Henry V, Henry IV Part I, Henry IV Part II
Royal Shakespeare Company
The Observer

The Royal Shakespeare Company, journeying between Warwickshire and London, seldom remains in a state of equilibrium. Of the RSC histories now on view at the Aldwych, two—Henry V and Henry IV Part II—now seem less exciting than they did last year at Stratford, but the remaining instalment, Henry IV Part I, has improved enormously.

First and foremost, Brewster Mason no longer has laryngitis, so the play no longer lacks an effective Falstaff. Effective is actually a mean word to describe Mr. Mason in this role, which represents the summit of  his career. He laid the groundwork years ago when he portrayed the Falstaff of The Merry Wives of Windsor as a stately victim, majestic even in defeat. He is much the same character now, never a buffoon but certainly the funniest Falstaff I have seen. He is the first in my experience whose words are as round as his belly; he lets them slip in his own good time but effortlessly. 

This is a quality that has always distinguished him in a pretty earnest company and it is true that when you consider his past performances there is nothing startlingly original about this one. Mr. Mason has always been a massive gentlemanly actor with a weighty presence and a rolling voice; all he apparently does as Falstaff is to magnify these attributes to their fullest and richest. 

The only variable with Mr. Mason is his worldliness: the precise balance he strikes between geniality and cynicism. If there is to be any criticism of his Falstaff it may be that he is too sunny throughout. Even when he parades his infirmities (‘how subject we old men are to this vice of lying’) we do not believe in their reality; he is too disarming. It is a little difficult to see in what way he can possibly be misleading Hal; and though this may be all right for Part I—which may be regarded as a self-contained play with a happy ending—it weakens Part II.

I still feel that in this play Falstaff should be sourer, less confident of his future; but he does now have a splendidly rattled moment at the end of the tavern scene, thrusting the recalcitrant Prince into the arms of Doll Tearsheet. ‘His grace says that which his flesh and blood rebels against’ and Falstaff’s only hope lies in encouraging the rebellion and destroying the grace.

In order to keep the outcome an open question Terry Hands, the director, has been forced into some shuffling. One problem of presenting the two plays together is that Hal’s reconciliation with his father seems so complete at the end of Part I as to make their future estrangement in Part II incomprehensible. So the two of them have artificially to be kept at loggerheads. Emrys James presents a crafty, paranoid usurper with the gift of alienating everyone; he legitimately enrages Stuart Wilson’s Hotspur (an attractive performance but lightweight) and has much the same effect on his son. It is a little surprising that he commands the loyalty of his courtiers, not all of whom are creeps.

There are lines which can be held to justify Mr. James’s interpretation, but he has to do a suspicious amount of heavy acting to get by with the others. His death seems to go on for ever; and Alan Howard as Hal has somehow mislaid the agonised assumption of royalty that was previously the summation of his performance. He remains patchily magnificent, with some moments of ringing command and others of beguiling ease. His early attitude to his companions (‘I know you all’) is neither indulgent nor Machiavellian: just studiously playful.

Later on, with his first battle behind him, he outlines with distinction a weary struggle between two kinds of distaste; homesick for the tavern when at court and for the court when in the tavern: happy nowhere. The habit of play-acting grows on him (his mimicry of his father is excellent) and once king he plays a fearful tyrant for the Lord Chief of Justice before forgiving him. This is a faultless interpretation which only first of manner prevent from turning into a faultless execution.

Mr. Hands has laid the plays out beautifully, in stunningly economical sets by Farrah. In Part I he keeps the strands of action running in parallel by overlapping exits and entrances. At the beginning, Hal relaxes at one side of the stage while his father, miles away, denounces him on the other. At the close of Part II, while a couple of lords discuss the coming war with France, Falstaff remains silent with his back to us, reminding us of what we shall miss in Henry V. The Gloucestershire scenes are the finest comedy in English and I have never seen them so well done; Sydney Bromley’s busy Shallow is balanced by Trevor Peacock’s uproarious Silence (I'm sorry, I'll read that again), bent, hopeful and ecstatic. (Mr. Peacock is in glorious plumage this season with a fine sycophantic Poins and in Henry V an excellent Fluellen.) Both parts may, on occasion, be seen on the same day; but I think they will yield more if taken separately. They are lively enough to hold for three hours but, unlike the last Stratford history cycle, they lack the supreme excitement that keeps you in thrall for six.