Henry IV Part One/Henry IV Part Two

Published Friday 6 May 2005 at 14:50 by David Simmons

Nicholas Hytner’s Henry V last year was a boldly staged modern-dress production that commented directly on the conflict in Iraq. Here the tone is of a more traditional hue - the sombre black robes of a medieval nobility troubled by civil strife and political upheaval against the modest brown garb of a social underclass pressed into battle by corrupt captains.

This meagre but authentic palette complements the historic spheres in which the plays are set and, more importantly, allows Shakespeare’s potent linguistic brew to carry the dramatic focus. The way in which different modes of language jostle up against each other is one of the best features, from the juxtaposition of prose and verse to an experimentation with dialect and the wordplay between Hal and Falstaff. The circumference of English is as well padded as the latter’s waistline and this production strikes each note roundly. So Hytner draws out the resonance of the text, galvanising its occupation of England’s four corners and heightening its broad comedy and social satire.

Here are draft dodging, corruption, the least privileged hired as cannon fodder, political rebellion and the Machiavellian corridors of power. There are enough recent press cuttings to pin under these headings. Hytner’s timing is impeccable, questions of succession and government keenly felt in the shadow of the election.

David Harewood as Harry Hotspur and Matthew Macfadyen as Hal acquit themselves well in the traditionally opposing roles. Harewood is a convincing, likeable, hot-headed man of action bound to his own sense of honour, a central concern here. He also conveys a sense of humour, born of impatience with those around him.

Macfadyen is the playboy prince Harry, by turns reckless and ruthless. An affable figure, Hytner has him emphatically presage his inevitable actions as king in the play extempore early in Part One. There is just enough sense of his motives, revealing the workings of a yet crude political mind. The ‘betrayal’ of his old partner in crime at the end of Part Two has less impact that maybe it could, though Michael Gambon’s Sir John is rarely played for sympathy, which is a strength. These characterisations work towards a unified whole of the two parts.

David Bradley’s Henry IV is a king better suited to Part Two, a slight, ageing figure more convincing as a monarch rivened by doubt and ailing of body. It is one of this production’s strengths that each character, however minor, is strongly coloured. Every last drop of comedy is wrung from every scene, which lifts the plays but dulls sharper points of social commentary.

If this two-parter is to be judged by the success of its Falstaff, Gambon ensures a high score - a swollen, misshapen, aged knight, he moves around the stage with his lopsided gait and pincer-like hands like a fat crab. He is witty, selfish, delightful, cruel, wistful and lecherous, spitting out sack as a bloated mushroom sprays out spores. And the wooden stage, on which the action takes palce, arrows through a charred medieval land at the end of its harvest, an effective design from Mark Thompson.