Richard II (Series 1 Episode 2)

Richard II

First transmitted 10th December 1978





Jon Finch and Derek Jacobi lay the foundations for civil war in the poetic opening to Shakespeare's history cycle

Cast: Derek Jacobi (Richard II), Jon Finch (Henry Bolingbroke), John Gielgud (John of Gaunt), Charles Gray (York), Wendy Hiller (Duchess of York), Mary Morris (Duchess of Gloucester), David Swift (Northumberland), Clifford Rose (Bishop of Carlisle), Charles Keating (Aumerle), Richard Owens (Mowbray), Janet Maw (Queen), Jeffrey Holland (Surrey), Jeremy Bulloch (Henry Percy), Robin Sachs (Bushy), Damien Thomas (Bagot), Alan Dalton (Green), Jonathan Adams (Gardener)

Director: David Giles

 

The second production in the series is a starrily-cast Richard II.  And what we get here is a very skilled, professional attempt at capturing this play on screen. As a play, Richard II demands a sense of scale, colour and pageantry – and perhaps, therefore, it’s one of the hardest to convey from a 4 by 3 box in the corner of a room.

 

The faithful adaptation style from R and J is continued here, with the setting exactly in period and adhering very faithfully to mainstream critical interpretations of the play. Forced by budget and house style, this is a chamber piece, a well acted conversation placed in a series of rooms or meetings at camps and tents in dead of night. When the film does move into a daytime ‘exterior’ sector, for the trial by combat in A1 S3, this is easily the least successful scene of the production, with some concessions made to the spectacle of the moment but the camera unable to move from close-ups (for fear of exposing the unrealistic set) to help create a sense of scope and tension. But what this film does know is what it can do with in its limits, and it does them very well. As a costume drama this is a very well made example of 1970s British television.

 

Giles’ direction is faithful and unimposing, using careful camera moves and framing to communicate the story simply and clearly. His focus is very much on character and performance. The direction aims at creating a claustrophobic world in which the psychology of the drama and the characters is established as keenly as possible. This more intense, focused drama plays to Giles’ strengths and it’s telling that he is far more comfortable when dealing with the more intimate scenes, which are constantly more visually interesting and dynamic than the crowd scenes. It’s rather odd – and has a big impact on the success of the opening scenes, which largely consist of large group scenes. Compare the flatness of A1 S1 with the far more dynamic and engaging two-hander in A1 S2. It’s a very telling contrast to the more ‘large scale’ R and J with its large cast of extras – here extras, when they appear, are almost shoved to the edges of the frame, as if to avoid distracting the eye as much as possible. Giles is a highly experienced studio director, and his experience working with a few actors on a close set is really clear here.

 

This production makes motions towards a more complex interpretation than the first film in the series. Before the first line of the play, Richard pauses outside the court and seems to draw breath and compose himself, preparing himself to publically take on the role of King or readying himself for a difficult confrontation. It’s strongly implied in Act 1 that Richard is behind the death of Gloucester that sparks the events of the play, a small point but one which informs a lot of Jacobi’s performance (and his cool, dismissive reactions to Mowbray) and Owens’ anger and disillusionment as Mowbray. The nature of ruling is also explored, with Richard shown as more interested in lounging around getting massages than involving himself in the business of running the country. This is a sharp contrast with Bolingbroke who is rarely seen not sitting surrounded with papers, with a hands-on style of ruling. Points like these illustrate a desire to develop an interpretation of the play, although these are kept very low key and subtle and not allowed to intrude too heavily on the actors’ performances.

 

Which is in no way a weakness, because this production has some hugely successful performances. Derek Jacobi is one of the most intelligent classical actors alive, and he brings all the focus of that intelligence to this production. Reflecting the nature of the play, his performance splits Richard into two distinct phases with the flip coming during Act Three. At first Richard is a smiling tyrant, an uncaring man convinced of his own divine certainty and seemingly incapable of understanding other people. Throughout, he treats Bolingbroke, Gaunt and especially Mowbray with a lightness and imperious cheerfulness, and a cruel streak is shown throughout with his openly giddy and joyful reaction to Gaunt’s death and his appointment of York as his deputy, which Jacobi plays almost like a private joke. He’s the sort of man who airily knocks four years off Bolingbroke’s banishment on a whim and breezily talks about his “uneasiness” before smilingly banishing Mowbray for life.  It’s clear why so many lords feel so little regard for him.

 

This then flips expertly from Act 3, as Richard’s world comes crashing down, with Jacobi delivering a rollercoaster of challenging line readings and widely oscillating emotions. In A3 S2 alone he goes from imperious confidence through, in-turn, mad-eyed certainty, despair, rage, impotent fury, heartfelt anguish, tears, desolation, resignation, self-realisation and finally a kindling of humility and humanity – all within about ten minutes of screen time and never feeling forced or misplaced. Jacobi’s Richard is being re-born during this sequence and realising he is not a god but a man who “needs bread as you do”. This sequence continues in Act 4, a tour-de-force deposition scene, with Richard torn between bitterness and the fixed neutrality of a man compelled to do an unpleasant duty. This tension only explodes once offered a list of his ‘crimes’ by Northumberland, bringing out a burst of pain and defiance at the turn-coats that surround him, but without losing his developing sense of humanity. It’s quite something to take a character so unsympathetic in the opening hour and make him someone the audience really roots for. It is performances like this that justify the BBC’s decision to chase down the big name actors.

 

Jon Finch is a great match for him as a controlled and faintly sinister Bolingbroke, giving his performance a physicality that makes him an imposing threat from the start. If Richard is a tyrant in the sense that he doesn’t really care about the country or the people in it, Bolingbroke wants to control everything and everyone – and doesn’t have a problem with judicial murders (poor Bushy and Green) or quietly (with plausible deniability) ordering royal assassinations.  There’s a touch of masculine cruelty about him – he’s probably the first Bolingbroke I’ve seen to turn “rain on the earth my waters” into a piss joke.

 

The best supporting performance here surprisingly comes from Charles Gray’s York, a well meaning, morally upright but ineffectual old buffer, almost drifted in from Wodehouse, out of his depth when dealing with strong wills like Bolingbroke and Northumberland and constantly a few moments away from tears. He may be disgusted by Bolingbroke’s actions in A2 S3 but still feels compelled to offer him a shelter for the night and raises token objections in A3 S2 but still sit on a tribunal to condemn two innocent men. By A5 S2 he needs to get drunk to tell his wife about Bolingbroke’s coronation and Richard’s imprisonment. It’s a lovely pen portrait of a weak man in a position of responsibility and influence, blown from pillar to post by those around him.

 

Other performances are less successful. I was less persuaded by Gielgud’s Gaunt, who (similar to his Chorus in R and J) speaks the lines perfectly but with a strange absence of feeling (his farewell to Bolingbroke is notably unmoving). He delivers the famous speech of the play expertly with a teary emotion but I felt he was slightly miscast, that Gaunt needed a bit more of the earthy, domineering quality that Finch’s Bolingbroke has. Most of the rest of the cast only have small moments to shine, but Richard Owens is a fine Mowbray, Clifford Rose makes a lot of a few small moments as a militant Carlisle and, after a shaky start, David Swift is a bull-like, unsubtle Northumberland. For Star Wars fans there is a chance to see Boba Fett actor Jeremy Bulloch without helmet as an energised Henry Percy. I was less keen on Charles Keating’s underplayed Aumerle, and cuts to the Queen’s already small part mean Janet Maw arrives almost too late to make any real impression.

 

There are some unusual cuts in this play. Most of A2 S2 is removed, making the arrival of Bolingbroke in the country actually a little unclear. Cutting the opening of Act 4 leaves the fate of Bagot a plot-hole. A combination of trims and underplaying in A3 S3 undermines the impact of the gardener’s scene. If they wanted to make cuts, some trims to A1 S1 and S3 – both static talking shops in this production – would have been a far better choice. There are also several moments in the play that, to be honest, don’t really work. I’ve already mentioned the pacing errors in the opening scenes, but Giles doesn’t really solve the strange ‘comedy’ sequence of Act Five involving the York family pleading against each other over the fate of Aumerle. An attempt is made at playing the comedy of the moment, but it feels even more out of place with the rest of the play (and pity Wendy Hiller that this is her only appearance in the project). Bolingbroke’s exasperated final reaction shot here also doesn’t work at all.

 

But plenty of things work well. Giles does a lot with creative framing and character movement. Throughout the film, Richard constantly ascends and descends raised platforms, moving from solitary positions then bringing himself down to the same level as his subjects (some examples can be seen in the images above). There is also some lovely use of York, placing him fairly consistently at the front of the frame, almost as a chorus for scenes, suggesting not only his isolation from Bolingbroke and his followers but also his status in this production as the most sympathetic and humane of the characters and the viewers’ window into the action.

 

The finest directorial decision is the delivery of Richard’s final monologue in A5 S5. The speech is split into five chunks, with each chunk prefaced by a cut of Richard in a new position in his prison cell, using a visual shorthand to show both the passage of time and the completion of Richard’s long journey into self realisation. In each the camera drifts slowly but tellingly in towards Richard, stressing his own introspection and his claustrophobic isolation. It’s a very clever way of using a small set and a truly cinematic way of interpreting the speech and something that could not be done on stage, and it works very effectively, creating one of the production’s highlights. But these are unobtrusive flourishes in some very unfussy visual direction.

 A montage of the different positions and placements used for Richard's final speech

I found this blog more challenging to write than the last, possibly because I expected this – particularly after the poorly paced opening scenes – to be a dry shadow of the later Rupert Goold-directed Hollow Crown version. But this manages to hold its own. It’s not completely perfect, but in terms of acting and drama it’s a major step-up from Romeo and Juliet and, in its decision to focus on exteriors and night times, it uses the restrictions of studio filming far more to its advantage. Also, while Giles might have less flair as a director, he has far more ideas about the play and about how to work with actors and direct smaller scenes, which on the whole is more important than Alvin Rakoff’s flair. I have to say I really enjoyed this production and would definitely watch it again.

Conclusion
Some very impressive acting (particularly a stunning lead performance from Derek Jacobi) and unobtrusive direction make up for some poorly paced scenes to create a pretty impressive stab at producing a small-scale spectacle of a play. Not everything completely works, but there is enough here that succeeds to make this entertaining and moving viewing. Well done BBC!

Next up: Helen Mirren and James Bolam go frolicking in the forest of Arden in As You Like It.

Romeo and Juliet (Series 1 Episode 1)

Romeo and Juliet

First Transmitted 3rd December 1978

Rebecca Saire and Patrick Ryecart star in Shakespeare's romantic tragedy

Cast: Patrick Ryecart (Romeo), Rebecca Saire (Juliet), Celia Johnson (Nurse), Michael Hordern (Capulet), Joseph O’Conor (Friar Lawrence), Anthony Andrews (Mercutio), John Gielgud (Chorus), Laurence Naismith (Prince), Jacqueline Hill (Lady Capulet), Alan Rickman (Tybalt), Christopher Strauli (Benvolio), Christopher Northey (Paris), Paul Henry (Peter), John Paul (Montague), Esmond Knight (Old Capulet), Vernon Dobtcheff (Apothecary), John Savident (Friar John)

Director: Alvin Rakoff



The inaugural production selected by the BBC, it’s very easy to see Romeo and Juliet as a mission statement for the whole series, both in style, tone and interpretation. Which in this case is to present an incredibly faithful and traditional production of the play, on an intricate set with a studied focus on verse speaking and occasional moments of directorial and interpretative flair.

It’s surely not by accident that the first voice (and the first face) seen on screen in the entire project is Sir John Gielgud as the Chorus. The greatest verse speaker of the last century and hailed one of the best classical actors in the world, it was clearly a coup for the BBC to borrow his prestige. But this opening scene also sums up some of the issues with the project, as the director Alvin Rakoff seems completely unsure about how to handle the Chorus' appearance, with Gielgud appearing in period costume as the camera tracks down and into the great actor’s face while he performs a poetry recital without a trace of character. This staging manages to make both the nature of the Chorus (Is he part of the action? Is he a ‘voice of god’ or voice of Shakespeare?) vague and the dramatic thrust of the play rather deadened from the start, as Gielgud’s recital lacks emotion (beautifully spoken as it is) and the camera basically sits there and laps it up. These issues are symptomatic with wider problems with the direction of the play that I’ll come to later.

This is a version of Romeo and Juliet that appears to be about very little other than telling the story. There is no hint that any major interpretative work or even analysis of the text has taken place. Instead the play is presented exactly “as is” with boy meeting girl leading to tragedy. Any hints that Shakespeare might be looking at other themes – say the destructive nature of passionate love, or the shadow of death lingering over hot headed young people – are completely avoided in favour of a clear and concise reading of the text.

This lack of depth is not helped by the decision to cast Ryecart and Saire. Both were cast in this film as “stars of tomorrow” but the production shows up their limitations throughout. Firstly Ryecart is hideously miscast as Romeo, totally unable to bring out any sense of romantic passion or (later) despair. From the start his discussion of Rosalind and “love’s transgression” is poetic but empty, never persuading me that he felt anything. His performance remains low energy and contained, without any real fun to him – he already seems well on the way to middle age. This hollowness at the centre of his performance continues when he meets Juliet. He only seems to come to life during Mercutio’s death and his reaction to it (though he gives a curiously peevish reading of “I thought all for the best”). Fast delivery carries him through and gives him an impression of anger which he is able to maintain in A3 S2. But by the end of the play I have no idea, as a viewer, why this Romeo does what he does or why he feels there is nothing for him in life with the loss of Juliet. It’s a misfire at the centre of the play that the production can’t really recover from.

Rebecca Saire makes better job of Juliet. Famously selected for the part aged only 14, she makes a strong fist of dialogue and interpreting the lines but, quite frankly, spends large parts of the production looking uncomfortable and out of depth. The age difference (Ryecart is 12 years older and looks it) perhaps also explains the physical discomfort between the two leads – a repeated series of chaste kisses and lack of contact is the hallmark of their relationship while in A3 S5 in bed together they seem to be going out of the way to avoid kissing too intimately. What she does manage very well are the speeches and monologues where it is clear that she has put an immense amount of thought and feeling into the dialogue. Her major speech in A4 S2 is well done, choosing to stress the sharp changes in mood and feeling throughout the script. But with the all important relationship with Romeo not convincing at all, it isn’t enough. The central casting of the two inexperienced leads fatally holes the entire enterprise under the waterline.

More success is had with some of the supporting parts. Celia Johnson is best in show here, with her Nurse coming across as a wonderfully human portrayal of this old retainer, handling the dialogue with a confident naturalism and crafting a warm-hearted well meaning servant who seems to be as closely drawn from a Hardy novel as Shakespeare. Similarly Michael Hordern gives an interesting interpretation of Capulet as a tiresome old man almost touching the edge of senility, taking on menial tasks himself due to a lack of natural authority and whose own servants roll their eyes at his feeble gags once his back is turned. Joseph O’Conor brings a solid fatherly tone to the Friar (his relationship with Juliet is especially well drawn) and Jacqueline Hill gives a touch of steeliness to Lady Capulet.

This big surprise here however is the failure of Anthony Andrews’ Mercutio. For some unfathomable reason Andrews delivers his dialogue in a halting machine-gun way that not only gives no real insight into the character but becomes increasingly more and more tiresome – dialogue is fired out like follows: “who dreams. Of courses. Straight.” And “Some time. She gallops across men’s noses. As they lie. Asleep”. Again it’s never clear why Andrews chose to do it like this or what we are supposed to surmise about Mercutio’s character from it. He improves in time for his death scene but a sense of bond between him and Romeo is never developed and Andrews, for such a charismatic performer, fails to bring any charisma to the part.

The casting that attracts the most interest now is that of Alan Rickman as Tybalt, here making his television debut. It’s surprisingly hard to review Rickman’s performance objectively, with the fore knowledge that he would become such a successful actor, but nevertheless he shows great promise here with Tybalt, investing the young hot head with both a sense of caution and reserve often missing from many interpretations. Rakoff also gives him a small moment with Juliet in the ballroom scene that allows them to establish a warmth between these two characters. And yes the famous Rickman voice is already fully intact.

The small moment Rakoff gives Tybalt with Juliet, is an example of the moment of interpretative interest Rakoff brings to the play. In the opening scene he has the townspeople of Verona turn on the Capulets and Montagues – a flourish that is so rarely done that I was surprised to find there was any textual justification for it. A scene of Capulet buying oranges at a market has the air of a downmarket Brando in the Godfather. Abraham carries a noticeable black eye for the whole play, suggesting very neatly a world of constant violence from the start. A neat shift of location allows the Friar’s long speech at the end to be cut without any awkwardness. Above all it is in the crowd and fight scenes that Rakoff succeeds. The fight direction is by William Hobbs (he later went on to do sword choreography for, among others, Dangerous Liaisons, The Man in the Iron Mask, The Count of Monte Cristo and most recently Game of Thrones) and the sword fights are fantastic – intense, detailed but also ragged and exhausting. Rakoff allows the camera to roam through the fight scenes, using a combination of tracking shots and low angles to get a sense of the melee. The fights also have a raw sense of brutality to them which makes them feel genuinely dangerous.



The fight scenes use editing and camera angles to accentuate the frantic action

Rakoff also uses a lovely motif throughout of framing his characters through arches and other parts of the set, as if to suggest the world (and death) closing in on his characters. The images opposite give an idea of this. In the first, we see Tybalt cornered and trapped by an enraged Romeo. Shortly after we get Juliet similarly framed in the garden, which now seems claustrophobic (in contrast to its first appearance where Juliet is framed in a wide open space) – with the sets after this point increasingly closing in on her, narrowing her world as options slowly retreat from her (see the third image as she lies in bed deciding on whether to take the poison). Even at the end, with Romeo outside the tomb, the building seems to be pulling him in towards it, reducing his freedom to move – an effect heightened here (so to speak) by the low angle camera used to make Paris seem both imposing and almost spectre like. Similar effects are used elsewhere for Mercutio and to a degree Paris. It's flourishes like this where we get a sense of Rakoff’s visual eye and experience as a director.

The problem is that Rakoff fails as an interpreter of Shakespeare. It’s no surprise that the more experienced actors by and large come out of this best. In terms of questioning the text and putting a new spin on the play, Rakoff hasn’t got much to offer. In thrall to Gielgud’s speaking, he encourages similar from the rest of the cast, giving us poetry but not drama. For the dialogue scenes he directs them flatly – cutting from speaker to speaker, using establishment shots and not a lot else – and by and large leaves the actors to get on with it, to mixed success. This is when the pristine street sets of Verona – I was reminded somewhat of Doctor Who’s Logopolis – and the painfully unconvincing forest set really start to jar. When it’s left with just the text, neither the director nor the lead actors seem really sure exactly what they should be doing.

It’s a well meaning attempt at doing the play, but the problem is that this rather lifeless and passionless production aesthetically follows exactly the same playbook as Zefferelli’s 1968 film version and doesn’t really have anything to bring to the table on its own account. As a faithful, clear and straight reading of the play it’s serviceable if weakly acted by the leads. But if you want to watch a film version of the play, there really is no reason at all to watch this – check out Zefferilli for a more traditional production, Luhrmann for a re-interpretation of this play.

Conclusion

Poor leading performances and a lack on interpretative insight or originality are too dominant in this fumbled production. Despite some interesting directorial decision and some very well done fights, this is a lifeless production that totally fails to get across the passion the two leads have for each other. Having said that it’s better than expected, but that doesn’t mean it’s good.

NEXT UP: I’ll be seeing Sir John again alongside Derek Jacobi as Richard II.