Adapted and Directed by Gordon Barr

From William Shakespeare

Questions of the purpose, necessity, and our perplexing obsession with the ‘God-given right to rule’ hangs on the lips of the nation once more, as in a time of austerity and wide-spread ruinous inequality – the cost of regalia and crown continues to weigh heavy on the nation’s brow.

With wealth, war and nobility rippling around the contemporary sphere, there is no time better to reflect on the monarchy, on power transfer, than with a fusion of Shakespeare’s two Henry IV parts, combined into one by Gordon Barr for this year’s first Kibble Palace piece as a part of the long-running, tremendously vital, and cultural icon of Bard in the Botanics.

Passing hands more times than a dubious smoke at the party, the shifting landscape of England’s monarchy is as perplexing as it could possibly be. And just as melodramatic, violent, and in moments, hilarious. Having de-throned his cousin Richard II, Henry takes centre stage. And after years of ruminating rule, time comes to collect Henry; the crown ready to be passed to another – his son, Prince Hal.

With a depth of motifs and narrative avenues through which to hone focus, artistic Director Barr structures their amalgam of the two parts around Hal’s cornered relationship with his father figures: Henry, the frail King, and the ever-roguish Sir John Falstaff. The brilliance and colour of the character are one of Shakespeare’s best in his dual Henry IV dramas, making them one of the Bard’s most well-beloved historical pieces.

Unfortunately, and with best wishes, Barr’s production goes without their original King, Finlay McLean, but a familiar face boldly steps up to the plate. Stephen Clyde, book still in hand, emanates a resilience of character, exuding torment and regret as a dying king, a dying father, profoundly fearful of their succession, haggard obligation having claimed his strength. Even with their limited time, Clyde makes a match for Sam Stopford’s utterly immaculate Hal: channelling comprehension and pleasure in the rhythmic nature of the language under Barr’s direction.

Severing ties with the rabble, Stopford’s Prince Hal conveys the struggle and bare dimensions of a role which recognises the demands of the dawning Kingship, still exuding a sincere and genuine regret at the loss of their East Cheap friendships and sacrifice of their more mischievous actions. It culminates in a resoundingly powerful closing image; a polarised stage, grimly lit, with the gaudiness of Hal’s crimson and golden regal presence toasted by the now fallen, broken, imperceptible and gout-ridden Sir John Falstaff.

There’s something remarkably striking to the relationship Sally’s Sam Stopford and Alan Steele possess, and it’s the central element for much of Barr’s direction, more so than with the King himself. The oil and water of Steele’s amiable bohemian Falstaff delivery should clash, instead, it rather beautifully compliments the emerging temperance and earnest steadying of destiny Stopford channels as Hal, one-time fellow merrymaker, readies themselves for the crown. Steele, bringing their exuberance, is an ideally pitched Falstaff, and the role is indelible with audiences. Not solely in the comedic but in the languishingly decrepit Fagan-esque charm, paradoxically self-centred and serving, as he is indulgently gleeful and loveable.  

Championing the wealth in Shakespeare’s character, with a multitude of roles, Johnny Panchaud flips and dithers between roles across the evening. Even the more minor of positions play a part in the grand design; courtiers, soldiers, and heralds all carry an individuality and weight of war, brimming with excitement and fear. Their principal role, however, as our ‘fourth’ piece on the board is Henry Hotspur, the warrior-son of the Earl of Northumberland, and credit where due, is a significant part of Robin Hellier’s fight direction infuses a much-required urgency, violence in the production which helps aid in the bloody nature of the language.

Traversing the nobility and gentry of the crown courts to the realm of taverns and the echoed chaos of warfare, Barr’s structure of the humour and language flows under this emphatic production. Bared, both to their al fresco audience, and one another, Henry IV dissects the logistics of power with a hale and hearty devotion and touch.