First transmitted 16th January 1983
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The York faction celebrate (but it's short lived) as Henry VI enters its third part
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Cast: John Benfield (Northumberland/Hunstman), Peter Benson (Henry VI),
Antony Brown (King Lewis/Sir John Montgomery/Lieutenant of the Towe), Michael
Byrne (Montague/Father That Kills His Son), Paul Chapman (Rivers), Ron Cook
(Richard of Gloucester), Rowena Cooper (Queen Elizabeth), Arthur Cox (Somerset/Sir
John Mortimer), David Daker (Hastings), Brian Deacon (Oxford), Tenniel Evans (Messenger/Keeper/First Watchman/Sir William Stanley), Derek Farr (Exeter/Mayor of York/Rutland’s
Tutor/Second Watchman), Julia Foster (Queen Margaret), Derek Fuke (Westmoreland/Post/Third Watchman), Alex Guard (Son That Kills His Father/Dorset), Bernard Hill (York),
Paul Jesson (George of Clarence), Melinda Kendall (Lady Bona), Oengus MacNamara
(Young Clifford/Messenger), Brian Protheroe (Edward IV), Nick Reding (Prince
Edward), Mark Wing-Davey (Warwick), Peter Wyatt (Norfolk/Second Keeper)
Director: Jane Howell
Well it’s been quite a journey – and quite a pleasure! I
loved seeing these productions years ago, and it’s been great to sit down and enjoy
all 13 hours (count ‘em!) again this time. So let me say it again – this is a
major artistic achievement, and if these productions had been delivered on
stage rather than through the box, they would have been talked about as landmarks. The best news is Richard
III is still to come. I should probably also name-check at this moment my
wife Cate, who succumbed to my pleading to watch this trilogy with me. Perhaps
because I ran out of superlatives, you can hear what she thought of the whole
thing in her Guest blog post here!
Needless to say this is another excellent episode in this
ongoing drama of a country folk tearing each other apart. After the calmer pace of the Part Two, this returns to the frentic style
with each battle (of which there are many) rolling inexorably into
the next. The difference from the first half – which now seems a bit of jolly
hockeysticks compared to the slaughter here – is this play drips with blood,
violence and sadism and the humour is pitch black. It’s enough to make you
wonder how nihilistic the final part of this series, Richard III, is going to be – particularly knowing that will see the
demise of nearly all the characters left alive at the conclusion of this one.
It’s that grim “butcher’s toll” that really keeps this play
moving. Stylistic echoes of death stretch throughout the plays. How
many times now have we seen a leading character, his body broken, slumped and looking
up at the camera, reflecting on the futility of war? Just as Talbot in Part One and Cade in Part Two, so York, Clifford (a great performance of menace and blind hatred from Oengus MacNamara) and Warwick
here, their blooded bodies a witness to the emptiness of the cause that has
consumed them. York in particular finally signs off on his long campaign for
the crown, hunted, assaulted, mocked and lynched in an extended scene of
humiliation and pain. And those are only the most prominent of the deaths here,
as extras aplenty meet graphic and brutal ends.
Contrasts with the previous chapters of the trilogy are used
throughout to heighten the sense of violence. Where Part Two begins with a ceremonial entrance into the court, Part Three opens with the same
courtroom, but this time with Yorkist axes caving the door in. Similarly, while
the first shot of Part One is a state
funeral, here the camera pans over a series of mangled bodies from the Battle
of St Albans. The fast pace of Part One
is replicated throughout the second part of the play, this time with a far
darker mood and atmosphere. There are also interesting stylistic
flourishes in the play around the number three and framing of groups of three:
most clearly of course in the three sons of York, artfully arranged to watch
the rising of three sons, but echoed as well in the framing of Warwick,
Margaret and Edward in A3 S5, and several other characters throughout – which
is both a nice in joke, but also a comment on the uneasy alliances at the heart of this play. There is also a welcome return of the “straight to camera
address” here used with dark effect, as characters appeal to the camera for
sympathy, relief or to let off steam – only Richard tips the odd sly wink (though not as many as you would think!).
The battle scenes have increased in scale. All attempts to
distinguish between the sides have been largely abandoned, everyone instead
consumed in some hellish melee. The costumes are now so similar, that each side
blends into each other in a series of brutal skirmishes, with camera angles
switching from wide angles to tight angles (to capture the violence), and
frequent use of slow-mo and reduced sound to accentuate each blow being
delivered. Two battles stand out in particular. In A2 S2 at the Battle of
Towton, mirrors create seemingly never ending rows of soldiers moving towards
each other, ranks of impersonal figures moving in sequence. In A5 S5 an
apocalyptic Battle of Tewkesbury takes place in the snow, like a destructive
ash spread over the combatants. What works particularly well here is the
build-up to this battle, as a battered Lancastrian army assembles – the faces
of every character clearly shows they know they can’t win, with Margaret’s pep
talk doing little more than stir their courage – and the off-camera sound of
the approach of the Yorkist sounds like some medieval WMD, about to wipe the
Lancastrians off the face of the earth.
All this of course takes place within a darkened, faded and
extremely damaged set, now only a distant relative of the bright and colourful
location of Part One. Doors are
rotten and stained with fire. All colour has disappeared from the wood. Fabrics
and clothes are darkened and militaristic – Warwick and York still wear the same armour
as in Part One but the colours have
decayed and faded beyond recognition. The contrast is really noticed when the
French characters appear in A3 S3, still in their blues and brightness – even
their slightly camp attitude and demeanour – which really causes them to stand
out from the increasingly serious and grim English characters. It’s an
explosion of everything that has been building throughout the previous plays.
We now live in a world where it is everyman for himself, and
factions promote their own interests with no interest in the realm at large.
Howell constantly frames the various factions, and factions within factions,
together – a series of confrontational group line-ups, facing down all attempts
at reason and negotiation. The characters are all totally unprincipled about
alliances for fortune – Oxford and Margaret may meet Warwick coldly on his
defection, but they are have no doubts about working with him. Paul Jesson’s
excellent performance as Clarence as a naked opportunist and mercenary, rolling
from alliance to alliance with no sense of loyalty or affection for others is
in many ways an even better expression of this, than Ron Cook’s disillusioned
and angry Richard. No wonder they are all so ruthless – Margaret’s cruel
taunting and near lynching of York (Bernard Hill bowing out on a real high with
a performance of arrogance and ruthlessness collapsing into furious, emotional
defiance), is just one of several brutal ends – among them Clifford and
Warwick.
Both these deaths pale however against the brutal murder of
Prince Edward, whose stabbing is so shocking and cruel (and the reaction of
Margaret so pained) that the assembled Yorkist lords seem hardly able to watch.
Edward in particular seems appalled that he has behaved so violently – so
clearly against his self-image as the “Good King”, while Hastings and the Grey
family are shocked into horrified silence (Hastings even crouching impotently behind a grieving Margaret). This is particularly striking as Prince
Edward himself is portrayed as fearful but bravely facing his end. The
stark single shot here – and the framing of the violence against the snow white
background – lend a real emotional force and bleakness to this final brutal
murder that will secure Edward’s throne – and seems to lay the emotional groundwork
for the nightmare that will be Richard
III - it’s easy to see why this one murder will resonate so strongly within that play - particularly as it is so rarely seen in the context of the three previous plays.
The final slaughter is the murder of Henry VI himself, who
meets his end in a darkened room in the tower. Benson’s soft spoken Henry is as
gloriously ineffectual here, as he has been throughout the trilogy, from weakly
confronting York in A1 S1 (and actually trying to run away rather than confront
Margaret) to walking shell shocked across Towton in A2 S5, listening with a
heartbroken tenderness to the Father and the Son, utterly unable to understand
or comprehend man’s violence, a wistful sadness as he sees the dead around him
– the same emotions he will display in A4 S6 when talking with Exeter, a complete lack
of comprehension about why he is not loved and respected as a king. By contrast, in his final
moments he displays more strength of purpose and defiance than he has in the
rest of his life. The scene itself uses some subtle Christian imagery – light
cast on bars to form a cross, bread and wine on the table where Henry sits –
although the final crucifixation pose of Henry himself is less subtle.
Most of the action of Part
Three is increasingly driven by Richard of Gloucester, here representing
the embodiment of a “new world order” of violence and deceit. Ron Cook’s
performance is perhaps most notable because it is delivered in a very low-key
style, a bitter man, who has spent a lifetime being demeaned and insulted by
those around him. This is clear in A5 S5, where in his murder of Henry he seems
at least as motivated by the insults and “home truths” Henry gives him,
culminating in a frenzied stabbing and a bitter mission statement of future
villainy. Aside from this moment, it’s his calm intelligence that really stands
out, mixed in with a genuine sense of melancholy and even depression in his
major speech in A3 S2. Cook’s Richard cannot gain pleasure from
anything: it is suggested his idolisation of his father is his one tether to
the real world (he cuddles up to him like a baby in A1 S3) – once that is gone, everything is open season.
If Richard is the new world, then Warwick is the old world.
Mark Wing-Davey comes into his own in this Part,
as the last man standing of the major lords introduced in Part One. What is particularly effectively in his performance is the
sense that Warwick himself is deliberately altering and adjusting his
personality to fit his new self-perception as an elder statesman. He is
noticeably calmer and cooler, his pride and ambition now clearly central parts
of his personality – his fury in A3 S3 is all based around his intense anger at
being humiliated by Edward. With the death of York, Warwick’s primary aim – and
you can see it in the framing and body language in A2 S1 – is to establish
himself as the true leader of the Yorkist faction (helped by the fact that he
treats Edward and George like children – they even literally sit at his feet to
hear his instruction on what they should do next). He may have an emotional core
– as seen in his reaction to the death of his father in A2 S3 and his pain at
York’s loss – but it is pride that drives him on here and leads to the
destructive Acts 4 and 5 of the play. It’s a subtle and effective way of making
Warwick both an antagonist and a protagonist.
By contrast Brian Protheroe’s Edward is far more of a
playboy figure, a man elevated into a leadership role but clearly unsuited to it,
lacking any moral authority. After the death of York, he seems lost – flinging
himself into Warwick’s arms like a child – seating himself subseviently at
Warwick’s feet, practically asking to be told what to do. Later, when faced
with defections in response to his marriage, he seems like a horny, stroppy
teenager. What balances this really well though is the flashes of self-doubt
and fear – before battles, when facing Warwick – that subtly suggest a man out
of his depth. The importance to him of his self-image is clear in the aftermath
of Prince Edward’s murder, where he seems barely able to believe he has
committed the crime – let alone actually look at the consequences of his
actions.
The one performer in the cycle that I have struggled with
has been Julia Foster as Margaret. Foster, for me, has often been too one-note,
to sharp tongued and hard in tone for her to be really convincing as anything
other than the “she-wolf” of France she becomes in this play (it hardly seems
much of a journey since she is a pretty harsh person from day one). So this
Part does at least play more to her strengths – even though it effectively
means that she hits the same notes she had been delivering in Parts One and
Two, just even harder (her mocking of York is only a few degrees harsher than
her mocking of Gloucester in Part Two).
The point where she really nails it though – and it may be because she changes
the pace rather than her performance – is Act 5. Her tearful disbelief turning
to acceptance of certain defeat in the build-up to the final battle is
strangely moving (considering she has expressed no doubt at all in the previous
12 hours of action), as is her desperate attempts to rouse the courage of her
men despite her own fear. This then feeds wonderfully into her almost elemental
pain at the death of her son, her agony as hard for the viewer to watch as the
Yorkists find it. She’s never been, really, the right choice for the part –
imagine what Eileen Atkins, Helen Mirren or any other of the wonderful actors
in this cycle could have done with the part and its mixture of sensuality and
macho aggression – but she makes her best shot at here.
And so that is it for Henry
VI! After thirteen hours it’s hard not to feel like breaking out into a
celebratory jig, as the triumphant Yorkists do at the end (with a dance
sequence inspired by Shakespearean performance, but also stressing their
triumphalist relief and their lack of awareness of the destructive force among
them). The “trilogy” however continues with Richard
III – next up with an uncut four hours of revenge – and the seeds for that
have been triumphantly sown here, not only with Richard’s growing anger, but
also with the murder of Prince Edward, the development of Margaret and the
collapse of any sense of moral force or obligation among the characters. We’ve
seen England move from a land where the Royal family rule in the interest of
the people to one where our new Royal family are more interested in helping
themselves than they are in the people. Compelling material, brilliantly done.
Conclusion
The trilogy comes to a gripping end with a grim parade of
battles and violence, as many of the most prominent characters from the
previous plays face their end in a bloodbath that makes Game of Thrones look timid. Directorial
flourishes are very effectively done, and the acting remains of a very high
standard indeed, with Cook, Protheroe, Wing-Davey, Hill and Benson all making
strong contributions, while Foster does her best work so far. Some moments here
carry an extraordinary power and some sequences are chilling – in particular
the murder of Prince Edward. It’s going to be fascinating to see how much of Richard III is repositioned after seeing
this – particularly as that murder of Prince Edward is so central to the unedited
text. Terrific, terrific stuff – make the effort to see this!
NEXT TIME: No spoilers but it's Ron Cook's time to take the spotlight as Richard III approaches.
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.
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.
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 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!
