HENRY V
Donmar Warehouse, London, 11 February to 9 April 2022

When the Donmar Warehouse announced last year that they would be showing Shakespeare’s war play, Henry V, nobody expected it to have such astonishing contemporary resonance. This story of an Anglo-French conflict, which modernises the setting but largely retains the original text, was supposed to be an exploration of power and leadership in a time of crisis. It was hoped that the show would resonate with London audiences in the aftermath of Brexit and the darkest days of the pandemic.

While that topicality remains – the Dauphin’s description of the English leader as ”vain, giddy, shallow [and] humorous” brought sniggers from the audience – the most striking parallels now are with the conflict in Ukraine. When Pistol leaves his wife to cross the channel, our minds fill with images of Ukrainian families being tearfully split up; and when Henry threatens to lay a siege on Harfleur, we are reminded of the ordeal that citizens of Mariupol are undergoing. In another stylistic choice that now feels almost grotesque, the actors march around in interludes between scenes bearing guns and wearing military fatigues while bombastic music plays.

These parallels are unintentional, but make this production more effective in showing the horrors of war. There is little here of the romantic patriotism of Laurence Olivier’s Henry, and Kit Harington’s king is an unsympathetic figure. We first meet him, as yet uncrowned, in the opening scene (extracted from Henry IV Part One), where he’s consuming illicit substances and staggering around the stage with Falstaff et al. The introduction of this scene, and another from Henry IV Part Two, show us a young king trying to overcome his alcoholism, and now suffering withdrawal symptoms. We witness his regular headaches and dizziness, and the unspoken implication is that his decision to invade France is a mistake resulting from his addiction.

Harington plays his role well, speaking with a rasping voice that is full of vulnerability and betrays an inner weakness. He is unstable, veering between calmness, good humour, and anger at unexpected times. When the French massacre some young English boys, famous film Henry’s (including Kenneth Branagh and Tom Hiddleston) scream their anger; this Henry doesn’t even raise his voice. Yet at other times, he is utterly ruthless. He looks on unmoved at Bardolph’s hanging, shown in graphic detail.

Henry’s cruelty is further demonstrated after he orders the killing of the French prisoners. His soldiers look on hesitantly, not wanting to carry out the order, and so Henry slits the throat of one prisoner himself. This is a tyrannous king, ruling by fear. He doesn’t care about the human lives he is wasting – only about victory. There’s a fist pump of relief after the governor of Harfleur surrenders, and a light-hearted and joyful exclamation after victory at Agincourt. Henry’s indifference to the wasting of human life makes the St Crispin’s Day and ‘Once more unto the breach’ speeches even more potent, as pretty veils hiding his pitiless approach to war.

One common criticism of this play is that only Henry has a fleshed-out personality, and that the other characters serve purely supporting roles. A series of excellent performances from the cast minimise that problem here. Kate Duchêne is a redoubtable Exeter, emotionless throughout until the powerful moment when she tells the king that York is dead. As Catherine, Anoushka Lucas’s performance makes us think again about how we interpret the final scene. Jude Akuwudike is masterful as both the Archbishop of Canterbury and Charles VI, bringing the charisma of an evangelical preacher to the former, and a sensible, statesman-like air to the latter – contrasting with Henry’s egotism and unpredictability. And Millicent Wong is also notable as the Chorus, growing into the role as the play progresses. Early on she lacks gravitas, but by the end we are charmed by her energy and good humour.

Director Max Webster has done his best to bring out the humour in this play, though his quips don’t always land. Some jokes are retained from the original text, with a particularly good visual gag when Pistol says to Nym, “pish for thee, Iceland dog”. Others are less witty, often relying on the shock value of expletives – there’s an obvious pun on “constable”, and some rude reactions to Fluellen’s Welshness.

These are cheap jokes to make, and they are not the only missteps. The gender-swapping of Bardolph presents an issue when the soldiers depart for France – if she can fight, why must Hostess Quickly stay at home by dint of her gender? Issues also arise around the translations of French lines which are displayed on screens at the corners of the stage; the audience have to choose between watching the action unfold or reading the surtitles. This is especially problematic because the scenes at the French court, rendered in English in the original text, are here also spoken in French. It is a mystery why the surtitles are not instead displayed centrally, on the huge screen at the back of the stage onto which images are projected throughout the play.

The extremely sparsely-furnished set works well otherwise, ensuring the performers take centre stage; our attention is often drawn to the interactions between non-speakers in the many scenes that feature a gaggle of listeners-on. It is the speakers themselves who fail to make full use of the space. In a small theatre where most audience members are either in the circle or at the sides of the stage, only Wong speaks to anywhere other than the stalls.

Despite these criticisms, however, this is a thought-provoking version of Henry V. Harington is commanding in his interpretation of the titular figure, and Webster pulls off his vision of a production that shows the realities of war. This is a harrowing, emotional interpretation of the play that will rest uneasily in the minds of those who see it.

Henry V is playing at the Donmar Warehouse in London until 9 April. It will be available to watch in cinemas via National Theatre Live on 21 April in the UK, and from 2 June internationally.

Christopher Day is currently a PhD student at the University of Westminster