Review: HENRY V, Royal Shakespeare Theatre

Henry V of England is one of those big roles for an actor. Alfred Enoch follows in the footsteps of Laurence Olivier and Tom Hiddleston as the king who led a battalion of tired and outnumbered soldiers to victory. Excellent performances may save it, but co-artistic director of the Royal Shakespeare Company Tamara Harvey’s take on this history play is unfortunately bland and unfocused. It’s something we’ve seen too many times before.

The production features so many positive standalone elements that it’s difficult to pinpoint why it doesn’t quite succeed. There’s almost an internal conflict between the dramatic needs of the piece and the desire for smoothing them out by adding quirks to the mise en scène. Tension properly rises only at the very end during the long-awaited battle of Agincourt. While Enoch is truly impressive, a vast lack of eagerness in the broader vision stunts Henry’s ambition and, therefore, our excitement and investment in his exploits.

Shakespeare peppers the text with bursts of energy, but the cast have to put up a good fight against a paceless narrative here. Henry is controlled and poised, miles away from the hotheaded Prince Hal he should be until his father’s death. Enoch places the young monarch between arrogance and confidence, imbuing his being with pragmatic savoir-faire. Commanding and lyrical, he declares war on France with sheer nonchalance. He’s a quiet Henry V, averse to any emotional explosions.

Enoch makes him a great motivator, a charismatic and pointed orator who verges into cruel stoicism with a measured and confident delivery. Left alone, he compels the audience, filling Lucy Osborne’s stage with sanguine ease. He is a natural-born leader. A solid company joins him. Paul Hunter and Ewan Wardrop are in brilliant form as Pistol and his drinking frenemy Nym, an absurdly hilarious pairing in their confrontations.

This comic line continues with Jamie Ballard’s Archbishop of Canterbury: consistently in Henry’s ear, at one point he has an enormous scroll roll down from an upper floor to illustrate why France is the King’s birthright. This type of funny vignette runs like a leitmotif throughout the play. It’s an unquestionably amusing choice, and it would work flawlessly if the rest of the show routinely saw a rigorous tendency to dip in tone before returning to humour. As this rarely happens, the comedy unburdens what’s already very light.

Ballard exquisitely doubles as a sensitive and surprisingly human King of France. Overcome with grief, he has to be escorted off when his son passes. Catrin Aaron’s Queen Isabel takes matters into her own hands, handling Henry with resigned fortitude. The Dauphin (Michael Elcock) and his sister Katherine (Natalie Kimmerling) start as an afterthought and gradually take hold of the action. Elcock is cocky and careless; Kimmerling is sweet and quirky. 

As for Henry’s court, we see a sharp Exeter in Micah Balfour and a few gender-swapped figures that don’t hold much consequence. Sophie McIntosh is a darling Gloucester, but her part doesn’t stick. “The Boy” (Falstaff’s servant who goes to war with Pistol, Nym, and Bardolf) becomes “The Girl” here, but that, again, doesn’t seem to have any repercussions. It could have been an interesting decision, but it remains relegated to gender-blind casting due to the number of otherwise male roles.

The visuals are a mixed bag. Osborne’s designs are gorgeous, but also confused and confusing. This Henry V seems to be steadily period, so why do the actors sport modern caps and what looks like a 15th-century version of an Adidas tracksuit? The sartorial separation between the English and the French is intriguing and eloquent on paper, it makes sense having them don completely distinct fashions, but the two sides suggest different eras altogether. Where Henry’s lot is all utilitarian garments with clean lines, the French court wears a shiny collection of frilly haute couture and fashionable fabrics. They all look very cool, but there could be more dramaturgical coherence.

All in all, we are not satisfied with this. There are some fine portrayals, but it’s nothing to write home about. Harvey leans too much on the kooky to offer anything of substance. We appreciate the Dauphin’s penning an ode to his horse that starts with comparing it to a summer’s day, but Henry V is so much more than that.

Henry V runs at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon until 25 April.