Henry VI Parts 1 & 2

Reviewed by Gray Palmer
The Porters of Hellsgate at The Whitmore Theatre
Through June 5

These are strange Elizabethans.

The Porters of Hellsgate are presenting two of Shakespeare’s earliest plays, Henry VI Parts 1 & 2, abridged and combined into a single play and adapted by the company’s artistic director Charles Pasternak. The company will add 3 Henry VI as a separate evening, and the shows will play in repertory.

While we can perhaps appreciate some of what thrilled the Elizabethans in the twisty thicket of this stage chronicle — it shows the conditions leading to the Battle of St. Albans — much of that allure is sure to escape us without some reference to genealogies: pictures to identify who is talking, scorecards, and maybe even maps.­ Without any of these it’s just one damn thing after another unto byzantine exhaustion.

Does it matter that these plays are not very good? Maybe not. No doubt a patchy but great theatrical event could be coaxed out of the material. Some of that does come to life briefly here, especially in two weird narrative excursions, which are great fun in themselves, or possible fun (more of that below).

The intoxicating rhetorical pleasures one would expect are intermittently present, and that proves to be part of the problem. Ovid is everywhere. The speeches, packed with classical references that are sometimes full of insulting audacity, needn’t be delivered at a passionate pitch (as they are here), when their force might better be communicated calmly, with dog-whistle contempt.

These characters “can add colors to the chameleon, change shapes with Proteus for advantages, and set the murderous Machiavel to school,” as the crookback Richard (Gus Krieger) will say later in Part 3. That familiar Richard enters here, late in the evening, the future Duke of Gloucester and future king, sword drawn in one of the production’s many stage fights (and when you add Richard III to these plays, you’ll have Shakespeare’s first tetralogy).

The problem of rhetorical intoxication for actors — and it’s just so damned tempting, that conditioned set of reflexes while speaking verse —  is well described by the great director Peter Brook in The Empty Space. “…He put on a false voice that strived to be noble and historical, mouthed his words roundly, made awkward stresses, got tongue-tied, stiff, and confused, and the audience listened inattentive and restless…”

Some of the Porters had this difficulty on opening night, but there were notable exceptions — Gloucester for one (Michael Matthys, especially in the brief account of a “troublous dream”).  Some of the messenger announcements (one by Jessicah Neufeld), were among the best-spoken lines of the evening. (The messenger as a transition patch is used so often that it almost becomes a joke.)

This is Shakespeare’s Joan of Arc play. That may be the first weird surprise. She’s a witch. At the beginning of 1 Henry VI, the valorous English royals declare that the loss of territories to the effeminate French (and equally the early death of Henry V) could only have been accomplished by treachery and witchcraft. Shakespeare (whoever he was!) then sets out to demonstrate this point with a dark version of The Maid of Orleans.

She’s referred to as Joan la Pucelle (an attractive, athletic Makeda Declet). We see her introduction to the Dauphin (Alex Parker), when she must prove her power through uncanny single combat with him. The story then proceeds to the lifting of the siege of Orleans, to a completely fictional re-taking of Orleans by the English, to Joan’s unvalorous, weaselly stratagem of taking Rouen disguised as a commoner, etc., etc., and finally to her capture by the English after being abandoned by her demons. (None of these battles are described; they are actually depicted by performers rushing in and out, fighting with swords and staves — and that’s one of the problems with the play: The back and forth of onstage battles is very confusing.) Finally, Joan miserably pleads for her life to the gloating York (Matt Jayson) and Warwick (Sean Faye). She begs, wretchedly, to be spared because she claims to be pregnant by someone in a long list of Frenchmen. Then she is burnt.

The second weird narrative is an account of the Jack Cade Rebellion of 1450. If the Joan story may have offended Catholic sensibilities until fairly recently (and gone down well with Protestant Elizabethans), the Cade account is guaranteed to piss off socialists now. Of course, these amusing presentist concerns ought to open a rangy discussion of the political uses of historical narrative. That ‘s what historical narrative is for. Watching this play on the eve of May Day, I was shocked by a Shakespeare new to me — Shakespeare, the smelly monarchist reactionary with a vision of the commons as a mob.

“First thing, let’s kill all the lawyers!” says Cade’s companion Dick the Butcher (Nick Neidorf, clad in a blood-spattered apron), just as Jack Cade (Timothy Portnoy) appears on the scene, jumps on a box, and begins an absurd harangue. We’ve been tipped off that Cade is actually York’s man, a provocateur, stirring up popular rage against the weak Henry (Christine Sage, in one of several pleasant instances of cross-gender casting).

Shakespeare shifts into satire in the grotesque treatment of these rioters and their interesting story, coupling it with a grisly violence. The spirit of comedy, whatever its successful tone might prove to be, eludes director Thomas Bigley and company, and the execution of these scenes was mostly ear-splitting (and possibly voice-damaging). Before this narrative is done, we witness the murder of a (probably Jewish) accountant, simply because he can read, the beheading of two nobles, and much more.

The murder of Suffolk (a good Christopher Salazar) is conflated from another storyline, a parallel narrative in which the Duke is banished by Henry, then captured by pirates in the Channel. This illustrates yet another unfair blackening of the commons (a disturbing theme throughout, this time perpetrated by adapter Pasternak).

There is a lot of head-chopping in this play. A fully furnished prop table backstage would have places for at least five heads; If placed on poles, two of these can be arranged to appear to kiss onstage, a famous detail of the historical rebellion, absent from this version.

The whole gruesome story is the vision of an untame-able war-machine revving up to the War of the Roses. But I found the central narrative of the weak king (in a domain of proliferating betrayals) less than compelling — staged with a repetitive, cartoon-like simplicity that quickly lost allure, even while executed with enthusiasm and dedication. Friends, strange Elizabethans, be careful with those swords!

Porters of Hellsgate at The Whitmore Theatre, 11006 W. Magnolia Blvd., NoHo; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m ; Sun. 7 p.m. ; special Sun. 2 p.m. performances added on May 8, 29, and June 5, through June 5. (818) 325-2055, brownpapertickets.com/event/2530884. Running time: Two hours and 50 minutes with an intermission.