What the BBC did with it ...

I have to start out by making it clear, it was the BBC production of the three Henry VI Plays which got me hooked on the History plays - yes I knew Henry V and Henry IV Part 1, I'd endured Richard the Second and seen Larry hamming up the Third for all it was worth. But it was the BBC that made me register 'History Play' as something different. And they still keep up the good work: How well did Shakespeare know history?

The BBC though took a path I am not taking - they did the three Henry VI plays in historical chronological order, I am looking at them in a reconstructed order of their writing.

The three plays as a sequence I will leave until later on - possibly when I have finished the three Henry VIs, possibly when I look at the whole of the history plays.

Here I want to take a look at what the opening of 'The First Part of the Contention ...' was like - taking into consideration what I posted last and those rather irritating Olympics which have me glued to the TV even as I write.

I've blogged on the opening ceremony of the Olympics over on Thoughts from the Edge and won't tread the same ground - I will say though that both Shakespeare and the BBC open this exploration of a national history in the same spirit - big loud and colourful.

Which is precisely what the BBC production gave us - well, not so big (as befits a stage play) but certainly loud and colourful.

Trumpets blared, drums rolled, crowds cheered and in marched the key agents to the play which will follow - each preceded by a flag, each marching in and nodding to the king, who we don't see as the camera is peeping over his shoulder, and each taking up his appointed place.

The colours are all there - mainly in the costume but also in the painted wood of the 'bear-pit' the production is placed in, and in all the fluttering flags and shiny clothes.

Then, with all the 'athletes' in place, in comes the 'torch' on the hand of an upstart - rose-petal like discs of coloured paper fluttering around Margaret and Suffolk just as after a wedding - but this is a bride who has not yet married although a 'troth' has been plighted.

This has the essence of an Olympic ceremony and is as much an attempt to claim national identity and significance as any such splendours played out nowadays.

You get a 'feel good factor' - there is pride and there is hope.

Suffolk, speaking as only the politician in front of a national audience can, declares, "... in sight of England and her lordly peers ..." to have fulfilled all that was requested of him.

And you just know, in the original production - that sight of England was accompanied by a gesture to the assembled theatre - already dragged in emotionally by the music and flag waving.

You didn't quite get that from the TV. Although the voice made clear its importance - we are watching you - the world is watching you; Cue camera and roll.

Henry, weak of voice, pale of colour (although with lively eyes) responds.

He thanks Suffolk, then kisses his bride - and, if you are expecting warmth and love, excitement and passion, forget it. In a triumphal theatrical moment, Henry kisses the hand of Margaret. She had moved to kiss cheeks or lips and is visibly surprised.

This is back to the question of the marriage relationship - Henry, as a devout man, as a Catholic King esteems the Platonic above the lustful. Whatever, union is about to be sanctified, it is not going to be carnal. Friendship before equality? And, after the three kisses of 'The Taming of the Shrew' what clearer indication could you have of all not being well?

There is a disappointment - it is as if you were to discover the fireworks opening the Beijing Olympics were a computer trick, or the cute girl singing the Chinese national anthem was miming to someone else's voice.
The difference, of course, being we do not discover 'til after the event, the slight of hand in China - here the BBC give us, in the middle of the ceremony, disappointment and unease.

And they haven't finished with us yet ...



Technorati Tags: Shakespeare, Henry VI, BBC Shakespeare, Olympics

Shakespeare's Thoughtful Thug?

Petruccio

I've done two 'Tamings' in the past week - the BBC with John Cleese in the role of Petruccio, and the 'classic' Burton-Zeffirelli film. Perhaps the most interesting character in the play is Petruccio:

The actor taking on the role, if these two productions are anything to go by, has a lot of choices to make.

And I mean choices - there is no one Petruccio: He is myriad. Both these Petruccios work, and work well. I have a preference, but it is not a judgement so much as life-style choice.

Burton plays him as 'one of the lads' - distinctly 'Tough Boyo from the Valleys'. He is using his own reputation as a hard drinking, woman loving, wife swapping film star as part of the character (and Taylor's Kate is tapping in to the same spring. This works - especially in a film which is so 'big' - almost operatic). There is (or rather, can be) a macho element to Petruccio. He can be seen as the beer lout - especially by other characters in the play, but it is a superficiality which Burton manages to go beyond.


There is an attraction for Kate - when Petruccio sees her, he 'falls' - reflecting in Zefferelli's film, the earlier moment when Lucentio sees Bianca. There is a difference: It is not a puppy dog fawning 'love at first sight'; it is a hit by love's dart, I've met my match.

And he has too - this Kate never really submits, she retreats: Petruccio knows it, and doubts his own strength. There is a vulnerability here - his final command is more wish than assertion.

The fight goes on - he will continue drinking, she will continue fighting.

All this reflects the 60s and liberation element - but it is found in the script (although, as with all film adaptations which have any chance of working in the cinema, there is heavy cutting and shifting of things about). What will hold this couple together (if anything does) is the physicality and 'good sex'. The animal magnetism is paramount. The fight is part of the love - this is consenting bondage.

Which contrasts somewhat with John Cleese as Petruccio.

We have here the 'thinking man's' Petruccio.

Very early on in the performance you are made aware that this is an intelligent man: He is very self aware - he knows his wildness is a weakness. He is logical - he works out how to win Katherine. He is human, and knows others are human too.

Like Burton, Cleese is attracted to his Katherine - but it is not the love dart, it is a realisation, and an admiration. The wildness he sees in her is damaging - it needs to be controlled - but he sees the same extreme in himself, and thinks this is the woman who will force him to become more temperate too. This is a woman worth giving up his 'freedom' for.

Love for this Petruccio is to be found in harmony, not discord.

If Burton is wildman, Cleese is 'Madman'. It is Hamlet mad, and 'Tom O'Bedlam mad: It is a Fool madness that has a cleansing and understanding behind it.

When Cleese says 'Cruel to be Kind' - he means it, and has the academic references to prove it.

The BBC script allowed all of the lines, so there is a natural depth to Cleese's performance which Burton had no chance to develop. It was also a production that played whole scenes in one take - again, allowing for a dynamic which the cut,cut,cut of film finds it hard to sustain.

There is an assurance at the end of this 'Taming' which lets you know they will remain together - this is a marriage which will produce children - and what children!

Technorati Tags: Taming of the Shrew, BBC, John Cleese, Richard Burton, Petruccio

The Two Gentlemen of Verona (3)

If there is any wisdom in the adage, ‘Out of Sight, Out of Mind,’ the Duke has a chance of his daughter falling in love with Thurio – but there isn’t; especially when he enlists Proteus as a go-between.

This Duke seems to know more than most – there is a look in his eye as he claims Proteus as a ‘friend’, and his parting, “I will pardon you,” almost has an all seeing quality to it. It is also Antony’s, ‘ ..Now let it work’, and Oberon’s sending of Puck out to solve the lover’s problems: Here is both care and mischief combined.

Suddenly we are in the woods – and the design makes a leap – this is not an identifiable wood – the trees are tubes of something – almost a dream world. If the earlier scenes have been Wodehouse, now we are straight into Gilbert and Sullivan, complete with lovable bandits. Surely one has the look of Robin Hood - in Lincoln Green? Another, more robust, an escaped character from Pirates of Penzance? Smiles and flashing teeth in tasteful, and clean, dishevelment.

Valentine (with Speed) wanders in, is captured and instantly impresses enough to be made ‘King’. This is the material of fable and romance – Don Quixote should be here …

Back in Milan Proteus sets about wooing Silvia ‘on behalf of’ Thurio – musicians to serenade included. As they set about tuning their instruments, for these are real musicians and will play live, as they have throughout the production, in creeps the disguised Julia with the host from her inn – who has brought ‘him’ to find the gentleman ‘he’ asked after.

Proteus sings – ‘Who is Silvia?’. He is not a great singer, his voice cracks a little – which makes an honesty of Julia’s lines about not liking the musician. In most productions the song is sung by a beautiful voice – it is the sort of stand alone song which is easy to take out of context – the BBC refused to follow that path and consequently made it a revealing element.

Proteus gets rid of Thurio and the musicians, and engages Silvia in conversation – she on the balcony, he below. He tries to persuade her of his love, she reminds him of his former love – who comments throughout. Another set piece – beautifully controlled. In the end Silvia, to get rid of Proteus, agrees to send a picture of herself in the morning, and Julia, wakes the snoring Host, and departs heavy of heart.

Enter Sir Eglamour with the daybreak. I wondered where Don Quixote was, and Eglamour, if not the romantic knight himself, is the spitting image. It is a bombasting, deep voiced, rounded sound and movements performance. Silvia has entrusted him with a plan to help her escape the city and follow Valentine. They will meet at Friar Patrick’s cell, where she is to go for confession (!).

Launce fills in time with his ungrateful dog speech – lest we forget how topsy turvy the world has become: And in case you haven’t got the point, in walks Proteus employing ‘Sebastian’ (martyr killed by shooting full of arrows – in this case, cupid’s) the name Julia has taken on, to go to Silvia and deliver the very ring he exchanged with her on departing Verona, as a gift for Silvia and a sign of his ‘love’.

Proteus departs, Julia philosophises, Silvia enters.

Julia attempts to deliver the ring, Silvia, recognising it, rejects it – and you notice the make-up. Sebastian has darker skin than Julia, having thrown away his veil, and then goes on to use the multilayered ‘boy acting girl acting boy’ who acted ‘a girl being betrayed by a man’ image. It is delightful. The peel of sound released from that bell tower will resound through all of Shakespeare’s latter works – it’s there in ‘All the World’s a Stage’, it’s obviously there in ‘Twelfth Night’, but also in ‘Othello’.

And you are back into the play.

Julia and Silvia part, Eglamour enters, Silvia re-enters and they go off together to the forest. There is a build up of pace – but not enough to make things hasty … there is still time for another quick exchange on love.

Thurio is in conversation with Proteus about the success of his suit – Proteus gives evasive answers but Julia, now transformed fully into a page boy, comments in asides mirroring Speed earlier on in the play – and just as before, the Duke enters. He asks after Sir Eglamour and his daughter – Friar Laurence met them in the woods and (obviously having learnt his lesson) reported their flight to Silvia’s father.

The hunt is on … into the woods we all go.

The production added the fight, flight and capture of Silvia in fine swashbuckling detail – and she’s taken off to the ‘Captain’ of the brigands.

Valentine, sighing, lamenting, and ‘doing penance’ in the woods hears approaching voices and hides. Proteus, having rescued Silvia, and accompanied by Julia, attempts to persuade Silvia, then force his love on her. Valentine interrupts – and soundly ‘tells him off’.

When reading the play, this scene causes consternation; watching it, it doesn’t.

Valentine is a prefect who’s caught a naughty fifth former cheating at cricket – it’s a game. He’s more concerned with honour and friendship than any sexually driven love. This is the threatened assault of Demetrius in the woods – just gone slightly too far.

When Proteus ‘confesses’ it is genuine – when he repents, it is true. No audience has time to ‘go deep’ at this point – things are happening too quickly.

For Valentine now to give Silvia to his friend is almost an expression of faith in Christian forgiveness – and the production made it seem just that.

Julia’s fainting brings us all back down to earth (again).

Suddenly everything unravels – the mistake over the rings and the revelation of Julia in a shower of golden hair; Valentine, seeing his true love next to the mirage of Silvia, returns to the fold of faithful lover; the Duke, captive in the script – but not seeming so in this production, (with Thurio, who quickly disowns Silvia) bestows his daughter on the now worthy Valentine.

And off everyone goes, to an explanation and a wedding, or two.

There was a sense of great satisfaction at this point. The darkness had been but the shadows cast by a full glorious summer sun.

The BBC’s policy of shooting in great chunks – a full scene at a time, worked well; the casting, superb; the underplaying of both Launce and the Duke giving more a feel of wholeness and lightness than of slapstick; the design never letting go of the literacy and genre of the piece.

A final note on the music – essentially English composers of the period, live and weaving melancholy dance tunes throughout – a great success in television where the usual practice of ‘sound track’ adds a mechanical aspect to what should be ‘live’.

Technorati Tags: Shakespeare, BBC, Two Gentlemen of Verona

The Two Gentlemen of Verona (2)

Time for the complications and confusions to develop – so back to Milan.

Firmly in Silvia’s aura, Valentine plays out a game of insult-jousting with Thurio, the not-a-cat-in-the-proverbial, father-favoured, ‘rich’ rival to Silvia’s hand. Casting an aging dandy in the role gave no doubt as to the result – having the rivals sit facing each other, with Silvia as arbitrator in between, and the assembled cupids and musicians applauding each of Valentines successful ‘passes’ beautifully emphasised the ritual nature of the exchange.

The Duke enters – a richer version of controlled adulthood – contrasting instantly with the similar aged Thurio and further pushing this loon’s chances into the shadows.

As fits the play, there is a continuation of word games resulting in a confirmation of Valentine’s friendship for Proteus swiftly followed by the Duke’s exit, and the friend’s entrance.

Love at first sight – only visible in the slightest of gestures, but no doubt: Proteus has fallen head over heals for Silvia. Silvia exits, summoned by her father and takes Thurio with her leaving Valentine and Proteus alone in the court of love. Yet another set piece exhibition - exposing the folly of love – twisted now by our knowledge of Proteus’s dissimulation and made piquant by Valentine’s delight in his returned friend.

And, as soon as his friend leaves the scene, Proteus delivers a soliloquy on the scientific principles of love, … excusing, as only adolescent justification’s can, his complete desertion of both the pure love for Julia and the platonic love for Valentine. All through The Two Gentlemen of Verona there are echoes of other plays – especially Romeo and Juliet (which is not surprising as they are said to share a common source) and this speech and reasoning is surely the ‘folk-wisdom’ used by Benvolio when he attempts to turn Romeo from one love to another by showing ‘a swan’ to his ‘crow’.

Proteus leaves to be followed by the two servants and the dog. Again, underplayed in the BBC production – and a trifle difficult to follow. What did become clear is the dog – an emblem of faith – and Launce are linked. Fidelity in ‘Fido’ here seems to be reversed though, the man is more faithful to the dog than vica-versa. This is a very indifferent hound. Off to the ale house with them (page boys drinking!).

Proteus passes through – still cogitating – and exposes the ploy he will use to gain Silvia. Valentine is plotting to fly Milan with Silvia to get married – and is having a silken rope made to gain access to her window. Proteus will expose his friend to gain favour of the Duke and get Valentine out of the scene.

A final visit to Verona where Julia, dog like, declares her love and devises a means to follow – dressed as a boy. There is a degree of rudeness and vulgarity in the talk with her maid which has been missing from the talk of the gallant males – although it was there in the servants. There is talk of pins and codpieces and Julia’s transformation from Virgin to page takes on more the status of emblem than theatrical device. Julia also blindly declares her faith in Proteus.

Which leads right into the central act of faithlessness.

Proteus follows through with his master stroke – he betrays Valentine to the Duke. And the strength of the production really shows at this point. The Duke is reason – he thinks and reacts with a determined calm. No matter how Proteus wraps up the betrayal, the Duke sees through – and there is guilt on Proteus’s face. But the Duke has to act, and will act.

Proteus leaves, Valentine enters – and in another of those easy to overplay scenes, exposes his own excess of zeal and deception: After all, he was about to ‘steal’ Silvia away. There was a gentle humour to the playing of this scene – a patient but forceful irony in an inevitable outcome. Valentine’s banishment is almost gently given – his comparison to the rash Phaeton, regretful.

Valentine, left alone, now has to deliver one of the more famous speeches of Shakespeare – and despite its fame, here it sounded just right. His lament at being banished, his loss of Silvia and the ensuing numbness of the world, all strike true.

In comes Proteus and his servant. In a strained joke, Launce makes to strike at Valentine who is now ‘nothing’ – it’s a piece of stage business that doesn’t work, and I suspect never did. There is an exchange where Valentine tells the already knowing Proteus of his banishment – attempts to ‘comfort’ him and promises that time will heal – and letters help. He leads him gently to the gate from the town.

Launce is left to find Speed – but does not move. He shows his brute understanding of his ‘betters’, and then moves on to a lament of his own – his love, a milkmaid, virtues in ‘black and white’ in the form of letter … he is soon joined by Speed in a catechism of the practical qualities needed in a wife.

Eventually Launce tells Speed he should have gone straight to his master – and the boy runs off to face a ‘swinged’ backside for being late – and Launce rushes after him to ‘delight’ in the swinging. Launce also makes it clear it is the ‘love letter’ which is the cause of the boys discomfort – and the observer’s pleasure: As clear a comment on the nature of this ‘Romance’ as any in the play.

At this point there is a serious degree of discomfort in both ‘Gentlemen of Verona’ – and an inevitable swinging coming their way – love is a strict mistress.

Technorati Tags: Shakespeare, BBC, Two Gentlemen of Verona

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

BBC Shakespeare

Courtly

This was a production that played heavily on the courtly love aspects of the play.

Design was significant: It looked and sounded good – the music was taken from Elizabethan England and fitted nicely; the costumes, Italy - colours the pastels of an Italian Spring; the set could have come straight from the idealised towns hidden in the background of a Renaissance painting. Human cupids and lute plucking musicians decorated further this mindscape.

There was never any visual doubt as to the happiness. Any dragon presumptuous enough to appear would soon meet his St George – and function purely as a source of heroic confirmation.

The created environment became the perfect foil for this most ‘teenage’ of plays.

Because it is a play of Youth.

It is a very clever play – well constructed - and, if given a reasonably good production (as this one was), it entertains. It isn’t meant to go too deep, although it does raise some fundamental questions – very much like the first love of adolescence.

The early scenes give us the clear pattern – and signal the path we are to follow. Male friendship showing the slightest of cracks under the pressure of parting and one ’smitten’ the other not. It is a friendship found in the exchange of wit – puppy fighting with words. In this production humour is to the forefront, the costuming giving a sense of freedom and the two actors an easy familiarity.

They part – not over emotionally, but with regret – it is a masculine but not macho leave-taking.

In comes the ‘cheeky’ page – perhaps the weakest element as a result of an inexperienced actor having to deliver the greatest meaning. He brings news of a letter Proteus has sent to his loved-one – ambiguous news. There is a set piece word-exchange – over money. I have to admit, at this point my expectations were sinking.

Then the scene flips to the object of Proteus’s love, Julia, with her maid.

This is one of those scenes which irritates the hell out of me – because it is pure, concentrated, slap-her-face-for-her, teenage contrariness: And they got it spot on – I almost, had to leave the room. The design had us in a nice circular ‘tower’ and it really did give a feel of secret girly places (much like the toilet in a 50’s night club).

She discusses with the maid who she is to love, gets the letter from Proteus, throws it on the floor, sends the maid off with a flea in her ear, calls her back, starts to read the letter, rips it up, sends the maid off again … etc, etc, etc. Oh – and ends by going off to lunch with her father.

As I said, very irritating – and very true, if a little intense. Julia certainly caught the arrogance of a spoilt child, the maid, pert servant-hood.

Back down to earth – literally – as the father of Proteus discusses his son’s future … and decides to send him off to Milan to the court of the Emperor where he can gain a bit of polish and learn to be a true courtier, - oh, and be with Valentine, the friend he parted from at the start of the play. Again I’ll single out the costuming here – not loosing the theme of richness and elegance (much like Shakespeare’s language in the play) but tighter and ever so slightly darker: This is a more controlled adult world suddenly; the rich silks are the product of trade and commerce; of banking and mercantile calculation.

Proteus, meanwhile has received a letter from Julia and, when asked by his father the contents, drops into the sin of denial … foreshadowing the deeper ‘umbra’ he is to fall into as the play progresses. This is the stuff of musical comedy – it is the meat and drink of relationships which Wodehouse (a fan of Shakespeare) wove into his English Country House stories. There will be consequences – but never tragedy.

We shift to Milan – to the court, not of the Emperor, but of his daughter, Silvia. The designer here pulled out all the stops and we can be in no doubt that this is an earthly ‘paradise’. The motifs are there – musicians scattered tastefully and plucking; gold cupids complete with bow and arrow shooting at targets embossed with the word amour; statues of semi-naked women with lovely smooth, caressable, marble bottoms,

Centre stage is Valentine – clearly now victim to the virus he chided his friend for earlier. Speed, his page, rushes in with Silvia’s glove – another set-piece exchange enumerating and playing on the idea of love and its manifestation in the corpse of a once lusty youth.

Silvia herself quickly follows her gage – and another set-piece ensues – over a letter. Valentine has been asked to write a love letter for Silvia to deliver to one she loves: As courtly duty requires, he has done his lady’s bidding, if somewhat reluctantly. She hands it back because it was written with reluctance … and leaves him with the duty of writing another, more sincere, epistle.

All this time Speed, has been providing a commentary for the audience and then goes on to explain to Valentine, whom love has made stupid, that the person Silvia wants the letter for is Valentine – she’s playing a joke on him by making him write to himself.

There is a lot of talk here and, unless the audience is familiar with the language, a very big danger of incomprehension and boredom. I can only say I felt no such boredom – the actors managed to convey not only the meaning of the words, but the dynamic of the exchange; the sense of one person playing, gently, with another; of that other eased firmly into a commitment which had deeper roots than he could dream of; and then of a final release of light and energy as the awareness ‘dawned’ – maybe not a dawn so much as a torch bursting into flame at the start of a party.

Back in Verona, Proteus makes his leave of Julia. Time has obviously flown as the commitment between these two has moved on from exchanging letters to exchanging rings. Intentionally symbolic or not, the production had this take place on a flight of stairs – as if the descent from the ivory tower to the reality of earthly love had ironically started at this moment of ‘sweet sorrow’.

Enter Launce and his dog, Crab.

There is a danger, at this point, of the actor playing Launce (and the dog) stealing the show. In this production he didn’t – it was a beautifully measured performance underplaying and avoiding all potential pratfalls. What Launce says at this point could easily seem irrelevant, and with a full comedic performance, frequently is - here, you hear the words: He describes the leave taking of his family; the high emotions contrasting with the dog’s total insensitivity … it is one of those twinkles of Shakespeare’s genius – Proteus and Julia have just left in ‘sad sorrow’ – is it more like the dog than the family?

There was a quietness to their parting – did she seem more firm in her love than he in his? They parted with, ‘a holy kiss.’

(To be continued)

Background ... forever background

As I lay in bed this morning, instead of music, I Sunday-morning-indulged and listened to an 'In Our Time' podcast I had downloaded a week or so ago - on The Dissolution of the Monasteries. It is still 'listenable-on-line' by clicking on the link - it is a showcase of clarity and excellence in discussion.

Not quite Shakespeare's time - although much closer than people realise: Counting history in terms of Kings and Queens sometimes lends a distance which shouldn't be there: The time between Fat Henry's theft and Shakespeare's Elizabethan birth is much shorter than one would think.

What I found fascinating at first were the parallels with modern Romania and the 'Dissolution of Communism'.

The monasteries had an apparent function associated with belief - they percolated into all aspects of community and into many people's individual lives. Economically they had a powerful control over vast resources (up to one third of the land of England was theirs).

No surprise then that there was a sense of loss at the dismemberment of the system resulting in a public outcry from one section of the community (The Pilgrimage of Grace). This was echoed after the fall of communism in Romania, not least amongst those economic elements which had been subsidised and supported under the old system.

Importantly, there was a lot of support for the change - not least from within the system itself - Erasmus was a good Catholic - and, however later historians and partisan fighters might colour the change, it seems there was already a movement away from monasticism - it was a system waiting to fall.

But I don't want to focus on the causes - it is the aftershocks and their immediate consequences which interest me.

Education changed - schools became more significant: Habergham High, Burnley, where I worked when Romania had its recent revolution, was founded as a small town grammar school in this period; The Shakespeare School, Timisoara where I first worked in Romania, was founded immediately after communism fell.

Shakespeare himself most likely benefited from this educational boom - his wife not.

What has come with the loss of the certainties of communism is an open questioning and the growth of alternatives - something similar must have occurred after the monasteries fell. Prayer and 'the certainty of salvation' proved rather ineffective against the legality of Cromwell (Fat Henry's man); Relics proved to be just that - old and dated.

Surely we find this questioning in the plays? Not, I suggest, as a direct link - but as the ripple still travelling across the pond minutes after the fish jumped in the evening twilight.

And the economic shifts that occurred - the enrichment of the middle sort, the need for poor laws, issues of land ownership - all colour the texts acted in the globe.

It makes me hopeful for Romania - although I doubt whether we will produce another Shakespeare (sorry Tudor).




Technorati Tags: Shakespeare, BBC, Timisoara

Shakespeare's Best

In our time have a programme on King Lear this week.

Click on the title above and you'll get somewhere near.

It's downloadable for the week and then available for listening on line for ever.

Love Melvin!

Good discussion - not least because it drops a couple of stakes into the heart of the much overrated Hamlet!

At least three of the four people know rather a lot about the subject (and one of them is Lord Mel).

Faustus Site and Performance

The BBC and OU have joined together to do a performance this Sunday.

Good site for exploring one of Shakey's rivals - and sources.

This should be available on line!

Click on the title above or on this:

http://www.open2.net/drfaustus/

Enjoy!!!!!

Departures

The play of departures!

Just finished the second half of the BBC Henry the Eighth: Jolly good too!

What struck me most was the number of departures - and no one given a bad end.

Written well after the events - in a Protestant country - out of the Tudor reign; and no blame to be seen.

Wolsey dies an honest Christian; Catholic Catherine dies a saint's death; Cranmer - to die at the stake under Catherine's daughter's yoke - is deeply holy and prophesies, at the christening of baby Elizabeth, nothing but glory - and virginity and death.

What was Shakey thinking?

Surely it was written for a court performance under James? It is a chamber piece - so much 'internal' - so protagonist free.

What vice there is, is that of ambition and court pettiness. There is no evil here.

It is the fall of angels. Foreshadows of Milton – Wolsey’s words at his end especially.

And what a production – as close to where it should be as the Beeb could get – genuine Tudor locations (so right for this chamber piece).

But still something missing?

Maybe the theatrical.

How intriguing that the original Globe burnt down during a performance of this play – the theatre itself rebelling at so strange a play?

'enery de aiff!

What a reputation the man has!

(Not Shakespeare this time - Good old 'King Henry'.)

Tudor playboy, musician, sportsman, passionate lover, wife killer, church destroyer, (and saviour) in one.

American WASPs are 'P' because of he.

And Shakespeare has a play with the title, 'Henry VIII'.

Well, it is also known as ‘The Famous History if King Henry the Eight’ but that’s far too long for the playbill and we already know the man is famous.

Not so the play.

I’ve just watched the first half of it in fact – from the BBC complete works.

Surprising really – intelligent matter. You don’t notice that when you read it – and I have only a vague remembrance of watching this performance back in 1979 so I only know it through a dutiful, once only, read.

You expect a different treatment of the characters – and much more vitriol against the Spanish (so far it is the French who have had to suffer a jolly good dose of Great English Xenophobia – can’t keep a respected enemy out of it). Catherine, Henry’s first wife, seems a most sympathetic character.

There is an ambiguity with Wolsey – everyone kicking at his common ancestry and ambition – but he is effective and another not exactly unsympathetic ‘representation’ (especially, one suspects, to a working class chap like Shakey).

And at this point there is a dreadful sense of fate weaving – a dark thread slipping into the cloth of gold.

Is there anything anyone could have done?

Which brings up the parallel with Romeo and Juliet: Several times there are little stage actions and theatrical moments that remind one of the earlier play. There is the masquers interrupting a feast, for example, and a man singling out a young woman – with talk of hands; there is the old worldly wise woman talking to the young girl who pretends an innocence not entirely believable, but not hypocritical.

But with R&J you know it didn’t have to be like that – here there is no escape – and it is not just a personal tragedy, it is National History.

(Image at the top is the 18 year old, newly crowned king: You start to think the poor bugger could have been manipulated into a marriage when you look at that!)