In 1821 a spectacular production of Henry IV Part II with Macready as King Henry and Charles Kemble as Prince Hal included a magnificent staging of the coronation procession as a tribute to the coronation of George IV. Kemble's production of Part I in 1824 with himself as Hotspur was mainly noted for the historical accuracy of costumes and sets, which included "the King's Chamber in the old Palace of Westminster; the inn-yard at Rochester with the castle, by night; Hotspur's Camp; a distant view of Coventry; and Shrewsbury from the field of battle."12 Samuel Phelps' production at Sadler's Wells in 1846 was similarly spectacular:
All has been done with a lavish and judicious hand, without a regard to cost or aught beside, save the desire of gratifying the public. The accoutrements, armour, and trappings worn by the several armies in the fourth and fifth acts are indeed splendid, and the minutest care has been shown in the arrangement of the costumes, even to the very crests of the different parties. The battle was admirably managed--the scenery was entirely new, and elicited much applause.13
The 1864 revival at Drury Lane which included the Glendower scene in full for the first time was distinguished by Phelps' Falstaff: "He lays stress not on Falstaff's sensuality, but on the lively intellect that stands for soul as well as mind in his gross body," in a performance marked by "a smooth delicate touch that stamps the knight distinctly as a man well born and bred."14 Phelps' remarkable doubling of the king and Justice Shallow in Part II later that year earned further praise.15
Herbert Beerbohm Tree's 1896 production at the Haymarket Theatre used a fuller text of the play and was well received by the critics, with the exception of George Bernard Shaw. William Archer praised the overall conception--"There has been no nearer approach in our day to the complete performance of a Shakespearian drama."16 Of Tree's performance, The Athenaeum reported: "it is the fat knight himself that comes before us."17 Shaw, however, thought that "Mr Tree only wants one thing to make him an excellent Falstaff, and that is to get born over again as unlike himself as possible."18
Victorian spectacle went out of fashion in the early twentieth century influenced by the ideas of William Poel and the English Stage Society, which favored performances on a thrust stage with minimal scenery and faster-paced, fluid action.
1. Herbert Beerbohm Tree as Falstaff in his 1896 production at the Haymarket Theatre. The Athenaeum reported: "it is the fat knight himself that comes before us."
History does not update in the same way as the comedies and tragedies that have lent themselves to a variety of settings, costumes, and periods. The effect on the history plays has been to emphasize their historicity. Between 1901 and 1906 Frank Benson staged a cycle of Shakespeare's history plays for the first time at the Stratford-upon-Avon festival season which omitted Henry IV Part I but included King John,Richard II, Henry IV Part II, Henry V, Henry VI Part II, and Richard III. W. B. Yeats was impressed by the way in which "play supports play"19 when presented in this way. Henry IV Part I was included in the new cycle in 1905, as was Marlowe's Edward II. In 1921 Barry Jackson had staged both parts of Henry IV on the same day (23 April) in Birmingham. The two parts of Henry IV were the first plays performed after the opening of the New Memorial Theatre in Stratford by the Prince of Wales in 1932--Part I in the afternoon and Part II in the evening.
In 1935 Robert Atkins and Sydney Carroll staged a production of Henry IV Part I with the popular vaudeville comedian George Robey as Falstaff. Despite his lack of classical training many critics were impressed by his performance; Herbert Farjeon reflected that "We learn from Mr Robey's Falstaff many things. One of them is that it is a tremendous advantage to have Shakespeare's clowns...played by men who are funny before they begin...Mr Sydney Carroll's brilliant casting of Falstaff should put an end to the long dreary line of legitimate actors who have made soggy hay of Shakespeare's comics."20 However, The New Statesman regarded Robey's Falstaff as an "old soak rather than the fallen gentleman...nothing more than a super-Bardolph."21
John Burrell's production a decade later at the New Theatre was warmly received:
Feliciter audax [pleasingly audacious] is, indeed, the phrase for Mr Burrell's production. Choosing not to adopt the uninterrupted flow of the Elizabethan method, he closes each scene with a moment of dumb-show, shadowy and significant. I shall never forget Glendower, standing at the window (the actor is Harcourt Williams, who knows how to stand)--standing and staring after Hotspur as he gallops away, with the two women weeping at his feet while we know what they guess, that they will never see Hotspur again.22
Harcourt Williams' performance was not the only one to be widely praised. Ralph Richardson's Falstaff was universally admired:
2. Ralph Richardson as Falstaff and Laurence Olivier as Justice Shallow in John Burrell's 1945 New Theatre production: Ralph Richardson's Falstaff was universally admired, and Laurence Olivier triumphed as Hotspur in Part I and Justice Shallow in Part II.
a grand buffoon and rapscallion in Part I, proceeded in Part II to a still richer understanding which could catch the sombre illumination of "Do not bid me remember mine end" and suggest, as Falstaffs rarely do, the attraction of the man for the Prince as well as the considerable brain behind the wit. This was a metamorphosis assisted by make-up but by no means entirely dependent on it: for Richardson's greatness--and I think the word is justifiable--in the part was a greatness of spirit that transcended the mere hulk of flesh.23
Laurence Olivier, meanwhile, played Hotspur in Part I and Justice Shallow in Part II, and triumphed in both.
But it was the 1951 presentation of the tetralogy of Richard II, Henry IV Part I, Henry IV Part II, and Henry V by Anthony Quayle, John Kidd, and Michael Redgrave at the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre that was to prove decisive in the plays' fortunes. Anthony Quayle explained the thinking behind the productions:
it seemed to us that the great epic theme of the Histories had become obscured through years of presenting the plays single, and many false interpretations had grown up, and come to be accepted, through star actors giving almost too persuasive and dominant performances of parts which the author intended to be by no means sympathetic.24
3. The 1951 Shakespeare Memorial Theatre presented Richard II, Henry IV Part I and Part II, and Henry V as a tetralogy: with Harry Andrews as Henry IV and Richard Burton as Hal.
One critic suggested: "One will never again think of these plays as single entities, and when they are played as such we shall feel them to have been lopped."25 Tanya Moiseiwitsch designed a single set of "plain unvarnished oak" that could be "embellished as the occasion demanded with props or with hangings" and "provided three acting spaces and a large variety of entrances; it allowed the action to move in an uninterrupted flow."26 There were star performances though--"Mr Redgrave's poetic Richard and dazzling Hotspur, Mr Quayle's splendidly rich Falstaff and Mr Richard Burton's sultry intriguing Hal," as well as "Mr Harry Andrews's superb and masterly Bolingbroke";27 the balance was shifted decisively away from Hotspur and Falstaff toward Hal.
Douglas Seale directed both parts of Henry IV at the Old Vic in 1955 in productions admired for being "simple and direct and, while comparatively and mercifully static within each individual scene...they are driven with a brilliant sense of the narrative speed over all."28 Again, a strong cast achieved unanimous praise, from Paul Rogers' Falstaff--"leaner and considerably dilapidated, is already some of the way downhill," to Robert Hardy's Prince--"a very strong and charming performance," while "John Neville makes a fine Hotspur and a whirlwind Pistol, and Paul Daneman an ominous Worcester followed, in a miraculous transformation, by an extremely funny Shallow, withered with senility and malice. Rachel Roberts and Gwen Cherrell draw fruitfully on Hogarth for Mistress Quickly and Doll Tearsheet."29
It has become the norm since then for the two plays of Henry IV to be performed together, often within the context of a larger cycle of Shakespeare's history plays. The resources required for such ambitious projects are only realistically available to the national subsidized companies, and pro
ductions by the RSC (discussed below) have constituted the majority of these. In 1986 Michael Bogdanov and Michael Pennington formed the English Shakespeare Company with the aim of promoting and presenting the works of Shakespeare both nationally and internationally. The inaugural production, The Henrys, consisted of Henry IV Part I and Part II plus Henry V. The following year they presented The Wars of the Roses, comprising Richard II, Henry IV Part I, Henry IV Part II, Henry V, the three plays of Henry VI telescoped into two plays (Henry VI: House of Lancaster, Henry VI: House of York), and Richard III. The production toured successfully for two years, both within the UK and internationally. The company deliberately worked against the dominant mode of theatrical realism to present radical and exciting productions, designed to engage a modern audience:
We would provide a space that would allow the plays to range over the centuries in imagery. We would free our, and the audiences' imaginations by allowing an eclectic mix of costumes and props, choosing a time and a place that was most appropriate for a character or a scene. Modern dress at one moment, medieval, Victorian or Elizabethan the next. We would use a kit of props...[which], as far as possible, would remain on stage. The means of transformation from one scene to the next would remain visible. No tricks up our sleeves (until we needed one). We would create a style that was essentially rough theatre, but would add, when we needed it, a degree of sophistication.30
The relatively few American productions of Henry IV have concentrated historically on Part I, focusing on the roles of Hotspur and Falstaff. Stuart Vaughan directed both parts which played in repertory at New York's Phoenix Theater in 1960: the emphasis on Eric Berry's widely praised, compelling Falstaff led to the accusation that it "might accurately be called 'The Decline and Fall of Sir John Falstaff, Fat Old Knight.'"31 In 1993, Ron Daniels directed back-to-back stagings of Part I andPart II for the American Repertory Theater, updated to an American Civil War setting which enjoyed a mixed critical reception:
Mr. Daniels has created a wildly anachronistic, culturally mixed salad in which different elements of Shakespeare's epic portrait are accorded theatrical analogues from wholly disparate historical moments. The result, given visual life by John Conklin's time-traveling, slightly ragged scenic shorthand, is less disjunctive than one might expect.32
Barbara Gaines' 1999 production of both plays at Chicago's Shakespeare Repertory Theater was widely praised for its simple staging and strong performances. In 2003 Dakin Matthews conflated the texts of both plays in a production at Lincoln Center's Vivian Beaumont Theater, directed by Jack O'Brien. The resulting adaptation lasted nearly four hours with two intervals but compressed the action to create a fast-paced, fluid text. Kevin Kline's Falstaff was:
made up to resemble a threadbare Santa Claus with a blimp of a prosthetic belly and a snowy beard, Mr. Kline looks like the most traditional Falstaff imaginable. The wonderful surprise is how he deviates from the convention of bluster and braggadocio. Mr. Kline has never had more of a chance to make a meal of the scenery. Instead, he delivers a finely measured performance that matches the actor's infinite resourcefulness with that of the character he plays.33
Remarkably, London's National Theatre did not stage a performance of Henry IV until Nicholas Hytner's production in 2005 played on a "roughly arrow-shaped stage" in the large Olivier Theatre. The production managed "to suggest the mighty sweep of the plays--their oscillation from uptight court to frowsty lowlife, from the frenetically urban to the peacefully pastoral, from the battlefield to the boozer--with depth and definition."34 Michael Gambon was praised for the way he:
wonderfully incorporates the contradictions of Falstaff. He looks like the kind of wily, drunken bohemian tramp that Just William would ill-advisedly let into the Brown household, where he would later be found comatose in the wine cellar. In the moveable feast of his accent, you hear the tones of a parvenu whose poshness is pretty precarious and inclined to slip into saloon-bar bravado. This is not a sentimentalised fat knight. He's utterly out for himself, and the last thing we're treated to in Part 1 is the sight of him shamelessly robbing two venerable corpses.35
Matthew McFadyen made a "shrewd witty prince," and David Bradley played the "haunted cadaverous king," while:
The scenes in Gloucestershire are delectably comic, thanks to the great John Wood, whose Justice Shallow is a transcendent study in florid, nervously energetic self-delusion about a wild youth that he did not experience. He is delightfully partnered by Adrian Scarborough, who, as Silence, is like a little slip of death inadequately warmed up--until he gets a few glasses inside him, when he cannot be restrained from providing quavering, unwanted cabaret.36
The two parts of Henry IV with their broad cross section of scenes and characters have come to be regarded as a sort of national epic firmly established at the heart of the Shakespearean repertory. The most remarkable film version is Orson Welles' 1966 film adaptation, Chimes at Midnight, in which the entire tetralogy from Richard II to Henry V is telescoped into less than two hours. In 1938 Welles directed an unsuccessful play called Five Kings in which he had gathered all the Falstaff material from the Henrys and The Merry Wives of Windsor. This formed the basis of Welles' film, shot while he was supposedly making Treasure Island. As Scott McMillin suggests, "he was not interested in the historical epic formed by the histories; he was interested in Falstaff--or, perhaps more accurately, in a certain angle of vision which he thought of as Falstaffian."37 The star-studded cast included Jeanne Moreau, Margaret Rutherford, John Gielgud (as Henry IV), with Ralph Richardson as the narrator. The film's brilliance lies in Welles' characteristically bravura film vocabulary and style. As McMillin puts it: "If Falstaff had made films, he would have made something like this one."38
The BBC Shakespeare version, by contrast, offers a conventional historical cycle of the second tetralogy (Richard II, Henry IV Part I, Henry IV Part II, Henry V) made for television and directed by David Giles. Anthony Quayle, who had played Falstaff so successfully in 1951, reprised the role. The narrow focus of television does not, however, lend itself easily to the broad sweep of history:
If cycle-thinking puts the realm and its rulers ahead of Falstaff, and if the performance of Falstaff puts him well ahead of the realm and its rulers, trouble is brewing. Quayle's assured performance as Falstaff is the strongest element of the production, and the separate "sphere of intelligence" provided by his addresses to the audience happily interrupts the dutiful effort to capture history in the space of the television studio. He is in better control of the medium--and this makes Prince Hal's efforts to take better control of the kingdom seem second-rate.39
The English Shakespeare Company's highly politicized, eclectic Wars of the Roses was recorded for television in 1989.
AT THE RSC
The Disease of the Body Politic
The plays of Henry IV are pervaded by a sense of national disintegration--the curse on the usurper Bullingbrook for the sacrilegious act of usurping and killing a king by divine right, Richard II. Part I ends with the possibility of hope, of triumph for Henry and his seemingly reclaimed son. From the start of Part II, however, we are aware of a very different tone. The old England is dying--at court, tavern, and on the battlefield:
The second part of Henry IV presents actors with the difficulty of keeping up the theatrical energy through what is, in effect, one long "dying scene." There is a sense of the characters being all covered in cobwebs and disease, saying the same sorts of things as they said in Part One, but now it's all falling on deaf ears. They are all older now, the country is going down in wrack and ruin, and the king is going with it.40
When thinking of Henry IV Part II, the words of another of Shakespeare's sacrilegious usurpers come to mind:
There's nothing serious in mortality.
All is but toys; renown and grace is dead,
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.(Macbeth, Act 3 Scene 1)
What emerges in twentieth-centur
y productions is an emphasis on this melancholic, elegiac aspect of the play, showing how it pervades all levels of society. The decay of the country stems from the top, the king's illness and his lack of a reliable heir to the throne in Hal, and displays itself in lawlessness:
In Part Two, the whole country is afflicted by a mortal sickness. The London streets are filled with lawless mobs and unruly carnivals;...This is an England turbulent with decay...in which disease spreads through the whole body politic.41
The three contrasting worlds of court, rebel camp and tavern run throughout both plays; they interlock dramatically and offer a panoramic view of the state of the country. As a national epic, the plays link high and low life, and their engagement with the condition of England provides great scope for directors and designers.42
It is notable that the two parts of Henry IV have not been radically reconceptualized by the RSC. Even in 2000, Henry IV's traditional setting was sandwiched in between two thoroughly modern representations of Richard II and Henry V. The modernization of the play happens mainly in the representation of the characters. In postwar Britain, the ideal of chivalric death in battle had died out after two bloody world wars. The jingoism of the 1950s had evaporated by the 1960s and a new skeptical generation emerged, unconvinced by their politicians, and doubtful about the necessity for a monarchy at all. Henry IV therefore does not particularly lend itself to a modern setting, as the England represented in the play appears a long distant memory. This fact, especially in Part II--which contains so much dialogue evoking thoughts of days gone by, of pleasures experienced, but lost--often leads directors to add a feeling of nostalgia to productions, evoked by autumnal imagery. Mirroring the atmosphere and themes of the play, that time of the year when life in nature begins to die reflects the death of the "old order." In 1964, Peter Hall used this autumnal metaphor to great effect: