Henry IV, Part Two: Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears the Crown

Henry IV, Part Two

Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre
July 3 – October 3, 2010

‘Does anyone ever do Henry IV, Part Two by itself?’ asks my dad after we emerge from Dominic Dromgoole’s most excellent sequel at The Globe. Probably not, because although it is a superlative historical drama, it follows on from Part One too comfortably to stand alone.

Prince Hal (Jamie Parker) is still unsure where he fits in life; like Prince Charles, his job is to wait for his monarch-parent to die. The moment when Hal thinks this has happened is shockingly powerful and moving as he has the temerity to touch the crown, only to then stand silent and chastised as his father (Oliver Cotton) remonstrates with him.

Falstaff (Roger Allam) is still a powerful coward full of bombast and bravado. Age and the law are catching up with him, however, and he is slightly more contemplative as he realises he has no true friends and may have only a lonely dotage ahead of him. He tries to shrug off such reflections with cheap tricks and ale but the merry-making seems forced. We understand why actors relish the role of Falstaff and why he is the only one of Shakespeare’s characters to get his own spin-off play, but also when Hal and his ‘shadow’ Poins (Danny Lee Wynter) tire of him, it is easier to share their disillusionment than in Part One.

The tavern scenes are exquisitely executed, from the distressed Mistress Quickly (Barbara Marten) who is simply trying to make a profit and avoid ‘swaggerers’ while her husband nonchalantly smokes his pipe on the balcony, to the vigorous slapstick humour of Doll Tearsheet (Jade Williams). She proves adept at physical comedy as she hurls herself (in more ways than one) across the stage –let’s just say the groundlings at the front get slightly more than they bargained for.

There are yet more politics and manoeuvres in this second part of the trilogy and they continue to be expressed with intelligence and clarity. A particularly Machiavellian piece of skulduggery reveals Hal’s younger brother John of Lancaster (Joseph Timms) in a not-entirely-honourable light. He is steadfast and practical, however, and more like a stereotypical older brother who gets the job done without any of Hal’s shenanigans, of which he clearly disaproves.

William Gaunt is quite brilliant as the doddering old Shallow bringing humour to what could otherwise be quite tedious scenes of choosing soldiers, and providing such much-needed lightness as the tone darkens. He is delightfully shambolic and his double act with Silence played by Christopher Godwin is the best I’ve seen since Morecambe and Wise.

With the death of his father, Prince Hal becomes King Henry V and his return to the stage (he is absent for three-quarters of the play) makes it shine anew. Although he claims, ‘This new and gorgeous garment, majesty/ Sits not so easy on me as you think’, he does in fact assume the mantle with aplomb. And when he rejects Falstaff at the conclusion, we are not as sad as we might be because we know it would be disastrous if, as the dissolute knight has boasted, ‘the laws of England are at my commandement’.

The new king reveals a glimpse of the old playboy when he promises he will reward Falstaff and his companions with advancement, but assures them it will only be ‘as we hear you do reform yourselves’ and not purely through nepotism. Already he is proving to be an adherent to fairness and justice – the audience can once again leave on a high knowing the (past) future of England is in good hands.

Henry IV, Part One: Buzzing on the Banks of the Thames

Henry IV, Part One

Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre
July 8 – October 3, 2010

Dominic Dromgoole’s production of Henry IV, Part One at The Globe is sensitive and rambunctious; traditional and contemporary; and overall compelling viewing. It ranges from royalty to riff-raff; battlefields to brothels; city to countryside and high politics to low humour, and all of it is immensely entertaining.

The play examines the troubled relationship between sons and their fathers (both real and surrogate), and the nature of friendship as it alters with power, responsibility and age. Prince Hal has diametrically opposed father-figures, although he eventually rejects both of them, ‘breaking through the foul and ugly mists’ to emerge blazing as his own man.

I’ve always thought the part of Henry IV was a bit ineffective but Oliver Cotton delivers his conscience-wrestling quandary with dignity, sincerity and a great command of the language. On the other hand, there is the irrepressible Roger Allam as Falstaff. Falstaff is an unashamed scene stealer, milking every nuance to just the right extent, working his audience like a stand-up comedian so that we feel part of the show. He is morally reprehensible with a terrible attitude to life and impeccable comic timing. Whether he is exaggerating his part in a duel or delivering an in-depth and unfavourable analysis of honour – musing on philosophy as he casually devours a tub of ice-cream – he is a joy to witness.

The fact that Allam doesn’t dominate the entire play, however, is due to the comprehensive direction and the brilliance of the other characters. Jamie Parker has made me fall in love with Prince Hal and Henry IV, Part One all over again. From the moment he emerges from a trapdoor with his pants around his ankles and a twinkle in his eye, his conflict of self-interest is fantastic. The trading of insults with Falstaff is sublime: if only pub slanging matches were so witty. Hal maintains his irreverent sense of fun even as he matures before our eyes through the course of the play.

He can be noble and resolute and not afraid to shirk responsibility when it falls upon him. He knows what will be expected of him, and is itching to get down to the job. He mocks his father when he imitates him in a pub, but he defends him bravely in battle and foreshadows his steely rejection of Falstaff, ‘like bright metal on sullen ground’. The opposing natures of the young prince are both excellently explored. Will the real Prince Hal please stand up? I desperately want him to play Henry V – I’d follow him into a breach any time.

Hal also has to contend with Harry (Hotspur) Percy as a model of valour. Sam Crane indulges his fiery nature to provoke humour but also respect. He may be all-too prepared to fight for his beliefs, but at least he has some. Glendower (Sean Kearns) tries to restrain him with a steady hand and a mellifluous voice, but Hotspur remains tempestuous. He may be heated in battle, but lacks passion in his domestic relationships, much to the frustrated chagrin of his wife, Kate (Lorna Stuart). She behaves a little as though she is auditioning for The X-Factor and is too focussed on herself to interact with the others, although once again, you can hear every word that she intones.

The play (and its sequel) contain a good deal of principles and affairs of state, but the scenes are acted so well and spoken so clearly that you are never lost in the potential mire that could be English ‘War of the Roses’ history. Politics are given edge (literally) in sword fights and tavern scenes. The set, designed by Jonathan Fensom, incorporates rustic qualities as minimal touches elicit maximum effect. Heraldic banners hang from all the banisters and a simple backcloth unfurls to denote our locations, from the Boar’s Head tavern to the battle encampment or the King’s bedchamber. It is a delight and an honour to experience this production in its spiritual home.

It may be a traditional production in period dress but don’t be fooled into thinking it is sedate. It is infused with high energy from the riotous mummers’ performance at the beginning to the sardonic dance at the end which sends the audience out buzzing to the banks of the Thames. Music and singing enhances the play throughout with musicians augmenting the slick scene changes to ensure the action never flags.

Laughing in the Face of Adversity

Today is my birthday and I should be celebrating. And I am, mostly. I have had lunch and coffee with friends, been for a walk by the river and am going out to dinner at a fine Italian restaurant with my husband tonight.

Not everything is a box of fluffies/ bowl of cherries/ bed of roses, however. I have got laryngitis and completely lost my voice so am only able to smile, wave and squeak. I've never especially liked clowns and now am afraid I may be turning into one with my elaborate (panto)mimes! I have noticed that I am still able to laugh, which I find an interesting anatomical curiosity as it seems to prove that laughter is visceral and does not come from the throat at all. In fact, as Peter Cook points out in Tragically I Was an Only Twin,'A laugh, like an erection, is largely involuntary'. Hmmm.

But today's main disappointment has been the performance of my beloved football team. I got up at half past one to watch them lose the Miseryside derby in comprehensive fashion to Everton. Tragic. We are now second to bottom of the league - only kept off the lowest spot by a marginally 'superior' goal difference. This is the worst position Liverpool has occupied in my living memory. Even more tragic.

And yet, the Scousers still see humour in the situation. At Liverpool's John Lennon Airport, there is a bronze statue of the erstwhile Beatle. On the ceiling is written the airport's motto, taken from his song, Imagine: 'Above us only sky'. Rumour has it that some wag has scrawled alongside it, 'Below us only West Ham'. You've got to laugh, apparently... 

Stokesley: What a Difference a Fair Makes!

Stokesley on the edge of the North York Moors is a delightful market town. It has a little river that runs through it on which the ducks paddle searching for crusts of bread. There are butchers and bakers and quite possibly candle-stick makers, banks, hairdressers, newsagents, grocers, boutique clothing outlets, and stationers.

You can happily walk up one side of the street and down the other, popping into a choice of churches, cafes, pubs and restaurants and (if you are like my brother-in-law Mr Smartypants) doffing your cloth cap at 'my good neighbour' spoken in a peculiar vernacular of Yorkadian (Yorkshire/Canadian). It doesn't matter what you do out in the big blue yonder, when you are in Stokesley all is well with the world.

And then the fair comes to town.

The Stokesley Fair transforms a sleepy village hamlet into a pulsating, flashing street of screams and vomit. The aromas are diesel fumes, fat and sugar as machines with names like Extreme, The Edge, and Over the Top rotate and revolve in three different ways. Airbrushed pictures of tropical palms cannot mask the northern brick red roofs as the half moon bravely tries to shed scenic light above a terrace.

Nothing has changed in the cheese factor of the fair's music: Bonnie Tyler and Phil Collins boom out against the Black Eyed Peas and some bint urging us to 'take it off' - not in North Yorkshire where it's cold and raining, surely. Klaxons and computer-generated enthusiasm fill the air with audio pollution as King Frog, Crazy Frog, Crazy Circus and the bumper cars vie for attention with not altogether friendly competition.

You can win goldfish at the hoopla or throw or shoot things for a Spongebob Squarepants or Toy Story prize - every time! Even the rewards are passe and desperate. 'Are you ready?' 'Yeah, baby!' Force yourself to be jolly - choose your weapon of transatlantic confection: wilting bags of pallid candy-floss; sizzlers; 1/4 burgers; roast pork 'American style'.

  

Children are primed for an adulthood of brief excitement and lengthy disappointment. Their miniature rides mimic those of the adults and despite the tame tea pots and the mini wheel twinkling fairy-like through the trees, they ride the energy storm with their hands in the air like they just don't care and squeal with the best (and worst) of them. Gypsies Rose, Lee and Bothwell can predict their future from the caravan or motor home, but teenage pregnancy, benefit dependency and spiritual unfulfilment isn't tricky to foretell.

Giant teddies bear rictus grins and dead eyes. Theatre may be shabby back stage but out front it is magic. The fierce tawdriness of this fair is all pervasive and I doubt any are deceived. Down this end of town they play Only the Lonely and try to ignore the poignancy. The Captain Cook Brewery seems a much better proposition and we drink our way along the bar. Sunset (4%) - a smooth, nutty, session ale; Slipway (4.2%) - a dry, hoppy ale with a touch of citrus tang and a lingering bitterness; Endeavour (4.5%) - a darker session beer with a clean palate, malty flavour and no bitter aftertaste. 'Almost too plain'; Black Porter (4.3%) - like velvet with sweet notes of licorice and chocolate.

All the King's Men

Continuing my punishing schedule of cultural experiences in Edinburgh, I head to the National Museum of Scotland to see the Lewis Chessmen. These charismatic little pieces are advertised all over the city and have piqued my interest. Created in the late twelfth or early thirteenth century from elaborately worked walrus ivory and whales’ teeth, they were discovered in 1831 on the Isle of Lewis and came to public notice through an article in The Scotsman.

I like their expressive faces – the bulging eyes and Dwayne Dibley teeth. They are very intricate, even down to the strands of hair and ornamental carvings in the chairs on which they sat. They seem to follow slightly different patterns which could possibly be due to different craftsmen making them from the same workshop, and some are clearly replacement pieces made later on – there are about 70 pieces all together.

The history of the pieces is shrouded in tales of murder, deception, folklore and legend. A local man, Malcolm MacLeod, said his cattle were grazing on Uig Bay sand dunes (which suggests they must be grassy sand dunes) when he discovered the chessmen. The minister of Lewis preached against idols (the island was strictly Protestant) so Malcolm was afraid of what he had found and took them to the minister in great trepidation. The story before that (or how they came to be in the sand dunes) is that a young boy washed up on shore with them in a bag (the exhibition includes a carved buckle which may have come from this bag) and met a man who promised he would lead him to safety, but instead hit him on the head with a rock and stole them.

Archeological problems are posed by these pieces because nothing else like them has been discovered. Walrus ivory is a popular material for work in Trondheim and Dublin, which makes sense because they were part of the Viking trading route: Greenland; Iceland; Trondheim; Shetland/ Orkney/ Lewis Islands; Isle of Man; Dublin. In the 790s the Vikings raided the Western Isles with a series of brutal attacks on coastal communities and monasteries. Tradition says there was a monastery at Mealasta but there is no evidence of this. Lewis was a Scandinavian island and didn’t revert to Scottish rule until 1266.

The characters are in the likeness of warders, kings, queens, pawns, knights and bishops. They were probably used at chess, tables (a predecessor of backgammon), and a game called hnefatafl. There is nothing like this from similar times in the otherwise progressive Islamic artistic tradition where craftsmen were reluctant to portray humans for religious reasons.

The kings each hold a sword in two hands as though in the act of drawing it – classic mythology says kings did this while listening to the words of Odin. The queens, resting their cheek on their hand, all look vaguely fed up. The bishops were a new feature on chessboards when these were made – this may reflect the importance and patronage of archbishops based in Trondheim (Trondheim was the seat of archbishops).

In true Wikipedia fashion, the exhibition provides information as to how and where these figures have been used in popular culture: they are the inspiration for J.K. Rowling’s wizard chess; the template for Rosemary Sutcliffe’s Chess-Dream in a Garden; and the motivation for Oliver Postgate’s Noggin the Nog. He writes that he noticed, “far from being warlike, it was clear that these were essentially kindly, non-belligerent characters, who were thoroughly dismayed by the prospect of contest.”

Britannia Rules the Waves

‘A yacht is a necessity and not a luxury for the Head of our British Commonwealth, between whose countries the sea is no barrier but the natural and indestructible highway.’

HRH Queen Elizabeth II

And yet the Royal Yacht Britannia was taken off the Queen for reasons unknown, but which probably have a lot to do with mealy-mouthed envy. But you can still look around it and admire the royal floating life, from the docks at Leith, so we did.

The admiral’s rooms (and when the Queen is on board she is piloted – or whatever you do with boats – by an admiral) aren’t so smart and are actually a wee bit shabby. The whole ship retains its 1950s chintzy décor – the Queen apparently wanted country-house comfort rather than formal grandeur and she rejected the original plans as too elaborate.
 
It is spotless, however and a junior yachtsman had to scrub the deck every day before 8am. Tasks were all carried out in silence so as not to disturb the royal family, and the crew tried to stay out of sight so that the royal family wouldn’t have to constantly acknowledge their salutes.

In some ways the yacht is actually impractical and the master of modification. ‘Modesty balconies’ prevent skirts blowing up in the wind when the royal family were posing for photographs; high-positioned windows avoid any accidental glimpses into royal apartments; the Rolls Royce or Landrover was housed in a garage – as it was difficult to manoeuvre the vehicle into this space, replacements were ordered for the destination and the erstwhile garage was used for beer storage.

The Queen’s favourite room was apparently the sun lounge with its picture windows, drinks cabinet and rum tub, where she took morning and afternoon tea (not actually in the rum tub). The Queen and the Duke had separate bedrooms (other rooms could be used by other members of the royal family, but these were reserved specifically for them) and all but one room had single beds. Prince Charles had a double bed brought on board for his honeymoon – who says he wasn’t romantic?

There are jolly japes in the wardroom antechamber where the officers met for drinks before dinner. They played tennis with a stuffed toy (meant to be a wombat but looking nothing like one) and took it in turns to hide a wooden monkey around the room. At dinner itself the youngest member had to entertain the others with an amusing anecdote, and the gin pennant indicated who was buying drinks in the officer’s bar.

In the state dining room it took three hours to set the table; there were placings for 56 (guests included Mandela, Ghandi, Churchill, Clinton, Reagan and Thatcher) and menus were given to guests (seated on Hepplewhite chairs) to take away as souvenirs. The walls are lined with gifts from locations visited – The Galapagos, Easter and Pitcairn Islands; Bangkok; Papua New Guinea; Fiji; Australia; New Zealand; Trinidad – and the room could be converted to a cinema or a dance floor.

The Queen did a lot of work on board and she had a sitting room in which to do it. The Duke had a study which is absolutely symmetrical and connected by telephone. Every detail is considered – the centre of the mirror in The Queen’s sitting room is exactly at her eye level.

Chintz sofas and deep armchairs decorate the drawing room used for relaxation and reception, which could accommodate 250 guests, and a piano on which Noel Coward played is bolted to the floor to stop it pitching in high ‘C’s (Ha!). The Queen originally wanted an open coal fire in here but that would have necessitated a sailor to be on permanent stand-by with a fire bucket, so that idea was abandoned in favour of a more prosaic (and practical) electric fire. Flowers were always displayed in this room – they were either given to royals by admirers on their voyages, or they came from the gardens of Windsor Castle and were stored in a cool room – one of the stewards had to double as the royal flower arranger.

Although the chief petty officers were allowed spirits as well as beer, it was an invitation to drink at the petty officer’s mess that was most highly sought-after. Privacy was non-existent and the sleeping quarters were very cramped, but at least it was better than the hammocks (which had been used until 1970).

Some of the men were trained as divers and dived beneath the boat every day, and into every berth before they entered, to check for terrorist devices. The Royal Marines Band played them ashore – they had to know everything from classical to ceilidh and the national anthem of every country they visited, and they played the Beat Retreat after state banquets. The band rehearsed daily (as far from the royal apartments as possible) and had up to 26 different uniforms for band special occasions – all neatly stored in their tiny lockers.

There was exercise and competition to be had – a fiercely-contested Golden Welly was presented to the winning team of six runners who ran four times round the upper deck with the other team in pursuit. A mail office and a shop onboard catered for all incidentals (including sweets which the royal children were allowed to buy, and where fudge is still made and sold).

Britannia could be converted into a hospital ship in 24hours, although she was never used as such, and the sick bay doesn’t look particularly appealing. The laundry, however, was very busy, reaching temperatures of 45°C. Uniforms were changed up to six times a day, and 600 shirts were washed an ironed daily – to preserve decorum the royal family had their laundry done on different days from the crew.

You can take tea in the tearooms, which we did (Britannia lemon drizzle cake and a pot of Darjeeling), then continued our tour with a glimpse of the gleaming engine room. Details include 12,000hp; a team of 80 engineers; a speed of 21 nautical miles and hour; the ability to recycle steam to water and back; and a back-up diesel generator known as chitty chitty bang bang.

The Queen herself chose the blue paint (rather than black) and approved the gold line painted in 24 carat gold leaf paint. She enjoyed visiting the Western Isles and loves sailing generally, as does her husband and children. Prince Philip raced Tui at Cowes, and Charles and Anne learned to sail on the 12 metre class yacht, Bloodhound.

‘Sailing on a sunny day is the nearest thing to heaven anyone will ever get on this earth.’

Princess Anne

Show me the money!

A random aside: The Royal Bank of Scotland may be part of the same financial group as Natwest, but it has no access to their accounts. I know that now after having to make a special trip to the Natwest on George Street to withdraw more money. I am handed a motley collection of twenty pound notes all from different banks in a plethora of purples.

When gangsters flip open briefcases to reveal wads of cash - millions of notes of the same denomination - you will note they never use Scottish pounds; it just wouldn't look right.