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.