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Water, Flasks and Packed Lunches
Anita Butler's experience of the RSC Histories at the Roundhouse
(Richard II, Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, Henry V, Henry
VI Parts 1, 2 and 3, Richard III) from Thursday 22nd to Sunday
25th May
Dateline: 30th May, 2008
Twenty five hours of Shakespeare over four days. My spine tells me
this was a curious idea: my heart and head say otherwise. This review
attempts to capture an experience that feels too big for words and that,
three days later, is already theatrical history, the majestic posters
heralding temporary RSC residence now replaced by other events.
Like many, I felt hopelessly drawn to this 'family' of actors and their
diversely multiple roles (who can forget the pitiful childish howling
of Alexia Healy's Rutland?). I had seen the plays several times yet
the final cycle became an urgency: the last time all eight might be
performed; the last time for this ensemble after more than two years;
the last time an audience would see these actors together on
this Roundhouse stage: too many 'lasts' create an unbearable
fervour, so much so that Sunday's queue for Richard III began
at 3am, grew to 150, and would drive one student to beg outside Camden
Town tube (he got a ticket).
Some RSC returns reduced my need to queue: a relief as, despite a lively
camaraderie (homemade shortbread, anyone?,) etiquette could flail, particularly
on trilogy days when those waiting for the third play would be met by
middle performance ticket seekers stampeding, buffalo-like, from auditorium
to foyer, claiming that no queue existed.
A long spectator-stretch requires planning: enough water to keep hydrated,
but not too much to encourage a 'natural' break and risk headlong confrontation
with an actor in flight (they really did emerge from nook, cranny, rafter,
entrance and exit). The body can suffer: a pain, just below my rib cage,
began during Henry VI Part 2 and was eased by a propping of feet
on steps, with said feet just missing Clive Wood's rapidly advancing
Richard of York.
Endurance towards fellow humans is a must, as tiredness breeds contempt.
The woman rustling her bag of sweets during Richard of Gloucester's
soliloquy spoilt my evening, as did the insatiable coughers! And I became
ugly, needing to suppress a rising sap of gall when man, below me in
queue, was rewarded with Row A, whilst I was banished to the back of
the circle. But people were generally lovely, and some great characters
emerged: American students, diehard in their persistence at securing
the impossible seat ('sold out, Roundhouse? I don't think so'); David,
who made beautiful scene sketches in his little notebook as an aide
memoire; and Sandra, a charming volunteer steward, who showed deep
concern when I lost my notebook and deep joy when I found it.
The luxury of seeing all eight in chronological (if not authorial)
sequence reveals Richard II brushing the rest like a watermark,
and each subsequent play enhancing predecessor and successor alike.
We see that Richard II's ghost appears in Henry IV Part 2 (and
not part one) to indicate Henry's mounting haunted guilt; the Bastard
of Orleans with injured leg (Henry VI Part 1) appropriating a
lolloping gait to be realised in Richard Gloucester; Chuk Iwugi's achingly
sensitive molehill speech in Henry VI Part 2 echoing Richard
Plantagenet's 'minutes, times, and hours'. A beautiful coherence emerges.
Concerns of modernity in Richard III melt at the realisation
that this is the culmination of a cycle beginning in Elizabethan dress
and incrementally appropriating the modern.
So, to the final Richard III: an unbearable tension before three
hours that, appropriately, slipped away like sand through fingers; Jonathan
Slinger's strangely alluring Richard that is branded on my memory; a
standing ovation; cascading roses; a tearful cast and audience; an emotional
speech from Julius D'Silva on behalf of his fellows; and from Michael
Boyd, who hoped this success might secure a future for working, innovative
ensembles. Such working innovation was evident right to the last, with
the recurring sand motif only added to the penultimate and final R3's:
formerly falling on or before a doomed King, now meeting an empty middle
stage and perhaps representing the sands of time themselves.
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