Started off in the Rose car park with a fine example being set by the lady owner of a Chelsea Tractor who, rather than going up to the top of the car park where there was plenty of space, chose a spot half way up and proceeded to reverse her tractor into it, rather slowly, while carrying on a conversation on her mobile phone, while blocking the rest of us from getting on up to the top.
However, I was rewarded at the top by a count of two aeroplanes, having made the executive decision that it was OK to count aeroplanes coming up out of Heathrow as an alternative to counting those going down. This particular car park quite good and there are no signs, as I think there are at Heathrow, saying that it is forbidden.
Onto the theatre, once again full this Thursday afternoon, much the same sort of audience as last time. Waiting for the off, I puzzled about all the white smoke which seemed to be near stationary in the beams from the lights. Why was it not moving about more? What about all the currents of air floating around such a space? From which I moved onto all the candles, probably the same as the electric ones from IKEA that they had at Strawberry Hill.
Moving on, it was, once again, a good show - but I am starting to get a bit picky.
So the balletic, strobe lit sword fights became tiresome, despite their necessary role in punctuating the action. The fight master had been given far too much rope.
The younger lords did not convince in the way that the older lords, their fathers, had done in part I. The Duke of Yorks' three sons in particular did not convince, with one of them being the chap who had played the unconvincing Suffolk previously. The oldest was played as more of a slob than lord and the youngest, Richard III to be, sported a leg caliper which would have made him a dead loss (to coin a phrase) in any real battle. Maybe an idea taken from Spacey at the Old Vic, who sported something similar (see reference 4).
They did not convince at the time, but then I wonder this morning what would convince. What were the young bloods of that time like? Young bloods who were very much what they were by virtue of blood (at least from one side of the bed) than ability, to that extent just like those who provided most of the officer corps for Wellington, or the sloanes of the fifties and sixties just past. Perhaps it is just an odd sort of fantasy that I have about the nobility of yore, that they were all noble, even when young.
The bog-standard accents of Cade irritated. But then again, what are they to do? He is supposed to be a man of the people and wikipedia says that bog-standard origins get the vote from among those who ought to know. Or turning around again. he was not just of the people, he was also a leader of the people. He might have had bog-standard accents but he would have had charisma.
I liked the widow Grey, played by the same actress whom I had previously liked as the Duchess of Gloucester. Margaret did OK, but again she failed to convince as one of the leading lights of her day. Something a bit tougher would have been needed. And she looked a bit silly dressed up in tight fitting armour to show off her legs.
Some of those with big speeches looked a bit uncomfortable with them, as if they were not used to that sort of acting. And the young Richard III, then just the younger son of a duke, seemed to pre-empt his grand opening speech in Richard III proper, that is to say part III of this production. The 'Now is the winter of our discontent/Made glorious summer by this son of York/etc' one. We shall see what they do with it next week
Refreshment at the 'Ram' included what I had taken to be a currant pastry but which turned out to be a savoury pastry, full of cheese and herbs. I had mistaken the herbs for currants - OK, but I think I may pass on the next occasion.
Wanting an illustration for this post, google turned up that above. From which I learn that there is another version of the Rose Theatre in Staunton, Virginia, in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley. Or to be more precise a version of the Blackfriars Theatre, also once the home of the bard himself. No idea how old the place is, but the pictures make it look like a more practical version of the Sam Wannamaker Playhouse at the Globe (on Bankside). And if we were really keen they just happen to be doing Henry VI Part I at the moment, billed under an armour plated Joan of Arc. Maybe ten years ago we would have legged it over there for the show!
Taking in Stratford, Ontario, maybe North America is the real home of bardic performance these days: we might have the heritage, but they can put the bums on seats. Or as Stalin once asked of the Pope, 'how many divisions has he got?'.
But maybe we can take a leaf out of their book, and given the parallel taste for complete works in the world of classical music, maybe we can spread that taste to classical theatre, cast the sixties bowdlerisation aside and persuade the Globe to give us all four parts of the wars, complete. In the meantime, Surrey saloon bars can echo to long discussions about the relationships between facts as they have been handed down to us, the original bardic plays, the sixties bowdlerisation and the version offered by the Rose today.
PS: on turning the pages of the sources for part II this morning, I find that, as part of her punishment, the Duchess of Gloucester had to make amende honorable. I shall return to the subject of the place of ritual humiliation of the erring great and good in due course. Perhaps even taking in an episode of 'West Wing', in the course of which the President accepts censure from Congress.
Reference 1: http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/part-one-of-three.html.
Reference 2: http://www.shakespeareances.com/.
Reference 3: http://www.americanshakespearecenter.com/.
Reference 4: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=king+kev+dowdy.
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