The National Theatre production of Edward II has left me more excited, inspired and breathless than any play since Frankenstein at the National 2 years ago. Then, it was because of the sheer power and beauty in the acting of Frankenstein's creature, combined with the epic, filmic staging. The intimate emotional journey combined with the vast scale.
In Edward II, the experience was similar in its power. A large part of this came from John Heffernan's portrayal of the King. One of the great joys in taking full advantage of my NT Entry Pass card over the last three years has been to see John Heffernan progress through the ranks. I have now seen him in 6 productions, and each time not only has the size of his part increased, but I have seen his acting range, from the height of comedy to the depths of tragedy. His Edward II is heart-breaking stuff, drawing us into his grief, his face filled with passionate sweat as he tears himself apart. He is an actor fully deserving of this leading role, who has fully embraced it.
Watching the play, it did not once feel like a product that is over 400 years old. It was raw and fresh and modern and made absolute sense. Yet the production did not remove it from its medieval setting. Instead it placed modern and medieval together onstage, not interwoven but clashing. So modern phrases were used alongside the language of the text; and whilst most costuming was medieval, some characters were in obviously modern dress. Mics were clearly visible on the actors, as were racks of
costumes at the back of the stage. The conflict between modern and medieval was
not resolved, but left for the audience to interpret. For me, it felt like this
was all emphasising that royalty is a kind of performance.
Indeed, thinking back to before the play even starts, as the audience comes in, the fact this is a 'performance' is made very apparent. At the back of the stage are all the costume racks and props, and as actors start to mingle at the back, synth medieval music is played on a Senheizer keyboard by a pianist in a prominent position, and the stage is hoovered by a stage hand, in preparation for the king's coronation.
So the stage was set, with Edward in his throne at the front, surrounded by his family and nobles and 'dogs' (soldiers wearing animalised helmets). Behind this was a crude wooden box, the inside of which was barely lit. In the first half, while the king frolicked with the previously banished Gaveston in the open, the nobles' plotting against them took place in the wooden box. The dogs used cameras with a bright light around the lens to film the plotting in a washed out, guerrilla (or even gorilla!) style, and this was projected live from two angles on the walls of the theatre. This simple yet ingenious effect created an energy that continued to grow and added heart-stopping drama to the piece. It foregrounded a major theme of the play – the tensions
between public and private, and the questioning of what should be secret and
taboo – with startling clarity.
The action was not only contained within the theatre, either - the introduction of Spencer and Baldock took place on the roof of the National Theatre. We followed them (through the on-wall projections) as they journeyed down through the building, into the backstage area and onto the stage. The National Theatre therefore truly became Edward's castle, fitting the royalty as performance theme. As war broke out the wooden box at the back of the stage was literally ripped apart and scattered over the stage; Gaveston was captured and killed.
Once Edward had been deposed, the cameras were used differently. The plotting was now kept at a distance and instead the cameras were thrust into the faces of Edward and his supporters as they were tortured, the giant washed out images of their faces projected large on the walls, allowing them no privacy, forcing the audience to live their pain with them. In the scene where Mortimer and Isabella plotted to give the crown to Edward's son, Edward staggered slowly back and forth at the back of the stage. Throughout the whole scene, the image of his tormented face filled the walls and haunted the theatre as his life was stripped away from him. Later, during Edward's torture, there was one shocking moment where, as he was being shaved, he stared straight into the camera, realising his death was near and trying to reach Gaviston again; the look in his eyes will remain with me for a long time.
The concept of Gaviston (Edward's lover) and Lightborn (Edward's murderer) being played by the same actor created a poignant, fitting death for Edward. The acting of the murderer and the lover seemed intentionally similar, creating an interesting tension. When Lighborn was then murdered and fell on top of the murdered Edward, it allowed for a final metaphorical embrace of the two lovers.
The energy created by this staging would have fallen to nothing had the cast not matched it. John Heffernan was not the only one to throw passion into his performance and destroy himself on stage. From Gaveston's anger and love (Kyle Soller) to Isabella's frustration (Vanessa Kirby) to Mortimer's grasping at power (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith), the acting was immaculate and utterly believable.
A particular highlight on the third occasion I saw the play was the brilliantly underplayed performance of Prince Edward by Bettrys Jones - so underplayed that it took me three performances to realise its quality. It was a striking choice, having a female actress playing the prince as a young boy throughout, rather than a male actor playing an older version of the prince. While the prince's costume - a modern bright red private school blazer with hold waistcoat - ensured he stood out in every scene, his role within those scenes could have been seen as an actor standing there with nothing to do. But the oh so subtle acting of the prince, with the expression of a child full of at times scared wonder and curiosity, at times frustration and uncertainty, allowed him to be constantly active, learning from what he saw around him about what it was to be king. This was crucial for the powerful ending - more on this later.
The prince is always kept at a distance from his father. This is poignantly and hauntingly apparent during Edward's murder. In the previous scene, after his coronation the prince (now Edward III) was encouraged to play a childish tune on the piano. As he plays, siting atop the shipping container that is Mortimer's 'castle', his father desperately struggles for his life as he is tortured and killed in a dungeon set below. The prince continues to play, his haunting tune every so often punctuating Edward's torture.
The ending - after Edward's murder - is heart wrenching, with the timid prince finding a voice and taking revenge on his mother and Mortimer for the murder of his father. The tears and pain in the eyes and the anger in the voice of this innocent-looking child creates a disturbing, powerful ending, as Mortimer's head is given to the prince in a plastic bag. The play, ending at this moment, leaves a very disturbing feeling about the future to come for Edward III.
This production of Edward II has been described
as a Marmite production – you’ll either love it or hate it. I could feel this
in the audience, with some of us absolutely gripped by every eye-popping
moment, while others sat confused and uncomfortable. Interestingly, the atmosphere was better at the evening performance I saw than at the two matinees - a matinee attracts an older, perhaps more traditional audience, whereas an evening performance attracts a more varied audience. As I came out of the evening performance, the people in front of me were talking about previous plays they had walked out of; they hadn't walked out of this one but clearly hadn't enjoyed it. Whereas I came out buzzing, feeling alive and inspired by the powerful effect it had on me. These polar reactions felt right,
somehow - the production would have failed in what it was trying to achieve if
it hadn’t divide the audience in this way. It is a brilliant example of how the
NT is at its best when it innovates, pushes boundaries
and takes risks. I only hope that when I come across a production that I dislike, I will appreciate this fact all the more.
I find it difficult to talk to friends about the plays I have enjoyed, simply because you can only truly understand it if you were there experiencing it too. I might say that Edward II was amazing, that it was exciting and left me breathless, yet I will fail to explain how and why this impact was achieved. So this blog is, I know, a failure of sorts. I can never capture my experience in words. But I felt I had to attempt it, if only so that I can read this again down the line and remind myself of why this production of Edward II had such a huge impact on me.
There is great joy in finding that someone else shares your opinion (and expresses it far more effectively). I recommend reading:http://bit.ly/154QRKe
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