Cymbeline (Series 6 Episode 1)

First transmitted 10th July 1983

Helen Mirren sleeps unaware of Robert Lindsay's presence

Cast: Helen Mirren (Imogen), Michael Pennington (Posthumus), Robert Lindsay (Iachimo), Richard Johnson (Cymbeline), Michael Gough (Belarius), Paul Jesson (Cloten), Claire Bloom (Queen), Graham Crowden (Caius Lucius), John Kane (Pisanio), Hugh Thomas (Cornelius), Geoffrey Lumsden (Philario), Geoffrey Burridge (Guiderius), David Creedon (Arviragus), Patricia Hayes (Soothsayer), Marius Goring (Sicilius Leonatus), Michael Hordern (Jupiter)
Director: Elijah Moshinsky

If you fancy an amusing few minutes, try sitting someone down and explaining the plot of Cymbeline to them. I guarantee, not only will you not be able to do it in less than 10-15 (long) sentences, but at the end of it the person you are describing it to will pull a face and say “What?”. Their second reaction will probably be “Perhaps I’ll give that one a miss then”. Which to be honest is probably a pretty fair reaction. Cymbeline is, to say the least, a bonkers, poorly structured play in which the words ‘problem’ or ‘obscure’, used often to describe its place in the Shakespeare canon, might as well be a euphemism for ‘bollocks’.

As a play it should really work – it’s practically a menage of all Shakespeare’s comedy plots featuring, as it does, lovers divided by a lie told by a bad man, a girl disguised as a boy, separated siblings, servants caught between loyalties, a distant father whose heart is softened by events etc. Throw in a few tropes from the tragedies – confusion over the death of a key character, a poison that is actually a sleeping draft, an uncaring central female figure, a battle that happens largely off-stage, an overcooked murder plan – and you end up with something that should be really entertaining, but is actually a bewildering mess.

Difficult to follow and to engage with (lacking both characters you can really invest in and a dynamic plot you can really get behind) it’s pretty hard not to come out of the play without a meh feeling. This feeling isn’t helped by this production of the play, which is possibly the driest and (whisper it) dullest of the series so far. It may well be a matter of personal taste, but what really strikes me about this film (particularly after the high-octane and dynamic history cycle) is how static and flat the camerawork is, with many scenes told with a simple single shot with minimal actor movement. This has often been the Moshinsky approach, with an approach heavily inspired by paintings – but this production lacks the visual strengths of All’s Well That Ends Well or the reinterpretative imagination of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

What it does offer is a rather cold and impersonal interpretation. Part of this is intentional – Britain is deliberately framed as a cold and wintery place, to contrast with a steamier Rome, but this chill hangs over the whole play with many of the performances themselves taken a softly-spoken, hard-faced approach that largely fails to engage the audience in the story and the emotions of the characters. Despite the supposed high-stakes for many of the characters (if you can work them out) there never seems to be any urgency or intensity behind the actions in the play. Instead the action plays out over a series of still, painterly images – you could watch much of this play in fast forward and have no trouble following the visual storytelling – with too many scenes delivered at a meditative, lingering pace. This is despite the efforts of an all-star cast, some of whom are only partly successful in getting any audience investment in their characters.

In fact the slow pace of this play is particularly striking, when you consider how much has been cut-out or rearranged by Moshinsky. Two scenes, both revolving around the Roman-Britain war (and sadly including the crucial battle scene) have been cut, along with several large speeches; and a number of scenes have ten or so lines trimmed from them, usually around the transition. In all, this is probably the most heavily cut production so far – which then makes the fact that the bloody thing still runs for almost three hours even more inexplicable. Now there are obvious reasons why some actors take their time – Robert Lindsay’s lingering appreciation of a sleeping Imogen does at least make sense character-wise – but too many scenes elsewhere are delivered without pace or urgency (Michael Pennington is particularly guilty of this). Combine this with the general coldness of the production and it makes it even harder to focus on the characters, while you worry about the numbing of your posterior.

Moshinsky does throw in a few flourishes, not all of which are completely successful. He gets a fair bit of play around using mirrors in conversations (the camera trains on one person, while the person they are talking to is seen in reflection in a mirror alongside them) although I’m not clear what this is supposed to contribute to interpretation, other than offering a neat visual trick. Similarly, a number of scenes are set around tables with characters lounging or sitting straight backed in chairs at the end of tables, behind tables, while the tables themselves host private discussions, formal negotiations, intense chess matches… Whether this is supposed to be some comment on the general themes in the play of an oppressive culture and a feeling of observation and spying trapping people in place, or just a neat echo of some of the Dutch masters (in particular Rembrandt), leaves me rather non-plussed though. The less said about super-imposed hawks duelling in the skies while Cloten and Guiderius fight to the death the better (terrible memories of Winter’s Tale’s Bear come storming back).

The sequence that works by far the best is Iachimo’s lecherous observation of the sleeping Imogen. Not only does Robert Lindsay land his performance just the right side of over-zealous panting pervert, but the camerawork adds a sensual steaminess and illicit naughtiness to the scene, as it gets in close to Iachimo looming (topless) over Imogen, the camera finally moving position to roam with Iachimo over the room and body. The glowing yellow light over the scene helps add in this sense of twisted eroticism. Moshinsky then effectively mirrors the scene later (this time replaying the scene as nightmare) with Imogen awaking with Cloten’s headless body, the camerawork being remarkably similar (starting with the same shot) and following Imogen’s inspection of Cloten’s corpse (which for reasons too obscure to explain she believes to be that of Posthumus) her heart-broken tenderness and trauma contrasted with Iachimo’s earlier lip-smacking enjoyment. They are two sequences that do offer something new – and do make a clear link between the two scenes, centering Imogen’s experience and helping to turn the atmosphere of this bizarre play into something resembling a twisted dream by its heroine.

But it still doesn’t redeem the production, which is cursed with less than completely successful performances in crucial roles. Michael Pennington, an intelligent and profound actor, does everything he can with Posthumus but plays the part so straight laced, brooding and with a dark intensity that not only do you find it hard to interest yourself in the part, it’s even a little unclear at several points what emotion he is going for (his A5 S1 speech is a perfect example of this – the growth of his guilt is rather hard to make out unless you actually read along with what he is saying). Helen Mirren really does her best with, in truth, a rather ropey role as Imogen, a character who keeps threatening to burst into life as a true heroine but consistently fails to do so. Mirren gives her a great deal of dignity and moral force, but also shades it with a hint of corruption – she is clearly tempted briefly by Iachimo – and far from a doormat, she explodes with anger at first when Pisano reveals Posthumus’ suspicious of her conduct, before a melodramatic pleading for death. Her later pain when she believes him killed is moving. But she hasn’t much to work with. Robert Lindsay excels in the bedroom scene as Iachimo, but outside of that offers little other than scowls and leers like a low-rent Iago.

Richard Johnson makes some small impact as gruff, bear-like Cymbeline – in fact his reading is enjoyable enough that it hammers home how little he is in the play. Claire Bloom does her best with the one-dimensional Queen (famously described as so thinly sketched she doesn’t even merit a name), although her brooding under-playing and softly spoken scheming does detract from her position as the play’s villain. Hugh Thomas’ Cornelius makes a good impression as an observant and arch doctor and Michael Horden and Marius Goring pop up for some stirring Shakespearean style cameos as the God Jupiter and a Ghost respectively (don’t even ask). Graham Crowden makes a nice impression as Luscius while John Kane does some sterling work as the loyal Pisanio. Geoffrey Burridge and David Creedon, however, make little or no impression as Guiderius and Arviragus (two characters so loosely defined by Shakespeare that I can’t really tell them apart).

The best performances though come from Paul Jesson and Michael Gough. Jesson adds a lovely comic touch as the arrogant, campy and self-obsessed Cloten, his pomposity and grandiosity forever undermined by a rhoticism. Constantly seen preening himself, out of his depth in the real world and a hopelessly incompetent wooer and fighter, he lights up a number of scenes by bringing a real comic energy and engagement to the production. At the other end of the scale, Michael Gough’s Belarius is not only brilliantly spoken but Gough brings a world-weary, pained expression to all his delivery, with hints of guilt at his stealing of Cymbeline’s sons, matched with a touch of anger at his betrayal. Of all the characters with sustained speeches, it’s his that really capture the imagination and Gough is the one who creates a character that feels real, with genuine emotions and motivations and a feeling of an internal life. It’s a performance that actually deserves to sit in a better play, never mind production – what would he have done with a Malvolio, Polonius or Gloucester? A real shame that this was his only outing in the series.

These good touches however are few and far between in what is a desperately disappointing production, dry, dull and flat and largely not worth the three hours of your time. After the history cycle it also seems a chronic step back, lacking in visual and filmic ambition. After the work Moshinsky had done on previous productions I expected a lot better of this production. Part of that though I am willing to chalk up to the play itself, up there now with Merry Wives as perhaps one of the worst (and certainly hardest to perform) in the canon. A lot of people claim that there are a number of parallels between the events in this play and the life of Edward de Vere, making it a strong part of the argument that the Earl wrote the plays. Well, as far as I’m concerned, he can have this one.

Conclusion

The play itself is a mess, but that doesn’t excuse what is a rather flat, dull and boring production, slow paced and generally lacking creative imagination or visual interest. With a cold and dry mood and an overwhelming running time, there isn’t much to grab the viewer’s interest, let alone keep it. Pity poor Helen Mirren that two out of three of her offerings were this and the appalling As You Like It. Not one for the desert island.

Blog Post Special: Alan Rickman Tribute

Alan Rickman1946 - 2016

This blog entry is quite different from the proceeding entries - and in many ways is probably very little to do with the original aims of this blog. But, quite simply, I felt like I had to write something in response to the terrible news today.

When I was young, and just starting to get an interest in acting and performance, I, like many kids, had particular favourite actors. Performers whose work would see you switching on anything they happened to be in. There have been several of those actors for me, but one of the leading men in this group was Alan Rickman.

Hearing the news today one of the first thoughts I had was overwhelming sadness. Because there will be no more Rickman performances to come. No more opportunity to see him tackling a part in his distinctive style. He was a gifted actor, who would inevitably be one of the finest (if not the finest) thing in anything he was involved, no matter its overall quality. His range - he could do tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical...

Doing this blog one of the first things that came up was the chance to see Rickman's first ever work on screen as a charasmatic, scene-stealing Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet. So, since this series was the birthplace of his film career, I think its appropriate to run a very personal countdown of Alan Rickman's career on screen: my own personal countdown of Rickman's Top Ten Performances.

Read about them. Then get hold of these and watch them. You are in for a treat.

10. The Harry Potter Film Series (2001-2011)
It's probably his most iconic part - and to be honest, like Alec Guinness in Star Wars one felt Rickman could probably play Snape standing on his head. But the depth Rickman brought to the part (and the respect he treated the source material with) was a testament to his dedication as an actor. Every scene he appeared in had its moment - from wry humour to searing pain. If there was any doubt about his ability to extract emotional heft from any scene, it was the truly moving reveal of Snape's love for Lilly in the final movie. Was there a more memorable image in the film than Snape cradling Lilly, weeping in agony? Rickman made Snape far much more than a villain, but a man affected by bitterness, prone to envy and pettiness but whose essential honesty, decency and nobility forced himself to rise above it. Extraordinary work across seven films, Rickman made himself synonymous with one of the book's most iconic characters, also making deeper and more real than even in the pages of Rowling's books.

9. Rasputin (1996)
Rickman was a subtle actor, master of the arch comment or raised eyebrow. But that doesn't mean he couldn't let rip. And boy when he did it was something to see. In 1996 Rickman tore up the TV as a simply insane Rasputin, his eyes reflecting an inner certainty about his divine mission. Shaggy haired, sweaty and very, very Roosian, Rickman left nothing in the locker room, boozing, whoring and screaming across the whole film. But with that, Rickman also showed the loyalty Rasputin felt towards the Romanovs - and his fatherly gentleness and warmth towards the Tsarevich. A tour de force, but much more than just a simple sketch of madness.

8. Closet Land (1991)
Pushing on a bit of a cheat, as I have never seen this gruelling torture drama all the way through. It's terribly difficult to find - though some naughty person has uploaded it to YouTube - but well worth it. Co-funded by Amnesty, it's a two hander where Rickman plays the cold, impersonal interrogator of Madeleine Stowe's dissident. In many ways the scariest character Rickman ever played, the Interrogator is unrelenting, chilling in his reasonableness and unrelenting in his methods. But the trick is to make this character more than just a "punch-clock" villain - Rickman builds in plenty of depth throughout, showing the emptiness and fear of the torturer. He also skilfully takes on several different personas throughout the interrogation, from lost soul to fellow victim. His performance has been described as "haunted and haunting" - there can be no better tribute.

7. The Barchester Chronicles (1982)
If Romeo and Juliet was the introduction to Rickman, for TV viewers, then his big break was as the odious, ambitious, clerical social climber Obadiah Slope in this BBC adaptation of Anthony Trollope's novels. His sneering, smirking, unbearingly self obsessed, vilely ingratiating, manipulative Machiavellian Slope is impossible not to watch - and the viewer delights in his vileness as much as Rickman clearly is. What really marked Rickman out though was the strange attractiveness he gave this vile man (even Trollope wrote that he hated the character), his magnetism as a performer making him hard not to root for (this would certainly help him later on with future roles!) and even a slight vulnerability as he finds himself drawn - despite himself - towards an "unsuitable woman". This is one of those instances where a performance of the character is actually superior to the original source material. A virtual unknown at the time the series was aired, his is the performance that you take away. 

6. Michael Collins (1996)
Rickman's facilities with voices and accents is even more impressive when you remember that his distinctive tones come from training to overcome a chronic stammer as a child. Few films demonstrate his vocal skill more than this pitch perfect impersonation of Eamon de Valera - his gets all the cadences of de Valera's bizarre hybrid accent in this beautifully filmed biopic of Michael Collins. But of course the Rickman gifts don't stop there. In a film that aims to position Collins as a visionary leader, cut short by death, Rickman's de Valera's purpose in the film is to be the "conservative" villain - the man who will not allow the violence to end. But of course de Valera is a lot more than that - a curious hybrid of both strong (in his rigid, unbending determination) but also strangely weak (sentimental and tender), simultaneously manipulative and also deeply regretful.

5. Sense and Sensibility (1995)
A lot of morally dubious characters so far in this list. So it's wonderful to see Rickman play against type as a pure, noble, decent, moral, softly spoken, gentle and honourable Colonel Brandon. Can there be anyone alive watching this film he doesn't love Brandon? Behind his straight backed exterior, you can see the deep love for Marianne in his eyes - just as you see later the pain at his unspoken rejection. Throughout the film you get the sense of a sad childhood and an overwhelming sense of loneliness in Brandon, a man you can immediately sense has loved and lost already, and for whom the scars may never heal. Rickman also gives him a quiet romantic quality - his heart slowly ruling over his head, allowing him to dream that he might have another chance at happiness. His humanity and undemanding love truly moves the audience, in an exceptional film: "Give me an occupation Miss Dashwood, or I shall run mad". 

4. Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991)
For people of my generation, this quite simply is one of the films of the 1990s. I've lost count of the number of times that simply beginning a quote from the film, leads to it practically being finished by the person I'm talking to. The main reason for that is Rickman, who allegedly took the part on condition he could play it anyway he wanted. On BAFTA winning form, Rickman simply rips the film apart, his Sherriff an outrageously comic turn, laced with a sadistic quality, his verbal dexterity and physical accomplishment wringing every inch of scene stealing insanity. Write some of the lines down by the way and there is nothing inherently funny or memorable about them: "Because it's dull you twit, it will hurt more", "I can't do this with all that racket going on!" but you can hear the delivery of them. Rumour has it many of the films best lines emerged from a late night restaurant session with Ruby Wax and other friends: "Bring a friend" and of course the iconic "Cancel the kitchen scraps for lepers and orphans, no more merciful beheadings...and call off Christmas!". It's pantomime brilliance with an edge, brutal, hilarious and simply sensational.

3. Truly, Madly, Deeply (1990)
Most of Rickman's best known work was on the edges of the extreme. But he was also an intensely soulful and sensitive actor, and this was perhaps seen best in his moving and sensitive performance as the recently deceased ghost Jamie in this small scale, tender and heartfelt movie from Anthony Minghella about grief and moving on (with an equally exceptional Juliet Stevenson as the bereaved Nina). Rickman is romantic, loving, gentle, capable of selfishness but it's his simple tenderness that makes it clear why Nina can't let him go - and the final sequence of the film is impossible to watch without a lump in the throat, as Rickman quietly reveals his increasingly overbearing haunting has been an attempt to push Nina to carry on with a life. The film expertly demonstrates Rickman's range as both a light comedian and a romantic lead and makes you wish he had been offered more roles like this.

2. Die Hard (1988)
Rickman has two iconic out-and-out villains on his CV: Hans Gruber and the Sheriff. No doubt he could have earned a fortune, if he had chosen, from playing many, many more had he not decided that the Sheriff would be the last time he would ever play a straight villain. Of the two, I think Hans Gruber is simply extraordinary - Rickman's influence hangs over every actor who has picked up the nemesis batten in every film series since - and it's even more striking when you remember this was Rickman's first ever film. Gruber is cultured, calm, arrogant and ruthless but Rickman's you-just-can't-bottle-it charisma makes him a character many people find themselves rooting for despite themselves. He's ruthless but fiendishly clever and above all extremely cool. He's magnetic in the film, impossible to look away from, giving a superior edge to each of his lines, and tipping a covert wink to the audience, his increasingly quiet exasperation at everything from McClane to his own crew (who can forget his weary "Shoot-the-Glass."). "I'm an exceptional thief Mrs. McClane and since I'm moving up to kidnapping you should be more pilot."

1. Galaxy Quest (1999)
And so to number one: "By Grabthar's hammer, you shall be avenged!". Rickman's comic timing and sardonic humour has its best ever vehicle as frustrated would-be Shakespearean Alexander Dane, haunted by a catch-phrase from a long dead SciFi show that definitely wasn't Star Trek. Every line is delivered to maximum effect, every raised eyebrow gets a chuckle, the career frustration seeping from every pore as Dane moves from opening supermarkets ("By Grabthar's Hammer... (sigh) what a saving"). It's a hilarious performance, but it works so well because Rickman plays it so straight: you really get a sense that Dane is a real person, and most of all you also get the sense that underneath the cynicism, he cares deeply for his friends and colleagues. And that's the reason, for me, this goes in at number one - because Rickman brings not only the comedy but also a great emotional depth to the film when it is needed, without ever seeming heavy handed at either point.

To see what I mean watch the "pay-off" scene for the "Grabthar's Hammer" joke. All the way through, Rickman delivers the lines with a combination of reluctance, bitterness and loathing, resenting every moment he's been forced to say it. But, late in the film, his number one fan Quelleck lies dying. This character, who Dane has treated with a weary impatience throughout, who he has snappily prevented from quoting his line, lies dying in his arms. And Rickman delivers the line at last - with a quiet, emotional force, a fatherly tenderness. It takes a great actor to create the most moving part of the film from the culmination of a running gag. It's the scene I think I'd keep from all of Rickman's work. And it's the final proof, if you need it, of his gifts as an actor - I can't think of any other actor who could be so hilariously comic, but yet so true and real in one film - and both complementing each other perfectly.

So let's end the article with that scene (at 1:43). Watch it. Then all these films above. Then anything else he was in.

Alan Rickman. Taken from us far, far, too soon.

Rest in peace.

Richard III (Series 5 Episode 6)

First transmitted 16th January 1983

Ron Cook's Richard III takes triumphant centre stage

Peter Benson (King Henry VI/Priest), Antony Brown (Sir Richard Ratcliffe), David Burke (Sir William Catesby), Michael Byrne (Buckingham), Anne Carroll (Jane Shore), Paul Chapman (Rivers/Archbishop of Canterbury), Ron Cook (Richard III), Rowena Cooper (Queen Elizabeth), Arthur Cox (Lord Grey/Lord Mayor/Sir Christopher Urswick), Annette Crosbie (Duchess of York), David Daker (Lord Hastings), Brian Deacon (Second Citizen/First Messenger/Richmond), Jeremy Dimmick (Young York), Tenniel Evans (Lord Stanley/Archbishop of York), Derek Farr (Sir Robert Brackenbury/Surrey/Scrivener/Third Citizen/Bishop of Ely), Dorian Ford (Edward V), Julia Foster (Queen Margaret), Derek Fuke (Second Murderer/Sir Thomas Vaughan/Fourth Messenger), Alex Guard (Dorset), Bernard Hill (First Murderer/Sir William Brandon/Sheriff), Paul Jesson (Clarence/Pursuivant/Third Messenger), Patsy Kensit (Lady Margaret), Oengus MacNamara (Halberdier/Lord Lovell/First Messenger), Brian Protheroe (Edward IV/Sir Walter Herbert/Second Messenger), Nick Reding (Ghost of Prince Edward), Stephen Rooney (Edward Plantagenet), Zoe Wanamaker (Lady Anne), Mark Wing-Davey (Sir James Tyrell/Sir James Blunt/First Citizen), Peter Wyatt (Norfolk/Keeper/Messenger)

Director: Jane Howell

Is there a more famous tour-de-force role in theatre than Richard III? Sure, Hamlet and Lear are challenging and engrossing roles and there are plenty of Mercutios and Malvolios lining the rest of the plays – but for sustained grandstanding impact, giving the actor the scope to really let rip it’s hard to think of many parts that beat out Tricky Dicky. Throw in the added frisson (even more so today) of Richard’s increasing number of advocates and the actor playing him  is usually lined up to tear the screen or stage up, gleefully embroiling the audience in his deadly plans.

But it’s precisely that force of personality – the great man theory of history if you will – that Jane Howell’s productions have been pushing against. Again and again Henry VI had reminded us that, bad or good, rich or poor, lord or peasant, we all meet death in the same way – with a frustrated monologue at the futileness of war and death. Henry VI time and again saw characters believe they were the masters of their destiny only to be chewed up and spat out by the meat grinder of the War of the Roses. So it’s those same themes that are carried through (highly successfully) in this production of Richard III, a striking re-imagining of the play – not least because it is presented uncut (a very rare first) and positively luxuriates in all the references back to the preceeding three plays in the cycle (references nearly always cut from stand-alone productions).

This is clear most of all in the characterisation of Richard himself. Even today the role is almost synonymous in people’s minds with Olivier’s 1955 performance. Olivier virtually wrote the book on the character – and defines what people expect when they watch the play. It’s quite something then for Ron Cook and Howell to fly in the face of this and present a softly spoken, quietly bitter, in many ways weak-willed and indecisive Richard, willing to play second-fiddle to Buckingham. From his opening speech this low-key bitter wryness is key, with little attempt to woo the audience (something he is reluctant to do throughout). He is a man in a hurry – he often turns to the audience to repeat one extra point, like a homicidal Columbo. His wooing of Anne is the closest we get to a virtuoso performance – but even then the counterfeit of pain feels more like redirected anger against the world – particularly his vicious condemnation of Anne’s (perceived) shallowness. Cook is no seducer here – his frustration (and inability to hide this) are all too clear when later trying to win Elizabeth to his cause. Although he starts the play by chalking its title on the wall like some sort of executive mission statement, he gradually throughout feels less and less the master of his own destiny.

Cook’s Richard also has an interesting relationship with Buckingham. In A2 S1 Richard easily enforces his dominance over the other anti-Rivers lords and in A2 S2 brazenly embraces his nephew and niece (fresh from ordering the murder of their father Clarence). But he seems to allow Buckingham to drive the conspiracy, following (or giving the impression he is following) this ambitious fixer’s lead. In A3 S5 he plays the tearful victim of Hastings, comforted and steered by an elder brother Buckingham (although Buckingham and Richard are united in amusement at the pompous and cowardly Mayor, barely able to repress their satisfied laughter). Cook’s Richard is willing to be the tool, far from the domineering force of nature he is often portrayed as. It’s only in A3 S7 where – in a wonderfully stage managed scene – he throws Buckingham off by waiting longer than expected to accept the Crown (notably irritating Buckingham at this deviation from the script). Perhaps, Cook’s performance suggests, he then throws Buckingham aside out of an insecurity and complicated lack of self-esteem – he almost can’t keep people close to him, so terrified is he of being rejected by them. Richard hates to be a figure of fun – he is furious and unsmiling when teased by the young York in A3 S1 (particularly in the amusement of the lords) and seems totally incapable of forming relationships with either his followers or his peers – his cold and abrupt manner from the start of A3 S4 before sending Hastings to his death is all about establishing himself as the alpha male and has no connection to building feelings of loyalty.

More than any other Richard I’ve seen, this one falls apart as soon as the diadem sits on his head. As king he is a nervous wreck. We’ve already talked about his inability to handle Queen Elizabeth with anything but impatience, but already in that scene he’s been shocked and crushed by a tongue lashing from his mother, and follows it with a tension-filled over-reaction to the messengers. By A5 he is twitchy, peppering his speech with awkward pauses as if uncertain what to say – lost in the double isolation of power and being hated by everyone. Camera angles repeatedly accentuate his shortness. Contrasted with Richmond’s coolness, his wild-eyed, sweaty unsettledness infects his followers, finally collapsing into a near-schizophrenic conversation with himself after his nightmare, almost unable to look at the camera. Going into Bosworth, he clearly lacks confidence and has nothing left but the same chippy anger at the world that, Howell and Cook suggest, was his main motivation in the first place. This makes Richard almost a tragic “hero” – he seems as much blown and buffeted by the winds of fortune and nature as his victims in this play, and finally seems to find himself locked into a familiar pattern (as King) of rebellion, overthrow and death that affected his three predecessors. We’ve literally seen this story before and, like Richard, know exactly how it’s going to end.

If I dwell on Richard, it’s because this play is carried forward so heavily by its main character – unlike Hamlet for instance, there are few other memorable characters in the play. What works in this production when we watch it is that we gain a different understanding of the characters themselves from seeing their actions over the previous three plays. For example, Clarence seems less a dupe and a victim and more an arrogant and proud man getting his comeuppance. It’s no great surprise to see Edward IV riddled with STDs and foolishly interpreting death-bed small talk for heartfelt assurances to keep the peace. There is also more than enough material for new characters to shine, with Zoe Wanamaker and Annette Crosbie (both new additions to the ensemble) outstanding as Lady Anne and the Duchess of York respectively.

The other character who really gains from this production rolling straight on from the previous three is Queen Margaret. As the only character who appears in all four plays, Julia Foster has had the opportunity here few Margarets get of going from naïve young Queen to bitter hag. Now, as you know, both Cate and I have had our doubts about Foster’s performance here, but as in Henry VI Part III this plays to her strengths, with her Margaret here a stumpy, black coated ball of bitterness and poison, like an enraged nun, scowling at the edge of frame, appearing from the side of the shot as if to lean into the action as a visual blast from the past. Foster is at her best with this vengeance-laced material, and really makes use of the added heft the whole delivery receives from the preceding three films – the production lingers on the many lines reminding us of the atrocity-laced past that we have emerged from.

This production is also a thematic finale to the Henry VI cycle. Just as those plays saw England collapse into a realm where every man works for himself, so we see the final expression of that – not only in the destructive nature of Richard, but in his lieutenants. Antony Brown’s Eichmannesque Ratcliffe, David Burke’s heartless Catesby and Michael Byrne’s ruthless Buckingham are as much an expression of the times as Richard is – these guys have no loyalty to Richard let alone the realm, they are simply looking out for the main chance. Even Brian Deacon’s Richmond in A5 has more than a little of the politician’s self-absorption about him. No one in the play really seems to care for anyone else – with the possible exception of Elizabeth and Edward’s concern for their children.

England in this production become a land with more than a whiff of some South American military junta. Brutality has become such a part of everyday life that it no longer even seems worth talking about. As a result this is probably the least bloody of all the films. Bar Richard’s death no-one dies onscreen – they are merely led away to death off-screen, murder and destruction having become so institutionalised it is like some state-wide Fordian machine. Arthur Cox’s Lord Mayor is clearly terrified throughout of this ruthless meat-grinder that drives politics in England. The regular feeding of this machine has become such a completely accepted fact of life that it’s almost logical that Richard decides the best way to deal with his nephews is to murder them – if no-one really bats an eye about him lopping off Hastings’ head in the middle of a Council meeting, who is going to mind about an ex-King (and Buckingham – after a breather – is happy to get behind this plan). No wonder Edward on his death bed has plastered a large and prominent statue of Jesus bleeding on the cross behind him – he really needs to have some hope of forgiveness.

The colour palette of the play totally reflects this hellish afterworld that England has become. There is barely a colour in this that isn’t black or grey – it’s actually a shock to see the old togs of Part One with their bright primary colours wheeled out in A3 S5. Even more so than before all the soldiers seem almost indistinguishable from each other – even some of the minor lords are starting to blur into each other. Richmond does bring some colour in A5 – but his soldiers (and the man himself) prove to be as violent, cruel and brutal as the very worst excesses of Young Clifford and his ilk. Our wooden playground is a rotted nightmare backdrop to this parade of death. Howell’s sustained spiral of destruction has finally reached its apotheosis here in production that in terms of mood, colour and pace seems a million miles away from Part One. In case you were left in any doubt, the fascistic entry of Richard’s men into the throne-room in A4 S2 tells us straight away we are in a very different state than the colourful early days of Henry VI. It’s a suitable backdrop to the doom-laden feeling that runs through the whole production.

The other major strength that Howell brings out here is the doubling of parts, which once again is beautifully done. I’ve mentioned David Burke, again playing an inversion of his Gloucester persona as a Catesby devoid of any integrity. But it’s the little doubles that really work. Why is Richard so drawn to the first murderer (and Clarence fears him?) – perhaps because he is played by Bernard Hill, so is identical to their father. Tyrell’s self-important justification of brutal acts reminds us even more of Warwick, because Wing-Davey plays the same part. Hastings really should be aware he is in danger as he heads to court – not least because he is halted by a Priest played by Peter Benson (Henry VI). Paul Chapman’s would-be fixer Rivers is a pale shadow of Suffolk. Tennial Evans’ fundamental (but ignored) integrity as Salisbury is replayed here as fundamental greed and self-interest as Stanley. That’s only the most obvious of a series of beautifully done doublings and return performers, subtly pointing up contrasts and mirror images throughout – and enforcing the feeling that we are on history’s whirligig of destruction here and that no amount of bell ringing is ever going to allow us to stop and get off.

Howell also uses a range of camera techniques to get the message of the play across. Long takes are prominent throughout, with Howell using a fluid and roving camera to great effect here, immediately establishing us a roving and vulnerable part of this world. This allows the camera to linger on those left behind after Richard’s exit – twice Stanley and others stare with inscrutable faces across the lens towards lords left doomed by Richard. The major scene where editing is used, as well as shot cutting, is in the seducing of Lady Anne. The camera alternates between close-ups of Richard and Lady Anne as they bat lines at each other, carefully avoiding them getting into shot together until after Anne’s spitting. This is then replaced with a shot of Anne in the foreground looking away from Richard in the background of the shot. It is only at the end that they face each other sharing the shot – a nice visual representation of Richard drawing them visually closer together. Snap edits are used well throughout – for example, as the door closes in A2 S5, the shot immediately cuts to Richard and Buckingham opening the door to Edward V in A3 S1.

But its largely long takes and shots that work – effective especially in the final “boar hunt” sequence of Richard by Richmond’s soldiers. In a long fluid take, Richard is surrounded by soldiers and fights desperately – furiously – to survive, striking enemies down before he is slowly, inevitably wounded, slowed and then killed – many of these wounds coming from spears, the final of which punctures through his body and out of his shield, skewering him like a sacrificed pig. Even that is not the end as the mortally wounded Richard is lined up to be given the coup-de-grace by Richmond, his furious and impotent pain and anger all over his face as he sinks down to death. This sequence also ends with a particularly neat shot, with a collapsed and dead Richard left skewered and kneeling at the feet of Richmond – a lifeless supplicant in the back of frame throughout Richmond’s victory speech. In a neat touch, one shot even shows the crown held in the foreground as if on Richard’s head – a final insult to the man who could have ruled the world.

Richard kneels to Richmond in death - note the placement of the camera

A further tour-de-force of impressionistic film making is the nightmare scene in A5. Skilfully, jump cuts are used throughout the build up to this sequence – Richmond hears a sound, but we see a cut to Richard’s head turn, Richmond walks into a tent, the shot cuts straight entering into a tent. Richmond sleeps and turns his head from us, a sudden cut and Richard appears looking back to us asleep. Slowly the camera zooms slowly in on his eye, overlaid with an image of Richard as we enter his subconscious and see his nightmare play out with a series of expressionistic images of his victims throughout the series, all of them in nightmarish parodies of their final moments. From the snowy landscape that saw Prince Edward murdered, we see Richmond sleeping peacefully (unaware) of the ghosts praising him – and in a sign that this is all Richard’s nightmare, he sits at first on the throne. Then we see Henry (with the candle that sat on the table as he died), Clarence soaked in wine (water which flows over the lens as he praises Richmond), the River faction praising sitting waiting their fates, Hastings at a blooded table, the sheet of which Richard grabs only for it turn into the bloodied pillow that smothered the Princes, its feathers raining down on their ghosts. His attempt to clean up the mess (after watching the Princes crown Richmond) is then interrupted by Anne on her death bed (who he attempts to smother), before throwing himself on the absent throne, trembling as Buckingham adds his curse to the list, the shock sending him tumbling from the throne – and out of his nightmare. Not only is this an impressive display of film making, it also offers a distinct interpretation of the dream as something very much happening only to Richard himself, something in his mind (and from his guilt?), much more than a divinely powered visit to both rivals. It’s an interesting and unique a staging as we’ve seen in the series so far – and strikingly filmic.

The progression of images through Richard's nightmare

All the design and mood of the play however is building towards the final sequence, a creative coup and imaginative flourish from Jane Howell that brings the entire cycle of plays thematically together. In the final shot, the camera slowly tracks along a pile of dead bodies – among them all the actors we have seen in the previous four plays, dressed as their most prominent characters. We hear laughter on the soundtrack as the camera pans slowly across and then up what is clearly a mountain of bodies before it finally rests on a laughing, wild haired Margaret, hugging to her the bloodied and broken body of Richard. The camera pans back to reveal the entire image – a mountain of the dead, a punctuation point of death, finally showing the end – and visually summarising the destruction – that the Roses of the Wars have let rip on the Kingdom of England. As a final image it summarises all that has been best about this magnificent sequence of productions: the finest example so far in the series of marrying the cinematic with the theatrical.

The final image of what has been a brilliant series

Conclusion

The series wraps up with a stunning final episode that brings all the weight and depth of the previous three productions to bear to add a new level of depth to the play, as it is placed in its proper context. From its opening shot of the bare ruined stage to its final shot of the space littered with a mountain of corpses, this dark, gloomy, overbearing and sinister production stands out as a truly unique interpretation of the play and a perfect summation of the 13 hours of drama that preceded it. The ensemble cast are so experienced in their roles that they offer superb performances, led by an intelligent and redefining Richard from Ron Cook. Terrific stuff, and a clear sign of Jane Howell’s artistic imagination. The final image is almost worth the price of admission alone. Excellent stuff!

NEXT TIME: Helen Mirren and Robert Lindsay return to the series in the late Shakespeare work Cymbeline.