King John (Series 7 Episode 1)

First transmitted 24th November 1984

Leonard Rossiter schemes in vain in King John

Cast: Leonard Rossiter (King John), George Costigan (Philip the Bastard), John Thaw (Hubert), Claire Bloom (Constance), Charles Kay (King Philip), Mary Morris (Queen Elinor), Richard Wordsworth (Cardinal Pandolph), Robert Brown (Pembroke), John Castle (Salisbury), Jonathan Coy (The Dauphin), Gordon Kaye (Duke of Austria), Janet Maw (Blanche), Phyllida Law (Lady Faulconbridge), Edward Hibbert (Robert Faulconbridge)

Director: David Giles

The final series of the BBC’s Shakespeare project kicked off with the producers surely well aware that, due to lack of foresight at the start, they were left with one whopper in Much Ado About Nothing and then four relative minnows in the Shakespeare pool – Pericles, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Titus Andronicus and King John. This is a shame since from this point on many of the issues with these productions are going to be about how well the director’s deal with flaws and problems in the plays themselves, rather than how they bring the plays to the screen – issues that I am not always confident that the directors who previously handled The Tempest and The Merry Wives of Windsor earlier in this series are going to be able to cope with.

King John is an odd play, with Shakespeare unsure what type of story he wants to tell here, or how he wants to tell it. The tone of the play zig zags oddly from almost light comedy into dark tragedy. John is a curiously peripheral character for large chunks of the play, struggling to impose himself on the action, as much as the actor must struggle to impose himself on the play. Time is telescoped as always, but in a scattergun and confused way, so that some events seem to happen in a few hours, others months apart. Characters take on great importance and then suddenly drop out of the action altogether. John is bad when the actions he undertakes are without defence – but Shakespeare seems obliged to present him as almost a hero when he defies the Catholic church and, that old Shakespeare bug bear, the French. It’s a difficult period of history to dramatise, so this is perhaps why Shakespeare feels more comfortable writing characters he effectively invented, principally of course Philip the Bastard, who gets all the best speeches and most of the best lines (if anything, John is a figurehead in his own play).

So that brings us to this production, which is a rather lifeless version of this rambling play that gets excessively bogged down in the earlier acts, in particular the long, long scenes that make up the bulks of Acts 1, 2 and 3. The production fails to really kick into gear into well into Act 4, instead developing into a series of scenes of speechifying, often under powered in delivery. Camera angles are kept simple, as well as editing styles, with direction favouring a straight combination of two-shot technique, with plenty of cuts back to the person who happens to be speaking at that time. There is a lack of inventiveness in any television technique or filmic language, with the decision instead to treat this as a very theatrical adaptation, possibly one of the most theatrical of the series. Occasional good ideas and interesting camera movements are few and far between.

The staging and design follows this up, with the style chosen for the different locations in the play (particularly outside locations) deliberately going for as non-realist a design as possible. The French locations are stylised exteriors, with the action taking place in front of huge backcloths covered in fleur-de-lis, absolutely no attempt made to suggest that we are ever outside in a ‘real’ place. The castles follow this design, with the stonework looking like exactly what it is – papier mache – and the exteriors of castle locations almost laughably wobbly in their woodenness. By contrast, interiors are detailed and carefully constructed to resemble real castles. Nothing wrong with this of course, but in a production that plays the action and the characters in as determinedly realist a way as possible, this looks odd – better productions have got away with non-realist locations, because either the action married with this, or the locations had been made so non-realist that there was never a feeling that we were meant to be looking at a real place. The inconsistency between interiors and exteriors doesn’t help with this.

Other creative and casting decisions in the play also don’t really work. Was it really necessary to have every single one of Cardinal Pandolph’s entrances (an underwhelming performance in any case by Richard Wandsworth, which doesn’t convey the Cardinal’s ruthlessness) accompanied by monastic chanting? This chanting keeps making clumsy appearances throughout the production, whenever the theme of religion rears its head. This production is also cursed with some of the weakest child actors we’ve seen yet in the series. The child playing Arthur is woefully unconvincing and fatally undermines what is usually the play’s best scene (Hubert’s planned blinding of Arthur) by failing to convey any sense of fear or anxiety (he’s not particularly helped by an underpowered John Thaw as Hubert). As a result, this scene, usually the emotional centrepiece of the play, is actually rather dull here. A second child performer pops up towards the end as Henry III and is equally ineffective.

In terms of the themes of the play, one thing Giles really focuses on, and brings out successfully, is the importance and strength of mothers and the influence and control they have over their children. There are three mothers in this play – Lady Faulconbridge, Eleanor and Constance – and all three of them are clearly the driving forces behind their children, guiding their decisions and fulfilling their own ambitions and desires through those children. Giles shoots the mothers always in domineering positions, presenting them as constantly controlling and manipulating their sons, living and achieving their ambitions through them.  Constance speaks constantly for her son, and seems barely able to release her grip on him, constantly holding him in a domineering grasp. Lady Faulconbridge clearly controls her rather dullard son Robert and can see (and intends to enjoy) the clear advantages of the success of her bastard son Philip. Even Janet Maw’s Blanche clearly understands realpolitik.

This focus on mothers and sons is helped by impressive performances from these actresses. Mary Morris is a fearsome, ruthless, ambitious and intelligent Queen Eleanor, clearly positioned as the power behind her son’s throne. Throughout A1, Eleanor is a constant presence beside John, almost a co-ruler. Giles uses some intelligent cutting and reaction shots to keep Eleanor to the forefront of the action throughout A2, allowing the audience to constantly see how she is evaluating the consequences of the actions around her. Phyllida Law equally makes a lot of Lady Faulconbridge’s wisdom and clearly expresses the affection she holds Philip in. Claire Bloom gives another impressive performance in this series, her Constance developing from a forceful determination to achieve her son’s rights, through to a pained, desperation progressing into despair as his hopes and dreams fall apart. Many of the finest moments in A2 are dominated by her presence, and Constance’s overbearing determination.

It’s in the second half that the loss of these characters is felt, as the play moves towards a confusing see-saw of events as men fall back into doing what they do best – fighting and feuding. Robert Brown and John Castle do their best with rather nondescript roles as the primary English lords, but are not helped by some repetitive decisions both in writing and playing – we don’t need to see Castle’s Salisbury in tears in almost every scene to know that he is as conflicted at betraying his country as he was devastated at the death of Arthur. A4 and A5 may pump up the number of events, but the production presents them (admittedly not the finest dramatic sequences written by Shakespeare) as formless and shapeless. Watching this I had no idea what this production might be building towards – there is no real sense of drive, of a narrative or thematic point being made here. Instead events continue forward until they stop. This is even clearer in the end of the play, as the actors shuffle off (accompanied of course by monastic chanting) without any real sense that the production has concluded something or been about anything.

A part of this problem is George Costigan’s performance as Philip the Bastard. An almost entirely invented character, Philip is probably (if anyone is) the real lead of the play, the only character who addresses the audience, and the character from whose perspective we are invited to see much of the action. Costigan gives an intelligent and extremely well spoken performance, but for me it’s too underpowered and calm. I don’t really get from him a sense of the charisma the part needs – there has to be a reason why kings and peers of the realm start to listen to this upstart Bastard, and I’m not sure that is explained. Similarly, the progress that Philip makes towards decency and patriotism (is there a nicer Bastard in Shakespeare?) doesn’t really become clear either. Philip is the main lens through which the audience sees the play, and when his journey seems hazy, so does the play.

Which brings us to the title character. Just like with John Cleese in Shrew, the BBC went against the expected choice by hiring an actor best known for sitcoms to play the tragic lead. The impact is slightly lost today, largely because Rossiter is less well known today than Cleese – no episodes of Rising Damp on Netflix! – but he gives a very good performance here as a John, a weasly mummy’s boy unable to make a decision, prone to the snide remark and glance but crucially lacking any ability to inspire confidence in others. So he takes a slightly pathetic delight in little victories – like clasping the King of France’s hand in a crucial diplomatic moment – but then looks total at a loss at a major moment, as his lords rebel. His lords show little respect for him – at one point Salisbury grasps him by the shoulder and John hardly reacts – and he constantly shuffles on his feet when talking and whines like a child, refusing at one point to acknowledge Philip until he has kissed his hand first. It’s a decent performance that seems very true to the historical man (and also quite good casting for Rossiter). It’s a real shame that this was Rossiter’s last ever performance, as he passed away between filming and transmission.

Rossiter gives us a firm centre for this production, but even he gets a bit lost in the dully handled speechifying that makes up most of the flat first half. A2 in particular seems to go on and on as more and more hot air covers the destiny of the crown, and the dark comedy of this offer and counter offer scene gets lost in the crush. It’s just not plain interesting enough for anyone to care – and there doesn’t seem to be enough tension or indeed anything really at stake during this long sequence. This then means that once things start to happen in A4, the audience doesn’t have a sense of tension exploding, or pay off from a build earlier. Instead, it remains a faithful but rather flat rendition of a weak play that takes the audience nowhere in particular.

Conclusion

A decent lead performance, and some impressive supporting performances, can’t make up for what remains a rather disappointing and empty production of one of Shakespeare’s weaker plays, that largely lacks real narrative thrust and never really feels like it is going anywhere. Instead, events continue until there are no more events, and material that could have real emotional impact instead meanders past, lost in dull debate and a few too many underpowered performances in crucial roles. Stylistically and filmically, it also doesn’t really work – too bright, too colourful, not visually inventive enough or done with enough dynamism. Disappointing.

NEXT TIME: Mike Gwilym sails the seven seas as Pericles.

Henry IV Part 1 (Series 2 Episode 1)

First transmitted 9th December 1979

David Gwillim chooses between two fathers in Anthony Quayle and Jon Finch

Cast: David Gwillim (Prince Henry), Jon Finch (Henry IV), Anthony Quayle (Sir John Falstaff), Tim Pigott-Smith (Hotspur), Michele Dotrice (Lady Percy), Clive Swift (Worcester), Bruce Purchase (Northumberland), Brenda Bruce (Mistress Quickly), Jack Galloway (Poins), Gordon Gostelow (Bardolph), Robert Brown (Sir Walter Blunt), David Buck (Earl of Westmoreland), Robert Morris (Edmund Mortimer), Richard Owens (Owen Glendower), John Cairney (Earl of Douglas), Rob Edwards (Prince John of Lancaster), Terence Wilton (Sir Richard Vernon), David Neal (Archbishop of York)

Director: David Giles

 

The second series of BBC Shakespeare kicked off with the main leg of a big commitment – the completion of the first half of the history cycle with the two parts of Henry IV and Henry V. I’ll be following the progress of these plays over the next few weeks. The cycle starts with Part 1 of Henry IV, which in my opinion is probably the best and most complete play among the history cycle. It has the clearest story arc, the best explored themes, clearest character development, contrasting personalities and not to mention some of the best jokes and speeches. It’s a top play and not performed enough.

 

The downside here is that these history productions – as we saw with Richard II – are the easiest to potentially lock into a traditional interpretation. With the focus on realism, and the plays set in precise periods (and even days) of history, the default BBC feeling at this time to go as safe as possible in interpretation and setting are most obvious here. David Giles’ work on Richard II showed he is good with actors, but very straight forward (even basic) in terms of interpretation.  So it shouldn’t be a surprise that design and artistic choices here don’t often look at the play from a fresh angle.

 

 Filmed entirely in a studio (and there are some very well done, convincing lighting effects to suggest different times of day for the battles, as well as some convincing battlefield sets) Giles’ focus is on telling the story, simply and clearly with the language being the prime focus. At some points this works very well – and in some key moments which I’ll look at later on, this allows him to shed some new light very effectively on one or two of the characters.

 

The downside of clarity being more prized over invention is most clear in A3 S2, the first scene Henry and Hal share together. The text is beautifully spoken (particularly by Finch) and it’s clear what the characters are thinking – but it’s not clear what they are feeling. The reactions in these scenes aren’t there – the physicality, the development of character in the delivery, the physicality of this as a confrontation just doesn’t exist. It’s strangely lifeless. Compare it with the dynamism and tension in the same confrontation in the more recent Hollow Crown version of this story. Or even the reacting and acting in Julius Caesar or Henry VIII earlier in the series. This scene is the most glaring example of a slight sterile quality in this production, so determined to stress to the viewer the importance of the words that the drama of Shakespeare is occasionally lost.

 

To watch these scenes in comparison check out this productions version here (at 8:30ish):

 

and The Hollow Crown version here

 

I defy you not to see the difference – it’s in the acting ‘off the ball’ – the reacting. The second is just so much more interesting to watch.

 

Filmic touches are kept to a minimum. Giles hasn’t got much to bring to the battle scenes, which are alternately unconvincing or aggressively overdone (the blood that chokes Hotspur during his death caused a huge amount of controversy at the time). A filmic tracking shot around the Boar’s Head pub in A1 S2 seems a wasted effort once the film starts, as everything is then set in the pub basement with one simple camera set-up. This is epidemic in a very stagy production, with the four or five sets increasingly seeming like a theatre location. There are moments where filmic touches work nicely (in particular Hotspur entering shot as a blur of motion mid letter in A2 S3: an effect which could never be created on stage) and allowing Quayle to break the fourth wall in A4 and A5 works very well – but these are exceptions rather than the rule.

 

Most of the interpretative ideas don’t add a huge amount. A motif of Henry IV as a twitchy, anxious man – forever scratching some mysterious ailment under his gloved hands – is a rather heavy handed way of stressing the guilt behind the gilt. The “anon, anon sir” sequence teasing Francis is cut from A2 S4, which can be a good opportunity to subtly explore Hal’s crueller side. The Hotspur and Lady Percy sequences do little to show other sides of Hotspur, or act as a contrast to, say, Mortimer or Henry’s relationships with women.

 

But that is enough of the negatives! It might be straight forward and lacking in ideas, but the ones it has it executes very well – and a strong story like the one of this play can carry itself forward very well by itself.

 

The main area where Giles does do something interesting – and it will be fascinating to see how this plays out in the next two films – is the interpretation of Prince Hal.  Gwillim has neither the air of a charismatic playboy or the subtle cunning of a manipulator. Watching the start of this play it’s impossible to imagine this guy scaling the walls of Harfleur. Gwillim instead plays him like some minor prankster in one of the comedies. He doesn’t even seem to be a leader among his friends and defers to Poins at key points. It’s almost as if he is being taken advantage of by his friends.

 

Just like with Derek Jacobi in Richard II, this gives Gwillim the scope to change and develop during the production. We can see the beginnings of his growth as a leader and how – in the confrontations with Falstaff, his father and Hotspur – he begins to find in himself the qualities of adulthood he will need to succeed as King. It’s the only thing in this production I don’t feel I’ve seen before and the only thing which seems like a unique look at the text.

 

A lot of work has also gone into exploring the character of Hotspur who – if anything – takes on the charisma, playboy nature and wild-child qualities that Prince Henry is often given. Pigott-Smith is terrific in this. He’s a whirling dervish of energy, constantly in motion with the attention span of a child. His charisma changes plain stupidity and lack of thought into honest bluntness and manly courage. He has the macho physicality of a school rugby star and his reaction to praise for Prince Henry seems more like the envy of a competitive jock than the reasoning of a military leader. It’s in the text, but the contrast between Hotspur and Henry has rarely been so well drawn out, without it being whacked over our heads. This is the most Hotspur-centric production of the play I’ve seen. And you wouldn’t believe the same actor played Angelo in Measure for Measure two films ago.

 

The main figure I haven’t mentioned yet is, of course, Falstaff. What I liked a lot about Anthony Quayle’s terrific performance here is that he is not easily pigeon holed as a particular character. At times Falstaff is warm and delightful, gleefully enjoying being the centre of the attention, having a Prince to hang out with – a blustering NCO-type full of wit and confidence, enjoying his intellectual superiority to those around him. At others he becomes a weak figure – a court jester, debasing himself to abuse Henry, eager to entertain when playing Henry IV but eventually having to defend himself for real against Hal’s increasingly vicious accusations. And sometimes he is almost cruel, uncaring about the fate of his men. During the battle sequences his speeches on honour and fate are beautifully done – dry, witty, a touch of humanity, a large portion of humour. It might take a while to get going (A2 S4 is the first scene that really works) but it’s worth it. I’m interested to see where it goes in Part 2, the more Falsaff-centric play. And it should be noted this was probably one of the first times Falstaff would have been seen as a slightly dishevelled, possibly creepy, morally compromised liar – a trope that is far more popular today (again compare and contrast with Simon Russell Beale in The Hollow Crown).

 

For the rest of the cast, Clive Swift does an excellent job with a bitter, ever-watchful Worcester, frustrated by his limited influence and exasperated by Hotspur. Robert Brown is excellent as Blunt and Jack Galloway is a wide-boy Poins. Only Jon Finch’s Henry IV doesn’t really work for me – it’s too exact and mannered a performance, there doesn’t seem to be much character there behind the lines.

 

I’ve been hard on this Henry IV as I feel it exhibits both the good and the bad of this series. I wish a more inventive director – Herbert Wise or Alvin Rakoff – had been allowed to have a go at these productions rather than David Giles. This is a step up from Richard II in terms of character development and textual analysis, but it is still an overwhelmingly safe production of the text. I keep waiting for it to really spring to life and surprise the viewer but it never quite does – with any foreknowledge of the play you can anticipate how certain scenes will be performed.

 

But don’t misunderstand me – this is still very good stuff. Much better than you might expect (and I expected). And it captures – in Quayle and Pigott-Smith in particular – some excellent performances while also setting the ground work for what could be a fascinating reinterpretation of a famous part by David Gwillim. The reverence for its source material is the constant issue here – it affects cuts, ideas and filming styles. It’s an issue for the whole series, treating the plays as monuments to be crafted on screen rather than as drama or film, like a televisual Mount Rushmore. Which means, in a way, this film shows both the best and the worst of the project.

 

Conclusion

Some interesting ideas creep through what is overall a very safe interpretation of the play. Solid, unimaginative direction showpieces a trio of interesting and radical performances in an entertaining production of a really great play. It’s not the most inventive production you’ll ever see, but there is more than enough of merit here to make you want to see it.

NEXT TIME: Onto Part 2 as Anthony Quayle hears the chimes of midnight and David Gwillim regenerates into Henry V.