the many ways I see these two characters being contrasted and compared throughout these plays. Both give their fathers concern, though for different reasons. Both have similar attitudes to war and power, and in many ways they could have been great friends. But their respective positions on either side of a power divide make that impossible. It’s similar to the way the king and Falstaff are contrasted as Hal’s two ‘fathers’. It’s debatable how much Hal takes after either of them in the end, although he certainly learns all he can from each.

Another change was that the audience on the far side of the stage was encouraged to stand up to become the “pressed men” referred to in the text. Mildly amusing, perhaps, but I’m not sure how much that sort of thing can be inflicted on an audience. Did they really have to stand up, or could they just have been indicated by the actors? Anyway, it shows this cast are more comfortable working with the audience and playing off them than ever before.

Finally, I really appreciated the diversity of language in this play, after the total verse of Richard II. It made the whole piece seem more alive. And why ‘roaring’? Well, Hotspur roars, Falstaff roars, King Henry roars, Hal roars (occasionally), even Mistress Quickly roars (with laughter). There’s so much roaring in this production that any escaped lions from Dudley zoo would have felt quite at home. As it was, I’m glad there weren’t any lions; it made the whole experience much more enjoyable.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Richard II – January 2008

8/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Wednesday 16th January 2008

At last! I managed to sit through over three hours of drama with hardly a cough! Wonderful. And on top of all that, we got to see a production that has already become an old friend – we shall miss seeing it every few months (only now we’re thinking of doing some of the plays again, in London, so who knows?).

Our seats this time were as far round as you could get, and in the front row. I was a bit worried about the gardening scene, in case we were sprayed, but the chap at the cloakroom reckoned it was the high numbers who were in for a soaking. So much more fun when it’s someone else, isn’t it? We still had a pretty good view, and as well as seeing a different emphasis in some scenes, there were some additional details that I hadn’t seen at all before. It’s possible these were new, though I suspect some were simply hidden from us in the past. There were lots of lines I lost in the first half, as the receiver for the headset was set to the wrong channel – now I know how to deal with that in future – but everything was clear as a bell in the second half. Incidentally, these seats had a different risk – that of getting our eyes poked out by the sword tips that were swishing around, but fortunately no doctor was required.

There were a number of changes that I noticed, and a number of things that struck me this time. There seemed to be a reduced amount of sand falling on Richard. Steve and I remembered it lasting through the Queen’s chat with him. I spotted the eyeing that both the future Henry VI and Queen Margaret gave each other at the end of the gardening scene – another example of carrying the characters through the set of plays. When Bolingbroke refers to himself as “a trueborn Englishman”, I was reminded that Richard was born in France, as Paul Edmondson mentioned this afternoon. Throughout the opening scene, Richard looked scared – I took this to be his fear that Mowbray will implicate him in Gloucester’s death. The ending gave an extra sense of the guilt weighing Henry down, with Richard’s body lying in his coffin at the foot of the steps, and Henry himself finding it harder to walk up them. I also found the explicit use of Bagot as the murderer, in place of Exton, a lot clearer this time. I heard all of the Duchess of Gloucester’s speech this time – nicely done – and in general the performance had the feel of a cast well used to the play, putting in extra details here and there, bringing out even more of the resonances and echoes. At the end, as Richard is dying – he has to have a few lines before he finally snuffs it, of course – he seemed to be hunched over a bit, in reference to the later Richard?

At the start, I was more aware of the formality of the dance, the sound of feet on floor (ballet only seems glamorous till you hear the thuds and thumps), the complete absence of music, and the presence of dead Gloucester. It’s as if we were watching from behind thick glass, as if the sound had been taken away (mostly), and the movements were all. From this point, I was more aware of the spectacle of Richard’s court; that he was all mouth and no action. Paul had also mentioned that this was one of only four plays that Shakespeare had written entirely in verse, and I realised that contributed to the artificial nature of everyone’s behaviour. I can’t remember how long Gloucester stayed on the stage before – this time he left during his widow’s speech.

The preparations for the duel seemed more elaborate than I remember, but that may just have been the different perspective. I did notice that Richard starts out by asking the Marshal to find out who these men were, and why they were here to fight – as if he didn’t know! This added to the theatricality of the proceedings – everyone’s playing a role. (And doesn’t Shakespeare love playing with that idea!) Richard is more dismissive of Henry than I remember, ignoring him after they first speak, and the oath swearing bit was dropped, Mowbray exiting on the line “To dwell in solemn shades of endless  night”.

The next scene, where Richard’s mates are lolling about in comfort while his wife stands around, looking like a spare chastity belt at an orgy, served to give more emphasis to Richard’s dubious relationships. It includes a lovely song which all the men are singing, and which I don’t remember happening before. When Richard arrives to visit John of Gaunt, after a splendid “sceptred isle” I may add, Richard is clearly put out at the way Gaunt refuses to play the part of a loyal, happy subject, fulfilling Richard’s fantasy of himself as a divinely ordained King for whom everything goes wonderfully well. He moves quickly from pampered happiness to pouty sulks, and John of Gaunt’s tongue-lashing gives him plenty of opportunity for that. At first, with Gaunt’s clever punning on his own name, the court is happy, as he seems to be finally joining in with the spirit of the age, but that soon changes.

The Duke of York is even more of a dither when the news comes that Bolingbroke has landed. Northumberland’s flattery of Bolingbroke, by saying that his company has made the journey seem lovelier, is stronger this time, and contrasts really well with the opening of Henry’s reign, when everyone’s being nasty to everyone else, flinging gages right, left and centre. There’s a huge heap of them in the middle of the stage by the time Henry calls for Richard to come and hand over his crown.

Before this, in the scene where Richard arrives back in England, we see both the epitome of Richard’s fantasising, and the beginning of his awakening to reality. He’s up and down like an emotional yo-yo, playing at being a royal king, then despairing and lashing out at supposed betrayers. The language is wonderfully moving, and Scroop’s way of delivering the news tightens the screw beautifully. First off, he’s incredibly long-winded about how bad his news is, then he takes ages to mention minor details like the Duke of York’s gone over to the other side, you don’t have any troops, etc. I found myself feeling more sympathy than usual for Richard at this point. He’s a child-king, never able to develop properly, and that’s as much part of his downfall as his other failings.

Back in hetero-land, Richard’s about to give us some of Will’s best language as he hands over his crown. We reckoned there was less of the physical tug-of-war this time, more emphasis on the language. I could see a bit of Richard’s reflection in the mirror from this side, and I wondered how easy it would be for an actor to play this scene without having a real reflection to look at. A question for another production, I think.

I enjoyed the “pardon” scene, along with its precursor. The duchess actually sits on York’s lap to try and prevent him from going to the king, and she’s just as insistent as ever when she finally turns up at court. After that, it’s just the slaying of the ex-king and the final reports of dead traitors, complete with bloody heads (in bags). The gore and sand were as before – a messy business, these histories.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Chains – December 2007

8/10

By: Elizabeth Baker

Directed by: Auriol Smith

Venue: Orange Tree Theatre

Date: Saturday 15th December 2007

This was our first trip to the Orange Tree, and everything about it was enjoyable. The theatre itself is small but beautifully formed, has nice loos, and a civilised cup of tea at the start helped a lot. I noticed a sign about post-show discussions after every Thursday matinee, so that will be something to look forward to on our next visit.

The play was written in 1909, and gives a good account of life at that time for those at the bottom of the white collar employment ladder – the clerks. Supposedly in safe, well-paying jobs, they were being worked like machines (quill-drivers), and just as much at risk of losing their jobs as anyone nowadays. Or if they kept their job, it was only by accepting a salary cut.

We get to see the different opinions and choices made by a group of people in this category. Charley Wilson is a clerk with the usual far-off “prospects”, married to Lily. To make ends meet they have a lodger, Fred Tenant (bit obvious, that). Lily has a sister, Maggie, and a brother, Percy, both of whom look set to be married. Her parents, Alfred and Mrs Massey (honest, that’s what she’s called in the program), also appear after the interval, and there’s a neighbour, Morton Leslie, a big hulk of a man who keeps insisting on climbing over the wall and wreaking havoc on Charley’s garden every time, to sounds of clanging and clattering off stage.

The action starts as Charley and Fred arrive back after their Saturday (Saturday!) stint in the office, and Fred tells Charley he’s off to Australia to make a better life for himself. This is unsettling news for both husband and wife. Lily’s more concerned about getting another lodger; in fact she suggests to Charley later that they could get two lodgers, if he clears his plant cuttings out of the small bedroom. Charley’s upset because he also wants to break free from the chains of office life, and over the course of Saturday and Sunday he decides to make the break. The final revelation on Monday morning stops him in his tracks, and we see him taking on the burden of a monotonous life of drudgery in order to support his family. I’m still not sure whether Lily knows she’s won a sort of victory at the end, or whether her serenity, bordering on smugness, is just due to her natural good temper.

The set and the auditorium were as one. Intimate doesn’t fully describe the closeness. It looked like we’d invaded someone’s living room, put in the audience seats and audience, and let them carry on with their lives. The far wall had wallpaper and pictures on it, behind the audience, and people in the front row were centimetres from the action, if that. Mind you, the whole performance space was less than ten metres square, so cosiness is a given.

The first two acts and the last were in the same room – Charley and Lily’s living room – while act three, after the interval, was in Lily’s parent’s sitting room. The set was changed during the interval, and I was wondering how they’d change it back for the final scene. Different covers had been put on the settee and comfy chair, the fire, carpet and tables had all been moved, and it took a while. The actual change was a lovely piece of staging. Col Farrell, playing Mr Massey, stayed in character, while the other actors became stage hands and started moving all the furniture back in a very organised way. Mr Massey obviously wanted to carry on reading his paper and smoking his pipe, but kept being moved on by the others. Eventually, he sits in a wooden chair, thinking he’s done, and his wife comes along and snatches the paper away. By this time, the set has been completely changed, and he looks around in amazement, realises he’s in the wrong house, and scuttles off. Beautifully done.

All the performances were excellent. Amy Noble, as Lily, was in her first professional role, and carried it off remarkably well. Octavia Walters played Lily’s sister Maggie with a lot of spirit; she’s the one who supports Fred’s plans to go to Australia and helps to fuel Charley’s enthusiasm for a new life. Col Farrell was very good in a small role as Lily’s father, kind hearted but seeing no need for change, and Justin Avoth as Charley Wilson held it all together well. His difficulties in making up his mind were the central issue in the play, and we get to see a slice of Edwardian life that I hadn’t known about before. I found it a very well-written and interesting play, and a very good production.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Fiddler On The Roof – October 2007

10/10

Book by Joseph Stein, music by Jerry Bock, lyrics by Sheldon Harnick

Directed by: Lindsay Posner

Venue: Savoy Theatre

Date: Saturday 27th October 2007

This was only ever going to be 10/10, from long before it started. I was sobbing before the opening music, as Steve reminded me of the signature image of the fiddler on the roof (trust him not to have seen the film, not know who was in it apart from Topol, but to remember the name of the fiddler!) and that set me off. Sorry about this, it’s been an emotional afternoon, and I’m still recovering.

This was absolutely wonderful. I’m so glad we took the opportunity to get up to London and check out the ticket availability (half-price ticket booth, of course). Henry Goodman as Tevye was superb. It’s a part he was born to play, and from what we know of him, he’ll have thrown himself into it body and soul. It shows. He was a huge presence on stage, not drowning out the others, but always holding it together, keeping us involved, and giving us most of the laughs. Even the smallest change of expression came across back in row P. And his singing voice was a revelation. His range was wider than I expected, sort of a bass-baritone, and it was wonderfully rich and expressive. Of course, we bought the cast recording, so I’ll have plenty of opportunities to appreciate it again.

All of the cast were good, of course, and the energy they put into this performance was amazing. I only wish they could have a space like the Olivier to show off their talents even more, as occasionally the Savoy stage looked a little cramped. I know it’s meant to be a small village, but this is make-believe, after all. The set was all tattered wooden slats and beams. The revolve came in handy to change the setting quickly, but there was still a lot of table and chair shifting to do. Fortunately, there was  always some music to keep us engrossed, so the momentum was never lost.

What else can I say? There were lots of laughs, some great dancing, the fiddler was very good (dancing-wise), the orchestra were fine, the dream sequence vivid and highly amusing, and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, with occasional intervals. I wasn’t the only one enjoying it, either, as we gave Tevye a standing ovation at the end, and would have carried on applauding if there hadn’t been one of those charity appeals to do. Henry Goodman managed it very well, including an impromptu comment about accidents after a loud thump came from off-stage, and we all went away happy, and singing to ourselves. Happy day.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Parade – October 2007

8/10

Book by Alfred Uhry, Music and lyrics by Jason Robert Brown, Co-conceived by Harold Prince

Directed and choreographed by: Rob Ashford

Venue: Donmar Warehouse

Date: Wednesday 24th October 2007

This was a marvellous experience – the first time I’d seen a musical in the intimate space that is the Donmar. I had no idea how they would fit it all in, but it worked superbly. The set was basically a wooden frame with a raised platform at the back and stairs on the right up to a wooden balcony which could be the office of the factory, a fishing perch by a stream, etc. Chairs and tables were brought on as needed.

The story concerns a real life event in Atlanta, Georgia back in 1913-15. A teenage girl was found murdered in the basement of a factory, and the factory manager, a white Jew from New York, was accused, tried and convicted for her murder, despite the amazingly dubious testimony from the locals, who had been whipped into a frenzy of racist loathing and desire for revenge by the combined efforts of the press, the politicians and the clergy. It’s a powerful story, and one of the amazing things about this production is the way it manages to make us laugh at things that are pretty dark. On more than one occasion I found myself laughing at something and wondering if I really should be. For example, the first song in the second half is a wonderful number where two black characters, Angela and Riley, get to put their point of view about the whole furore. They’re clearing the table after the governor and his wife have finished breakfast, and as they do, they’re commenting on how different it would be if a black man had been convicted, or if a black girl had been killed. Comments about how often you see black men hanging from trees didn’t spoil my enjoyment of the energy and humour of the song, yet the images are shocking, and the contradiction seems to underscore that fact. I feel more moved now than when I was watching it, and maybe that’s the intention. We weren’t beaten over the head about the moral issues, but they snuck in while we weren’t looking and took up permanent residence. Sadly, we weren’t allowed to call for encores, or this number would have worn out the actors before it wore us out.

As would a number of other routines. The dancing was fast and furious at times, though not so much when the stage was packed, obviously, and the standard seemed pretty high to me. I loved the party scene where the governor is stepping out (in the dancing sense) with every pretty girl he can get his hands on, and I especially liked his grimace as he realised he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

The singing was also excellent. Malinda Parris and Shaun Escoffery (Angela and Riley) were particularly good, with Shaun’s voice resonating beautifully and powerfully as he sang a blues number later, on the chain gang. I also felt Bertie Carvel gave an excellent performance as Leo Frank, the Jewish New Yorker who felt like a fish out of water in the South. He was totally confused by the way the local Jews seemed to do things the southern way, rather than the Jewish way. His discomfort was clear to see, and well expressed in some witty song lyrics. It explained a lot of his behaviour around southern folk, and why he acted so strangely. It was bound to make them suspicious anyway, although the pressure was on very early for a quick resolution, and something more special than just hanging another “nigra”.

The most moving part for me was the scene between Leo and his wife, Lucille, in the prison. With his sentence commuted to life imprisonment, Leo’s been moved to a secret location to prevent public disorder, and gets a chance to see his wife. He’s learned a lot about what really matters, and tells her in a very moving song about how much she means to him. I cried. After that, it’s an emotional rollercoaster, as hooded men snatch Leo from his cell and take him away to lynch him. Paradoxically, they’re prepared to let him live out his life in prison if he confesses and repents, but determined to hang him if he continues to claim he’s innocent. Wonky thinking, if you ask me, but then nobody did. There’s a final scene where the journalist gives Lucille Leo’s wedding ring, and then we’re into the finale and a standing ovation for this magnificent company – well deserved. I’m looking forward to getting the cast recording.

The only thing that didn’t quite gel with me was the recurrent theme of the old soldier and his erstwhile girlfriend who was willing to wait for him while he went off to the Civil War. I understood the scene at the start to be establishing the romantic patriotism of these folk, and their determination to defend their state at all costs during the war (even though they did, in fact, lose), but I wasn’t so clear about the other times these characters reappeared during the play. I couldn’t see what they were meant to represent then.

However, that’s only a minor point, and overall the intelligence and wit of this musical was good to see. Reminiscent of Sondheim, the music has themes which echo and repeat, building up complex layers of meaning as different characters take the tune or lines and use them in a different way. “Go on, go on, go on, go on” is one example, used by Mary Phagan and Frankie Epps early on as we find out just how precocious thirteen year old Mary (the murder victim) actually is, and used again during Angela and Riley’s song. There’s also an amazing sequence as Leo acts out the lecherous behaviour the girls are accusing him of at his trial, another brilliant performance from Bertie Carvel. If only this was sort of thing that packed ‘em in in the West End. Ah well.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me