Theatre in Review: Henry IV (Theatre for a New Audience)

	Jay O. Sanders. Photo: Hollis King

In William Shakespeare's history cycle, it's never good to be king; one is surrounded by scheming factions, domestic problems fester in the background, and war is an ever-present threat. The title character of the two-part Henry IV saga has additional challenges: His plans for a Holy Land expedition are derailed. Many grumble that he unlawfully snatched the throne away from Richard II, sidelining Lord Mortimer, the designated heir. As rebellion brews on several fronts, he has lost track of his son, Prince Henry (aka Hal), who runs around with a louche crowd led by that rogue of rogues, Sir John Falstaff. What's a monarch to do?

Any production of Henry IV, Part I and/or Part II, hinges on the central triangle of father, son, and substitute father figure, with the fate of a nation hanging in the balance. The best news is Theatre for a New Audience's revival, which combines elements of both plays, has Jay O. Sanders as Falstaff, "that swoll'n parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of guts," a boozing, carousing, semi-criminal who packs a prevarication for every occasion. Only the best of Shakespeare's characters earn such invective, and Sanders' Falstaff deserves every word.

Shoveled into a worn leather doublet that can barely contain his girth, his ratty white hair and beard giving him the appearance of a hungover Santa Claus, Sanders luxuriates in Falstaff's corruption: He insists he "went to a bawdy house not above once in a quarter" -- before adding under his breath, "of an hour." Insisting on his bravery following an embarrassing display of cowardice, he roars, "Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules." Heading off to battle, he insists, "I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is," a comment that provokes smirks all around. Whether announcing, "Farewell, you will find me in Eastcheap," accompanied by an aristocratic handkerchief flourish; putting a royal purple pillow on his head, his face wreathed in gold tassels, and adopting received pronunciation to imitate the king; or, playing dead on the battlefield, then awakening and taking undeserved credit for killing a foe, Sanders is a rapscallion par excellence, a gouty lord of misrule striding through London's underworld in search of the nearest wench or bottle of sack.

His opposite number, King Henry, is brought to rattling, rancorous life by Dakin Matthews. Ailing, aggrieved, and plagued by midnight doubts, Henry is furious with his roistering son, telling him accusingly that "thou hast lost thy princely privilege/With vile participation. Not an eye/But is a-weary of thy common sight." (Sounds rather like one or two of the Windsors, that.) Declining from scene to scene, he seems victimized by his reign; on his deathbed, finding Hal handling the crown, he warns, "Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee," then begs God's forgiveness having seized power. In Matthews' interpretation, the crown rests especially uneasily on this monarch's head.

In Elijah Jones' hands, Hal lacks the kernel of resentment that often seems to drive his bad behavior although he is visibly jealous of Hotspur, the enemy his father openly admires. Unlike other actors, Jones gives the character a harder, more purposeful core; he is less the "nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales" than a royal scion on a gap year, running with a bad crowd for the sake of the experience. Still, he gives Hal plenty of drive, allied with a gnawing need to prove himself. His late-in-the-evening entrance as King Henry V marks a startling transition: "This new and gorgeous garment, majesty/Sits not so easy on me as you think," he says, and we see in a flash how much he has inherited his father's woes.

The production relies on some exceptionally lively examples of double casting. Jordan Bellow is a courtly, but sly, Prince John of Lancaster, deftly turning the tables on Henry's enemies during a peace negotiation, and a ready-for-anything troublemaker as Ned Poins, Hal's partner in crime, who tricks Falstaff into a robbery then gleefully rips him off. The Irish actor John Keating is a well-spoken Earl of Westmoreland and riotously addled as Justice Shallow, who, in cahoots with Falstaff, rounds up a notably poxy, tubercular gaggle of military candidates. ("You look...well," he tells Falstaff, inserting a pause between the second and third words that speaks volumes.) Cara Ricketts is keenly intelligent as Lady Percy, Hotspur's wife, delivering a scathing takedown of her father-in-law's failure to rescue his son, and insolently sensual as the prostitute Doll Tearsheet. James Udom is rousing as Hotspur, raising armies against the king, and amusingly sneaky as Pistol, another of Hal's gang of troublemakers.

Eric Tucker's straightforward, psychologically acute production starts slowly but gains momentum, especially in the father-son faceoff that is the evening's turning point. Still, he hasn't quite figured out how to use Jimmy Stubbs' in-the-round set. All too often, one's view of the stage is obscured by actors roaming through the audience; in one-on-one confrontations, one actor blocks out the other. If you go, opt for seats on the mezzanine or balcony levels, where the bird's eye view is likely to be more felicitous. Also, be warned: Matthew's edited version, combining both plays into a single narrative, can be confusing as characters drop in and out of the action with little explanation. If you aren't familiar with these plays, a little reading up will be helpful.

In other respects, the production looks splendid. Catherine Zuber and A.C. Gottlieb's costumes draw strong contrasts between the worlds of the royal court, the battlefield, and London's seamier districts. The lighting design by Nicole E. Lang, a new face, is unusually well-thought-out, including a warm wash (with colorful Christmas lights) for the tavern scenes, light bar chases during the battles, and a ceiling piece (presumably designed with Stubbs) that flies in to create a stark, noirish atmosphere. Jane Shaw's sound design includes thunder, gulls, and a powerful battle montage plus stately, scene-setting original music.

The production climaxes with the new king's stunning denunciation of Falstaff; the look of hurt incomprehension on Sanders' face adds a new dimension to the character, baring the wounded heart behind the clownish face. Was ever a friend, even a sometimes false one, left so abandoned? Whatever is weak about the production is more than offset by so many incisive performances, led by a Falstaff to cherish: Years ago, seeing him cast as a Texan variation of the character in a dim little musical called Lone Star Love (aka The Merry Wives of Windsor, Texas), one wondered if Sanders would ever get a crack at the real thing. At last, he has, and it is a thing of ravaged beauty. --David Barbour