Review: Henry IV Tells an Epic Royal Coming-of-Age Story

According to the show page for the new Theatre for a New Audience production of Henry IV, “Henry IV, Part One is one of Shakespeare’s most popular plays, but Henry IV, Part Two is rarely produced.” This may technically be true, but mash-ups of both parts aren’t unheard of. Just last summer, New York Classical Theatre brought a two-hour compression to various parks in New York City. Then there’s Chimes at Midnight, Orson Welles’s 1965 film adaptation featuring bits from both parts of Henry IV as well as The Merry Wives of Windsor and Henry V. Dakin Matthews’s adaptation, which is the basis for this TFANA production, isn’t new either, having previously been produced on Broadway at Lincoln Center Theater in 2003.

So the idea of cutting both plays down to one evening and winnowing the focus to Prince Hal’s coming-of-age in the shadows of both his disapproving father, King Henry IV, and his mischievous father-figure friend, Sir John Falstaff, isn’t exactly fresh. And despite its long length (close to four hours), this latest production ultimately can’t be said to offer any starting revelations into these oft-essayed historical characters.

But that’s not to say that this Henry IV isn’t worth the time commitment. Matthews himself plays King Henry IV, who begins the play not only dealing with his guilt over having just taken the throne from Richard II, but also trying to ward off a rebellion led by his nephew, Harry “Hotspur” Percy (James Udom), and lamenting his estrangement from his son, Prince Hal (Elijah Jones). In his adaptation, Matthews retains a fair amount of the behind-the-scenes political intrigue. Hotspur is driven to ally with Welsh and Scottish rebels after King Henry refuses to pay Welshman Owen Glendower (Michael Rogers) the ransom for his brother-in-law, Edmund Mortimer (Elan Zafir). It’s this rebellion that leads to the Battle of Shrewsbury, during which Hotspur faces off against Hal.

The heart of this Henry IV is the relationship between Hal and Falstaff (Jay O. Sanders), a cowardly, hedonistic outlaw knight who nevertheless draws people in with his quick wit and proud carriage. Tensions abound even at their friendliest, though. The pranks he and Ned Poins (Jordan Bellow) play on him—including robbing Falstaff in disguise just to hear him lie about it later—could be considered mean-spirited. More crucially, in an early soliloquy, Hal admits he knows he can’t continue acting irresponsibly and plans to prove himself to his father eventually. The Battle of Shrewsbury—which Falstaff also participates in—offers him that opportunity, which he takes by killing Hotspur in a duel. Less nobly, Falstaff plays dead in order to avoid enemy clutches before he wakes up, sees Hotspur’s corpse, stabs it once, then claims the kill in front of Hal. Though Hal allows him to take the credit, one could see this as the beginning of their relationship’s decline.

Director Eric Tucker is the artistic director of Bedlam, a theater company that has a reputation for experimenting with classic plays. Though he doesn’t futz with Shakespeare’s text here, he still dazzles us with the ways he tells this epic story with the barest of means. Jane Shaw’s vividly realistic sound design in a scene set in a forest becomes even more astonishing when you realize the ambient noises are coming from many of the actors themselves while on the sidelines. Nicole E. Lang’s lighting during a confrontation scene between King Henry and Hal is perfectly calibrated to give off a dingy underground aura. Scenic designer Jimmy Stubbs’s chessboard patterns on the floor of the raised circular center stage cleverly suggests the kind of mental maneuvering belying some of these characters’ dialogue and actions. That kind of stylistic playfulness keeps this Henry IV consistently engaging.

Thankfully, Tucker doesn’t overwhelm his actors with this formal experimentation. Even the smallest supporting players get chances to shine: John Keating’s amusingly repetitive Robert Shallow, for instance; Cara Ricketts’s wounded intensity as Hotspur’s wife, Lady Percy; and Steven Epp bringing off both the calculating menace of Earl of Worcester and the hapless slapstick of Falstaff’s page, Francis.

But it’s the central trio of Jones, Sanders, and Matthews that commands attention. Matthews strikes the right imperious-yet-frustrated notes as King Henry, while Jones conveys just enough of the inner calculating side beneath his prankish exterior to make his eventual rise to power plausible. And Sanders makes for a magnetic, ebullient, yet ultimately tragic Falstaff. This Henry IV may not necessarily offer fresh insights into these two Shakespeare plays, but in this case, the spectacle of seeing a job supremely well done is enlivening enough.