Some of Des McAnuff’s trademark theatrical tricks are in evidence in this entirely effective but not always affecting Henry V:wild fight scenes, flights of arrows onstage, much live music throughout , battles up and down a drawbridge thrust downstage, rapid scene shifts, etc.; but the action is mostly across the downstage area, making little use of the Festival Theatre’s huge thrust stage and multiple entrances and exits. And, though this play is famously about the personal development of King Henry V from the roguish Hal into a heroic monarch, McAnuff chooses to emphasize its complex treatment of the subject of war. As such, it is compelling, intriguing, and richly complicated.
There is nothing wrong with Aaron Krohn’s Henry: handsome, eloquent, and sometimes stirring, he doesn’t really come into his own until his authoritative final, charming courtship scene with the French Princess. The problem is that this is a role that we have seen a panoply of great actors illuminate in many ways; so it is perhaps smart to concentrate instead on the play’s jingoistic history but challenging picture of the thrills and horrors, honors and shames of warfare.
Certainly we are thrilled by Henry’s unexpected triumph at Agincourt against all odds and stirred by his eloquent speeches to his troops. But we also see him condemn his former drinking companion Bardolph, to execution. Bardolph seemingly hangs by the neck high overhead for much of the intermission following the battle. Randy Hughson makes Bardolph’s cowardice as humanly understandable as is Tom Rooney’s swaggering Pistol. It’s fun to see Ben Carlson’s proud Welshman shoving a leek into the thoroughly cowed Pistol’s mouth, but sobering to see the no more basically villainous Bardolph as a haunting corpse overhead. In the battle scenes, we see both sides vividly display cruelty and kindness, villainy and nobility – mostly without exaggeration.
I particularly like Paul Tazewell’s richly detailed costumes, Michael Walton’s moody lighting, James Blendick’s commanding Archbishop of Canterbury, Lucy Peacock’s dryly sexy Hostess [Pistol’s wife], Richard Binsley’s elegant French King and Claire Lautier’s authoritative French Queen, and Gareth Potter who somehow makes the foppish Dauphin a pleasure to watch.
The sweet courtship scene and perfunctory reconciliation and capitulation scenes that end the play picture a triumph over the French that was known by Shakespeare’s audiences to be misleadingly temporary. But this solid production is more concerned with process than progress.
