Guest Post: Henry VI Parts 1-3

Yorkists and Lancastrians square off. Just another Manic Monday.

Well, you've read me bang on about Henry VI so it's about time someone else got in on the act. So I pass the blog torch over to my wife Cate, who had the pleasure (pressure) of watching the whole trilogy with me (start to finish!). So let's here the views of someone who doesn't always share my love for the creaky sets, slow pace and grandstanding acting of the BBC from the 1970s. Over to you Cate!

As a historian, I confess I’m often not a fan of Shakespeare’s history plays – I just can’t detach from the glaring historical errors and view them as fiction, particularly not since Shakespeare’s version has often over-written reality in the general consciousness. As a fervent Ricardian, I have even greater problems with his Wars of the Roses plays – seeing Shakespeare’s Richard of Gloucester gleefully murdering people at a time when the real Richard was a child of eight makes my teeth grind every time.

The Henry plays also have several substantial chunks which I feel could be cut entirely with no great loss to world literature. I get that Jack Cade is terribly thematic, but blimey he’s dull – and do we really need all that French action in Part 1? And – shameless personal prejudice – I’m also much less tolerant of outdated production values than Ali is! So really I ought to have hated these films, but in the end I found a lot to admire. The historical-pedant side of my brain couldn’t be stopped from screaming periodically, but the theatre-nerd part thoroughly enjoyed a lot of the stage-craft.

The slavish literalism of many of the previous films had been almost entirely done away with – no painstakingly constructed interiors or (still worse) trips out to film in a forest here. Intelligently tackling the sweeping nature of the plot, an abstract set was used not only to cover everything from English prison cells to French battlefields, but also to communicate and reflect the deterioration of the realm itself – fading gradually from hopeful primary colours in Part 1 into faded, muddy tones, to finally a bleak monochrome with sooty timbers and blackened armour standing out against a melancholic snowfall. Brilliantly, the costumes evolved in a mirroring fashion through the three plays. Not only did they echo the degeneration in colour palette – fading from the cheery pastels and bold primary tones of medieval illuminations into grim, scruffy tones of black and grey – but the styles evolved as well. 

By the time the saga concluded, the action had passed into the hands of a rougher, more brutal generation, corrupted by (or taking advantage of) the civil war and absence of authority around them: and accordingly, the ornate, brightly coloured and rather cumbersome costumes of the early players had been replaced by dark, brigand-like outfits cobbled together from rough armour, headbands and an awful lot of weaponry, solely designed for maximum effectiveness in a fight. By the middle of Part 3, we hadn’t seen a splash of colour in a long time, and the sudden rush of blues and silvers when the action moves to the French court, or the blood-red of Lancastrian banners at Towton, was a visual jolt.  

The filming too took a leap forward imaginatively. I enjoyed the trick of actors delivering their asides slyly into the camera, making the viewer complicit in their schemes and plots. Still more impressive was the effective use of stylized tableaux and sequences – the outstanding ones for me being Talbot’s last stand and the moment where mirrors were used to create a huge, synchronized, almost mythical-looking army from about three actual actors at Towton. 

The performances, though, were a mixed bag. In the lead roles, I very much enjoyed Peter Benson as the gentle and ineffectual King Henry – he managed to somehow be both hopeless and endearing at the same time. He also had a remarkable gift for making you stop noticing him right in the middle of a scene, fading away to the background while your attention was caught by more strident characters. It was a generous performance, as well as an accomplished one, allowing others to constantly seize the centre stage. On the other hand, from her first entrance I loathed Julia Foster as Queen Margaret – strident, grating and stroppy, she lacked the range to tackle either the romantic Suffolk scenes or her early subtler manipulation of Henry. In her hands, Margaret was a bully and a scold, without vulnerability, guile or complexity. All of this was particularly frustrating since Margaret is one of Shakespeare’s best roles for women – there are enough plays out there where women only get to play one or two emotions, to see a multi-faceted role like this reduced to a one-note caricature was painful.

Elsewhere in the cast, it was a similar story. While Bernard Hill made a charismatic and watchable York, and Brian Protheroe was good as a shallow Edward of March, Mark Wing-Davey failed to summon the inflated pride that would make Warwick pivot on a sixpence over nothing more than a thwarted marriage alliance and suddenly swear allegiance to the woman he’d spent the last 11 hours of drama fighting, and Ron Cook as Richard of Gloucester failed to convince as a villain who could smile, and murder while he smiled. But perhaps I’m being unfair on that last one. Like I said at the beginning, I’m never going to love Shakespeare’s most enduring piece of character assassination.

And with that, I’ll conclude my guest appearance on the blog!

Henry VI Part 3 (Series 5 Episode 5)

First transmitted 16th January 1983

The York faction celebrate (but it's short lived) as Henry VI enters its third part

Cast: John Benfield (Northumberland/Hunstman), Peter Benson (Henry VI), Antony Brown (King Lewis/Sir John Montgomery/Lieutenant of the Towe), Michael Byrne (Montague/Father That Kills His Son), Paul Chapman (Rivers), Ron Cook (Richard of Gloucester), Rowena Cooper (Queen Elizabeth), Arthur Cox (Somerset/Sir John Mortimer), David Daker (Hastings), Brian Deacon (Oxford), Tenniel Evans (Messenger/Keeper/First Watchman/Sir William Stanley), Derek Farr (Exeter/Mayor of York/Rutland’s Tutor/Second Watchman), Julia Foster (Queen Margaret), Derek Fuke (Westmoreland/Post/Third Watchman), Alex Guard (Son That Kills His Father/Dorset), Bernard Hill (York), Paul Jesson (George of Clarence), Melinda Kendall (Lady Bona), Oengus MacNamara (Young Clifford/Messenger), Brian Protheroe (Edward IV), Nick Reding (Prince Edward), Mark Wing-Davey (Warwick), Peter Wyatt (Norfolk/Second Keeper)

Director: Jane Howell

Well it’s been quite a journey – and quite a pleasure! I loved seeing these productions years ago, and it’s been great to sit down and enjoy all 13 hours (count ‘em!) again this time. So let me say it again – this is a major artistic achievement, and if these productions had been delivered on stage rather than through the box, they would have been talked about as landmarks. The best news is Richard III is still to come. I should probably also name-check at this moment my wife Cate, who succumbed to my pleading to watch this trilogy with me. Perhaps because I ran out of superlatives, you can hear what she thought of the whole thing in her Guest blog post here!

Needless to say this is another excellent episode in this ongoing drama of a country folk tearing each other apart. After the calmer pace of the Part Two, this returns to the frentic style with each battle (of which there are many) rolling inexorably into the next. The difference from the first half – which now seems a bit of jolly hockeysticks compared to the slaughter here – is this play drips with blood, violence and sadism and the humour is pitch black. It’s enough to make you wonder how nihilistic the final part of this series, Richard III, is going to be – particularly knowing that will see the demise of nearly all the characters left alive at the conclusion of this one.

It’s that grim “butcher’s toll” that really keeps this play moving. Stylistic echoes of death stretch throughout the plays. How many times now have we seen a leading character, his body broken, slumped and looking up at the camera, reflecting on the futility of war? Just as Talbot in Part One and Cade in Part Two, so York, Clifford (a great performance of menace and blind hatred from Oengus MacNamara) and Warwick here, their blooded bodies a witness to the emptiness of the cause that has consumed them. York in particular finally signs off on his long campaign for the crown, hunted, assaulted, mocked and lynched in an extended scene of humiliation and pain. And those are only the most prominent of the deaths here, as extras aplenty meet graphic and brutal ends.

Contrasts with the previous chapters of the trilogy are used throughout to heighten the sense of violence. Where Part Two begins with a ceremonial entrance into the court, Part Three opens with the same courtroom, but this time with Yorkist axes caving the door in. Similarly, while the first shot of Part One is a state funeral, here the camera pans over a series of mangled bodies from the Battle of St Albans. The fast pace of Part One is replicated throughout the second part of the play, this time with a far darker mood and atmosphere. There are also interesting stylistic flourishes in the play around the number three and framing of groups of three: most clearly of course in the three sons of York, artfully arranged to watch the rising of three sons, but echoed as well in the framing of Warwick, Margaret and Edward in A3 S5, and several other characters throughout – which is both a nice in joke, but also a comment on the uneasy alliances at the heart of this play. There is also a welcome return of the “straight to camera address” here used with dark effect, as characters appeal to the camera for sympathy, relief or to let off steam – only Richard tips the odd sly wink (though not as many as you would think!).

The battle scenes have increased in scale. All attempts to distinguish between the sides have been largely abandoned, everyone instead consumed in some hellish melee. The costumes are now so similar, that each side blends into each other in a series of brutal skirmishes, with camera angles switching from wide angles to tight angles (to capture the violence), and frequent use of slow-mo and reduced sound to accentuate each blow being delivered. Two battles stand out in particular. In A2 S2 at the Battle of Towton, mirrors create seemingly never ending rows of soldiers moving towards each other, ranks of impersonal figures moving in sequence. In A5 S5 an apocalyptic Battle of Tewkesbury takes place in the snow, like a destructive ash spread over the combatants. What works particularly well here is the build-up to this battle, as a battered Lancastrian army assembles – the faces of every character clearly shows they know they can’t win, with Margaret’s pep talk doing little more than stir their courage – and the off-camera sound of the approach of the Yorkist sounds like some medieval WMD, about to wipe the Lancastrians off the face of the earth.

All this of course takes place within a darkened, faded and extremely damaged set, now only a distant relative of the bright and colourful location of Part One. Doors are rotten and stained with fire. All colour has disappeared from the wood. Fabrics and clothes are darkened and militaristic – Warwick and York still wear the same armour as in Part One but the colours have decayed and faded beyond recognition. The contrast is really noticed when the French characters appear in A3 S3, still in their blues and brightness – even their slightly camp attitude and demeanour – which really causes them to stand out from the increasingly serious and grim English characters. It’s an explosion of everything that has been building throughout the previous plays.

We now live in a world where it is everyman for himself, and factions promote their own interests with no interest in the realm at large. Howell constantly frames the various factions, and factions within factions, together – a series of confrontational group line-ups, facing down all attempts at reason and negotiation. The characters are all totally unprincipled about alliances for fortune – Oxford and Margaret may meet Warwick coldly on his defection, but they are have no doubts about working with him. Paul Jesson’s excellent performance as Clarence as a naked opportunist and mercenary, rolling from alliance to alliance with no sense of loyalty or affection for others is in many ways an even better expression of this, than Ron Cook’s disillusioned and angry Richard. No wonder they are all so ruthless – Margaret’s cruel taunting and near lynching of York (Bernard Hill bowing out on a real high with a performance of arrogance and ruthlessness collapsing into furious, emotional defiance), is just one of several brutal ends – among them Clifford and Warwick.

Both these deaths pale however against the brutal murder of Prince Edward, whose stabbing is so shocking and cruel (and the reaction of Margaret so pained) that the assembled Yorkist lords seem hardly able to watch. Edward in particular seems appalled that he has behaved so violently – so clearly against his self-image as the “Good King”, while Hastings and the Grey family are shocked into horrified silence (Hastings even crouching impotently behind a grieving Margaret). This is particularly striking as Prince Edward himself is portrayed as fearful but bravely facing his end. The stark single shot here – and the framing of the violence against the snow white background – lend a real emotional force and bleakness to this final brutal murder that will secure Edward’s throne – and seems to lay the emotional groundwork for the nightmare that will be Richard III - it’s easy to see why this one murder will resonate so strongly within that play - particularly as it is so rarely seen in the context of the three previous plays.

The final slaughter is the murder of Henry VI himself, who meets his end in a darkened room in the tower. Benson’s soft spoken Henry is as gloriously ineffectual here, as he has been throughout the trilogy, from weakly confronting York in A1 S1 (and actually trying to run away rather than confront Margaret) to walking shell shocked across Towton in A2 S5, listening with a heartbroken tenderness to the Father and the Son, utterly unable to understand or comprehend man’s violence, a wistful sadness as he sees the dead around him – the same emotions he will display in A4 S6 when talking with Exeter, a complete lack of comprehension about why he is not loved and respected as a king. By contrast, in his final moments he displays more strength of purpose and defiance than he has in the rest of his life. The scene itself uses some subtle Christian imagery – light cast on bars to form a cross, bread and wine on the table where Henry sits – although the final crucifixation pose of Henry himself is less subtle.

Most of the action of Part Three is increasingly driven by Richard of Gloucester, here representing the embodiment of a “new world order” of violence and deceit. Ron Cook’s performance is perhaps most notable because it is delivered in a very low-key style, a bitter man, who has spent a lifetime being demeaned and insulted by those around him. This is clear in A5 S5, where in his murder of Henry he seems at least as motivated by the insults and “home truths” Henry gives him, culminating in a frenzied stabbing and a bitter mission statement of future villainy. Aside from this moment, it’s his calm intelligence that really stands out, mixed in with a genuine sense of melancholy and even depression in his major speech in A3 S2. Cook’s Richard cannot gain pleasure from anything: it is suggested his idolisation of his father is his one tether to the real world (he cuddles up to him like a baby in A1 S3) – once that is gone, everything is open season.

If Richard is the new world, then Warwick is the old world. Mark Wing-Davey comes into his own in this Part, as the last man standing of the major lords introduced in Part One. What is particularly effectively in his performance is the sense that Warwick himself is deliberately altering and adjusting his personality to fit his new self-perception as an elder statesman. He is noticeably calmer and cooler, his pride and ambition now clearly central parts of his personality – his fury in A3 S3 is all based around his intense anger at being humiliated by Edward. With the death of York, Warwick’s primary aim – and you can see it in the framing and body language in A2 S1 – is to establish himself as the true leader of the Yorkist faction (helped by the fact that he treats Edward and George like children – they even literally sit at his feet to hear his instruction on what they should do next). He may have an emotional core – as seen in his reaction to the death of his father in A2 S3 and his pain at York’s loss – but it is pride that drives him on here and leads to the destructive Acts 4 and 5 of the play. It’s a subtle and effective way of making Warwick both an antagonist and a protagonist.

By contrast Brian Protheroe’s Edward is far more of a playboy figure, a man elevated into a leadership role but clearly unsuited to it, lacking any moral authority. After the death of York, he seems lost – flinging himself into Warwick’s arms like a child – seating himself subseviently at Warwick’s feet, practically asking to be told what to do. Later, when faced with defections in response to his marriage, he seems like a horny, stroppy teenager. What balances this really well though is the flashes of self-doubt and fear – before battles, when facing Warwick – that subtly suggest a man out of his depth. The importance to him of his self-image is clear in the aftermath of Prince Edward’s murder, where he seems barely able to believe he has committed the crime – let alone actually look at the consequences of his actions.

The one performer in the cycle that I have struggled with has been Julia Foster as Margaret. Foster, for me, has often been too one-note, to sharp tongued and hard in tone for her to be really convincing as anything other than the “she-wolf” of France she becomes in this play (it hardly seems much of a journey since she is a pretty harsh person from day one). So this Part does at least play more to her strengths – even though it effectively means that she hits the same notes she had been delivering in Parts One and Two, just even harder (her mocking of York is only a few degrees harsher than her mocking of Gloucester in Part Two). 

The point where she really nails it though – and it may be because she changes the pace rather than her performance – is Act 5. Her tearful disbelief turning to acceptance of certain defeat in the build-up to the final battle is strangely moving (considering she has expressed no doubt at all in the previous 12 hours of action), as is her desperate attempts to rouse the courage of her men despite her own fear. This then feeds wonderfully into her almost elemental pain at the death of her son, her agony as hard for the viewer to watch as the Yorkists find it. She’s never been, really, the right choice for the part – imagine what Eileen Atkins, Helen Mirren or any other of the wonderful actors in this cycle could have done with the part and its mixture of sensuality and macho aggression – but she makes her best shot at here.

And so that is it for Henry VI! After thirteen hours it’s hard not to feel like breaking out into a celebratory jig, as the triumphant Yorkists do at the end (with a dance sequence inspired by Shakespearean performance, but also stressing their triumphalist relief and their lack of awareness of the destructive force among them). The “trilogy” however continues with Richard III – next up with an uncut four hours of revenge – and the seeds for that have been triumphantly sown here, not only with Richard’s growing anger, but also with the murder of Prince Edward, the development of Margaret and the collapse of any sense of moral force or obligation among the characters. We’ve seen England move from a land where the Royal family rule in the interest of the people to one where our new Royal family are more interested in helping themselves than they are in the people. Compelling material, brilliantly done.

Conclusion

The trilogy comes to a gripping end with a grim parade of battles and violence, as many of the most prominent characters from the previous plays face their end in a bloodbath that makes Game of Thrones look timid. Directorial flourishes are very effectively done, and the acting remains of a very high standard indeed, with Cook, Protheroe, Wing-Davey, Hill and Benson all making strong contributions, while Foster does her best work so far. Some moments here carry an extraordinary power and some sequences are chilling – in particular the murder of Prince Edward. It’s going to be fascinating to see how much of Richard III is repositioned after seeing this – particularly as that murder of Prince Edward is so central to the unedited text. Terrific, terrific stuff – make the effort to see this!

NEXT TIME: No spoilers but it's Ron Cook's time to take the spotlight as Richard III approaches.

Henry VI Part 2 (Series 5 Episode 4)

First transmitted 9th January 1983

Bernard Hill's revolt causes chaos at the court in Henry VI Part Two

Cast: John Benfield (1^st Murderer/Ship’s Master), Peter Benson (Henry VI/Priest), Antony Brown (Walter Whitmore/Alexander Iden), David Burke (Gloucester/Dick the Butcher), Michael Byrne (John Hume/Pirate Captain), Anne Carroll (Duchess of Gloucester) Paul Chapman (Suffolk), Ron Cook (Richard Plantagenet/Peasant), Arthur Cox (Thomas Horner/Lord Clifford), David Daker (Buckingham), Brian Deacon (Somerset/Smith the Weaver), Tenniel Evans (Salisbury/Clerk), Derek Farr (Lord Say), Julia Foster (Queen Margaret), Derek Fuke (Simpcox/George Bovis), Alex Guard (Second Prentice/Michael), Bernard Hill (York), Paul Jesson (John Holland/George Plantagenet), Pat Keen (Margery Jourdain), Gabrielle Lloyd (Simpcox’s Wife), Oengus MacNamara (Young Clifford), Frank Middlemass (Cardinal Beaufort), Trevor Peacock (Sheriff/Jack Cade), Brian Protheroe (Edward Plantagenet), David Pugh (Peter Thump/2^nd Murderer), Mark Wing-Davey (Warwick), Peter Wyatt (Sir Humphrey Stafford)

Director: Jane Howell

The great thing about the Henry VI plays is they really lend themselves to being produced as a complete series, in a way that the more stand alone Richard II, Henry IV Part 1 and Henry V don’t. Not only do they have a consistent cast throughout (and reasonably consistent characterisation), but the plotlines of each play feed naturally into the next. Precisely because these plays lack the thematic complexity and structure of the later (greater) plays, which build to satisfying conclusions within their running times, these epic dramas create a single twelve hour sweep. So while the plays would make little sense performed alone, as a whole they can pack quite a wallop.

Which is definitely what happens here as this second episode in the “series” picks up almost exactly where the previous episode left off: Suffolk has arrived with Margaret, Beaufort and Gloucester still hate each other, York is still planning nationwide domination and Henry is still painfully useless. Our setting remains the same, but (not surprising, considering the slaughter that ended Part One) the playground location is now distinctly bashed and faded, the colours a shadow of what they were before, the wood and paintwork chipped and fading. It’s still the exact same set, but darker, grimier and more imposing, as if with the death of the noble Talbot and his son some of the light and hope has gone out of the world.

The costuming of is also darker, with the bright colours and decorative medieval flourishes of the armour and cloaks largely gone in favour of a browner, more muted colour pallet that gets darker as the play progresses. By the end of the play, as York’s army arrives dressed in stormtrooper black costumes, it’s clear the long night is coming to the world of the play. This faded effect masterfully contrasts the atmosphere of both the production and the play, with this middle chapter of the trilogy being the sudden breath before the deep plummet into civil war. There are some lovely hints of this destruction to come: not least in a scene where York’s young children (two of them future kings) gleefully knock over skittles decorated to resemble the lords at Henry’s court.

The atmosphere of the first half of this production is markedly different from the proceeding part. Alongside the subdued colours, the performance style of the actors is similarly calmer, cooler and more restrained. The glances towards the camera are considerably reduced, with the actors going for a far straighter style, avoiding many of the little touches of comedy that were seen in Part One. This is partly as well due to the enormous sense of dignity that David Burke brings to essentially well-meaning Gloucester, but also an attempt by Howell to give the production a change of pace – a relax from the frenticism of Part One and a contrast to the violence to come – to allow the audience to breathe, but also to give a sense of foreboding over the kingdom itself. It is a bit of a jerk after the fast pace of the previous play – and partly driven by the nature of the writing of the play itself, with its longer court sequences – but it works very effectively once seen as part of the overall piece. 

The other element that Howell brings out extremely well in the play is the growing sense of menace from the people themselves – a menace that will explode once Jack Cade fills the leadership void left by Henry and the other lords. The first half has moments of darkness and corruption simmering throughout. Michael Byrne is central to these moments (another inspired piece of doubling). First he appears as corrupt priest John Hume, chairing a perverse and twisted witch ceremony for Gloucester’s wife (an entertainment he gleefully confides to the camera is all a set-up anyway). Later he appears again as the leader of a punkish group of pirates, like the lost boys on speed, presiding over a mock-trial of Suffolk like a minister of Hell.

But that’s nothing compared to the people themselves. Throughout the opening half of the production, the people are quick to follow a convincing leader and always ready to resort to violence at the slightest prompting. The groundwork is laid with the Simpcox scenes, with the people blindly following “the miracle”, totally lacking the ability to appreciate the deception practised upon them. The violence at the heart of the ordinary man grows from there: in A2 S3 the meek Peter snaps in the “duel” with his master and beats him to death. At the end of A2 S4, as the Duchess of Gloucester is led away, the camera cranes up to focus on the unruly mob sadistically rejoicing in her despair. In A3 S2 the mob charges on following Warwick and Salisbury’s lead, even chanting their single lines in unison together – comic yes, but also showing their essentially sheeplike nature. But the ferocity of their aggression towards Suffolk – the atmosphere of a lynch mob shocks even him – immediately shows their danger if harnessed. Harnessing that no-one in Henry’s circle seem interesting in doing.

All this explodes with the arrival of Jack Cade. Trevor Peacock plays Cade as a sadistic, grotesque version of Talbot, with all his nobility and selfless love for England replaced with greed and a fiendish delight in death and destruction. His Cade has all the leadership skills and rabble-rousing abilities of Talbot – but horribly misapplied. Howell even stages his scenes as parodies of Talbot’s inspiring speeches, with Peacock lazily clambering monkey-like up to the heights of the stage, legs swinging down as he encourages his men. As the violence promoted by Cade grows, Howell transposes Cade’s grinning face over the shots of looting, murder and devastation. The violence Cade unleashes is shockingly real – fires, book burnings, soldiers rocked back and forth and then speared on swords, bodies mutilated, lynchings – which serves as a real contrast to the black comedy of Cade’s attitudes (jokes about killing lawyers and the evils of writing etc.).

This serves to stress the bubbling current of violence that is running throughout the kingdom, from top to bottom. Just as the lords are brutally planning to murder each other, so the people need only the slightest encouragement and endorsement before they are happily ripping bodies apart, burning towns and laughingly beating a man to death. Cade’s lines acknowledging he himself is trapped by the forward momentum of violence ring particularly true here. Howell’s direction shows that Cade is just an opportunist at the right place at the right time – the swiftness with which he is abandoned, yet another indicator of the mob’s lack of loyalty and their readiness to follow the rising sun. But it's violence from top to bottom - numerous severed heads litter scenes, like grim bookmarks.

The violence exploded by Cade is both a continuation and an expansion of the growing reality of death from Part One. All the lords eagerly plan violent deaths for each other, and (with the exception of a horrified Beaufort when confronted with Gloucester’s corpse) all seem very comfortable with the consequences of their actions. So devoid are they of any sense of loyalty and decency, that they constantly ally themselves with long-term enemies to dispose of short-term ones: in particular York, who happily colludes in the destruction of Gloucester with Buckingham and Suffolk. Poor Gloucester, at the centre of much of this conspiracy of the first half, looks as pained and bewildered by this joint enterprise as you would expect – in particular a pained shock crosses David Burke’s face when York (who he previously championed) turns upon him, matched only by his pain when Henry strips him of his staff. Like sharks, the lords turn on anyone displaying weakness – Somerset coolly avoids a fallen Suffolk, Margaret further savages a struggling Gloucester. Is it any wonder the people they rule over are the same? The destruction these attitudes will lead to culminates in the final image of the play: a triumphant York and his sons celebrate their victory in battle, leaving a depressed Salisbury – the one decent man at court – to turn back and (in a POV shot) see the mangled corpses littering the field of battle.

The impact of the violence and chaos Cade and later York bring to the kingdom, seems earned precisely because the first half of the play is delivered in a far more controlled and formal way (both in the playing and the more traditional  film making decisions, avoiding the unusual like direct camera address). By allowing the earlier courtroom scenes to take on a more sombre, foreboding mood – with simmering arguments, political manoeuvrings but a slower tempo in delivery – and encouraging the actors to stage their arguments in a more overtly “Shakespearean” manner, with the threat of violence running underneath each scene but only rarely allowed to escape, the tension has been effectively screwed tight, ready to burst in Part Three. And the violence in the final battle of St Albans is grotesque here, with soldiers brutally murdering each other. A decision to reinforce blows (particularly in the one-on-one battles between key characters) with slo-mo editing and camera work does seem more than a little dated today, but the essential impact of the brutality after the restraint of the opening (and in contrast to the more cartoony tone of Part One) is hugely effective.

Alongside all this excellent thematic material, Howell again uses doubling to great effect. Antony Brown plays the destroyer of the antagonist of the both the first half (Suffolk) and the second (Cade) as first a scowling sinister Whitmore, then an urbane middle-class Iden. David Burke – triumphant as the noble Gloucester in the first half – returns as Dick the Butcher, Cade’s lieutenant, a man as cynical and destructive as Gloucester was old fashioned and principled as Henry’s lieutenant. Arthur Cox plays the bragging Horner who pompously boasts of York’s ascendancy, then returns as the rigidly proud Clifford, preaching the inevitability of Henry’s permanent ascendancy. Trevor Peacock is the most obvious doubling, his performance as Cade a skilful “mirror universe” version of Talbot, as a charismatic thug and murderer. Most of the rest of the cast can be spotted filling out the crowd of Cade’s supporters. The sense of the ensemble is not only really refreshing, but continues to allow excellent opportunities for sly commentaries on roles.

Among the rest of the cast, Peter Benson comes into his own in this part as an outrageously weak and passive Henry, his soft-toned, almost melodic, verse speaking perfect for a man who practically lies down like a doormat for the rest of the court. Often filmed from above or at tight angles that zoom in and out to stress his isolation from the others, Benson is a hand-wringing child throughout this play. From his vacant smiles in A1 S1 at the loss of France, through his starting at a trumpet call in A1 S3, he is consistently ignored or fobbed off by his lords (Beaufort and Gloucester in A2 S1 practically talk over his peace-making attempts) he is man unable to impose himself on anything, who only stares balefully as Gloucester is arrested. Even in his rage against Suffolk, he comes across as a weak man, hopelessly out of his depth. Benson is perfect at embodying this weakness with an air of sympathy and Howell effectively places him often at the back of the frame, a puny childlike man sitting on a throne, dwarfed by the powerful characters around him.

The real “lead” though of Part Two is probably York, brought to life as a quiet, calm, scheming Machiavel by Bernard Hill. Hill brings a brutish, earthy authority to York’s “man of the people stance” while simultaneously presenting the would-be-king as a cold snake, seething with rage and bitterness. What he also does well is explore some of the doubt in York – a man who several times halts and doubts the wisdom of his actions. Although on the surface a man who says what he means, he is also full of low cunning – scheming at the destruction of Gloucester in A1 S4 – even openly grinning to the camera at his own lack of principle. His authoritarian air is also clear in his brow beating of Salisbury (with physical force, at points) into siding with his plan to destroy Gloucester.

There are of course other strong performers. Tenniel Evans excels as Salisbury, possibly the last decent man left at court but one who is too weak to actually stick to his principles. Frank Middlemass’ Beaufort is so full of puffed-up pride, it’s a shock to see him deflate so quickly when actually confronted with the results of his murderous wishes. Mark Wing-Davey’s Warwick grows in authority and confidence. The one performance that doesn’t quite work is Julia Foster as Queen Margaret, who comes across far too harsh, angry and one-note throughout the opening half of the play (particularly in the scenes where she is required to flirt with Paul Chapman’s slimy Suffolk), like a shrill housewife rather than a woman who will dominate the war to come with her force of personality. There is not enough softness there, and scenes such as Suffolk’s departure suffer slightly as a result. It’s a performance that just feels too stagy. However, it is a style that works far better for the scenes of battle and fury that occupy the second half of the play.

But that’s one very small criticism of another outstanding production in this sequence, which continues to bravely reinvent the rules of the series and to shed new, and fascinating, light on these overlooked plays. Civil war is the hell ahead of the country now - Alexander Iden's horrified look at the camera speaks volumes for the deaths and destruction that this war will unleash. It's a horror that hangs over the whole production - the grip anticipation of what will come in Part Three.

Conclusion

Not quite as fun as Part One, but packed with great ideas, skilled performances and some wonderful moments, this both expands and deepens the world Howell has created for this production and again draws outstanding performances from its ensemble cast. The gear shift in tone from Part One is jarring at first (and a bit of a shame) but an essential pause for breath in the long term scheme for the series, and serves to highlight and give depth to the bubbling resentments that are set to explode in the second half of the play and in the rest of the series. Definitely keeping the game up!

NEXT TIME: One final part of Henry VI to come, this time with Ron Cook moving to the foreground as the sinister Richard in Henry VI Part Three.

Henry VI Part 1 (Series 5 Episode 3)

First transmitted 2nd January 1983

Brian Deacon, Bernard Hill, Mark Wing-Davey, David Daker and Paul Chapman choose their favourite flowers. It won't end well.

Cast: John Benfield (Basset/French Sergeant), Peter Benson (Henry VI/Priest), Brenda Blethyn (Joan La Pucelle), Antony Brown (Burgundy), David Burke (Gloucester), Michael Byrne (Alencon), Paul Chapman (Suffolk), Ron Cook (Third Messenger/Porter), Arthur Cox (Mayor/Sir John Fastolfe), David Daker (Reigner/Vernon), Brian Deacon (Somerset), Tenniel Evans (Bedford/Mortimer/French General), Derek Farr (Salisbury/Sir William Lucy), Julia Foster (Margaret), Derek Fuke (Captain/Servant), Alex Guard (Young John Talbot), Bernard Hill (York/Master Gunner), Paul Jesson (Second Messenger), Oengus MacNamara (Messenger/Second Servant), Joanna McCallum (Countess d’Auvergne), Frank Middlemass (Cardinal Beaufort), Joseph O’Conor (Exeter/Shepherd), Trevor Peacock (Sir John Talbot), Brian Protheroe (First Messenger/Bastard of Orleans), David Pugh (Mayor’s Officer/Watchman), Nick Reding (Keeper), Ian Saynor (Dauphin), Mark Wing-Davey (Warwick), Peter Wyatt (Woodville)

Director: Jane Howell

Well cards on the table – I have seen these Henry VI films before. In fact I’ve seen them a couple of times: I even owned them before I purchased this boxset. So I’ve got to say I was already of the opinion that these were some of the finest adaptations of Shakespeare I’ve seen done for television: and re-watching this first episode in the cycle, I’ve not changed my mind. If anything, having seen quite a few of the other films in the cycle, I’m even more impressed with the imagination with which this has been made.

Part of the interest in watching this series has been seeing the slow movement away from the failures of realism towards a more impressionistic style, often more reminiscent of theatre rather than reality. This movement reaches its peak in this second cycle of history plays. I think it’s often fair to say that this is triumphant, because this second cycle of history plays (covering the “minor Henriad” and Richard III) is the most enjoyable, accomplished and impressive production so far, the first to completely successfully marry the joy of live theatre performance with the technical advantages of television to create an experience that could not exist if did not use elements from both.

Most obviously no attempt is made at all to set this play in a real location. Instead the setting is a multi-coloured wooden set, looking rather like an adventure playground, with a raised cyclorama platform and a number of doors and exits around a large courtyard which, with some minor changes, shifts and alters into a variety of different locations but where no attempt is made to suggest that any of them are “real places”, as there were with interior sets in previous history plays. The brightly coloured setting, and the high octane running around and energetic nature of many of the performances is used to brilliantly suggest that this feud between Dukes and Earls is no more than children squabbling over who shall go next on the swings.

Within this setting, the director Jane Howell also chose to avoid the normal televisual convention of one actor for each part. Instead a company of around 30 actors take on all the speaking parts of the cycle, with several taking on multiple roles within this production. What is particularly effective is the intelligent doubling, with actors taking on roles that contrast and comment upon each other. So here we have Bernard Hill playing both York, the man destined to blow the kingdom apart, and the Master Gunner who literally blows up a group of English generals. Joseph O’Conor plays two very different father figures whose advice is rejected by Henry and Joan. Derek Farr’s heroic Salisbury is reincarnated as an honourable but weak Sir William Lucy. This also reflects over multiple productions: Ron Cook, later to play Richard III, appears as a messenger bearing news of doom in France and a hunchbacked porter to the Countess. On top of this the company all do double time as various lords, mourners, courtiers, servants and soldiers in the myriad crowd scenes that fill this production, mixing with an over 20-strong “second ensemble” of extras who play the various French and English soldiers throughout. It’s a brilliant added delight, particularly as each actor so skilfully presents their performances that each character stands alone: Tenniel Evans, in particular, seems markedly different in each of the three roles he plays.

Howell’s direction of Part One uses the high energy of these performers to suggest that this play is positioned at the opening of one long descent into chaos and violence. Notably the first half is surprisingly light and playful, despite the huge numbers of battles. After the opening funeral scene the stage is brightly lit and the costuming chosen is a series of bright primary colours. The battles are represented throughout as almost keystone cops affairs, with actors – their faces plastered with childlike grins – run through doors and up ramps, waving swords and whooping with joy: as if war was all one big game. Which it’s easy to feel like it is within Shakespeare’s play, with the constant fast exchange of French cities, swopping sides as quickly as weathervanes in a strong wind. Even the clashes at courts between gangs of rival factions seem more like playground wrestling matches rather than events where actual killing and murder are not far off.

All this changes in the second half of the production, which is notably much darker visually, with the consequences of these wars starting to become more noticeable. Whereas battles in the first half were largely single take affairs, with crowds of extras running back and forth like balls at a tennis match, these later battles start to witness the cost of war. We see our first lifeless bodies of ordinary soldiers at the start of the act. By the fall of Talbot’s army, the battle is a series of quick cuts each showing some act of violence – bodies stabbed, throats slit, knives plunged into necks – and the pauses in the battle see the stage littered by bloodied dead bodies, with eyes staring sightlessly upwards.  Howell’s point being that this age of chivalry, of war being a great adventure, cannot last in a world where ambition and greed encourages men to be ruthless and uncaring for others. As men like York and Somerset take charge of the kingdom, it means the days of honourable adventurers like Talbot are numbered.

A montage of some of the violent images towards the end of the play

However, Howell also allows a lot of comedy to sit alongside this more serious intent: tellingly this production is far more amusing than any of the comedies made so far in this series. Comic imagery is used throughout to puncture the pretentions of the lords: a feuding Gloucester and Beaufort meet on hobbyhorse back, miming out the actions of riding on horseback, waving their swords at each other (this is also a tour-de-force of physical acting by Burke and Middlemass). The French lords are a collection of comic grotesques, alternately cowardly and argumentative (Michael Byrne stands out as a hilariously camp and prissy Alencon). Antony Brown’s uptight and cultured Burgundy finds himself totally out of place among the forthright English, at one point weakly forced to explain a joke to a bewildered Talbot (in a nice touch in the same scene he sits on a stool while all the English lounge on the floor, drinking from a glass while other swig from flasks). The countess’ attempt to capture Talbot ends in a comic tableaux of swords pointed at the defeated gentlewoman.

This sits beside a great deal of theatrical invention. Those who believe that “filmic technique” is largely a question of alternate head shots and edits rather than camera movements have claimed this is too close to a play. Far from it: Howell’s camera is a roving part of the action, moving in and out of scuffles and tracking key moments. In the courtroom scene of A3 S1, it moves in and among the lords of England, first during the court gathering and then through the manic action as rival factions of Gloucester and Beaufort fight each other in the courtroom. Tableaux are used effectively as well: before his final confrontation, Talbot’s soldiers form themselves into a defensive pyramid of swords with Talbot at the centre. Fast editing is used sparingly but effectively. Scene transitions are also very cleverly done: after meeting with Mortimer, York turns and charges through double doors – to emerge at the English court and in the next scene (Bernard Hill even allows a look of surprise to cross his face, another nice moment of both comedy and fourth wall breaking).

The main effect used for the camera is to use it as an active character and confessional for the actors. As in Howell’s Winter’s Tale production, actors frequently turn and address the camera to deliver their inner thoughts. What’s particularly imaginative about this, as in the previous production, is that this isn’t just used at obvious moments – speeches and asides – but that characters also use it in dialogues with other characters, and at select moments in larger speeches. It seems to work against the “rules” of film, but actually succeeds brilliantly as a bridge between theatre and film, acknowledging the viewer, but keeping us still at a distance. It also allows plenty of additional moments of comedy – particularly in duologues, as one character address the camera while the other stares at them, either confused or annoyed at the indiscretions. This is brought to its height in A5 S2 where Suffolk and Margaret meet for the first time and alternate in their addresses to the camera, moving all the time around each other (at one point side-by-side directing their dialogue into the camera) in a sequence that is both theatrical and filmic.

A range of some of the different camera addresses used in the production

Within such a parade of ensemble acting, all of the very highest standard (there is not a weak link in the cast), there are in this play a few key roles. Brenda Blethyn makes her sole appearance in the trilogy here as Joan of Arc, here imagined as a flirtatious, playful tomboy, a determined chancer who seems to only just be hiding her annoyance and satirical disdain for the French lords around her. Bouncing around with energy, waving her sword and easily besting English soldiers, she’s overflowing with confidence and certainty. Blethyn then contrasts this extremely well with the broken and terrified figure she becomes when “her spirits” abandon her late in the play and she finds herself sentenced to death. From arrogantly rejecting her lowly father, she moves to desperately pleading for mercy from the fire, her frantic cobweb of lies eventually exploding into contempt and fury when the sentence is not revoked. It’s a performance that packs in a great deal of fun and delight, mixed with serious emotion.

For the English, the leading character is Trevor Peacock’s Talbot: a blunt, straightforward soldier, honourable and plain-speaking who appears as a relic of an earlier age, a hangover from the age of chivalry under Henry V. A natural leader of men, he is at ease with the lords of England and adored by the soldiers.  Peacock also gives Talbot a certain modesty, a man who sees himself as merely the figurehead of English soldiery. What he also makes clear is that Talbot is a less than successful political and military strategist, someone who seems incapable of appreciating all the implications of a situation or of foreseeing possible outcomes. Instead he’s a simple man, with easy loyalties and open hearted. His affection for his son is warm and real, and his concern for him – and his pain when he falls in battle – comes from a genuine concern. His death here is also the death of honour in this world – reflected in the bloody imagery that sees so many soldiers die with him.

There are several other strong individual performances I’ve yet to mention. David Burke’s Gloucester is a decent, upright but proud figure, convinced of his moral certainty. His reactions to other characters and events (the sniggers he shares with Exeter in A5 S4 as conversation turns to Margaret are a perfect example of this) always ring true and are a frequent background delight. Frank Middlemass’ Cardinal Beaufort is openly venal, selfish and corrupt. David Daker (with two sizeable roles) draws sharp differences between the cold and proud Reignier and the loyal but aggressive Vernon. But the truth is all the cast shine at different moments in the production, and there is truly not a weak player in the ensemble.

This is sharply intelligent drama, expertly filmed and packed with wonderful moments of drama, comedy and imagination. It’s the sort of production that makes sitting through the weaker productions in the cannon worthwhile: and a testament to the project that it allows the minor plays like this to be brought so vividly to life.

Conclusion

Probably the best film so far in the series, directed with verve, embracing both the televisual and the theatrical. Thematically it creates a world that is just starting to change, with chivalry and honour beginning to give way to greed and chaos. The non-realist setting works brilliantly, avoiding the insummountable challenges of realistic filming (it would probably require a budget in the hundreds of millions) and makes the economies of scale and restrictions of television work to its advantage rather than against it. Similarly the decision to use an ensemble cast, to share so many roles out in an intelligent and well thought out manner, also works brilliantly. With a director on top form and not a single weak performance in the cast, this is the sort of production which, if it had been a theatrical performance, would be remembered as one of the landmark productions of this play. Best so far.

NEXT TIME: More Henry VI to come, this time with Trevor Peacock returning to wreak chaos as Jack Cade in Henry VI Part Two.