Philippe V was a Bourbon prince who secured the throne of Spain using his family connections. Claire van Kampen is a writer who relied on the same method to secure a West End opening for her play about Philippe. It stars Mark van Kampen (aka Mark Rylance) as the charmingly dotty Frenchman. Philippe was a manic depressive who regarded his Spanish subjects as a puzzling inconvenience. He had no interest in governing them and preferred to laze around the countryside, looking at stars, listening to music and indulging his eccentricities. We first meet him in bed trying to hook a fish supper from a goldfish bowl. Courtiers secretly plot to oust him while the queen scours Europe for a singer capable of cheering him up. She hires Farinelli (‘little baker’), who warbles to him day and night in his rural retreat. Farinelli was blessed with the finest vocal kit in Europe but he resented working in a rustic backwater so he filled the longueurs by cultivating a chaste romance with the queen. That’s about it, plot-wise. And there’s little character development in this threadbare frock-fest.
Yet it’s a major work of art for two reasons. First, the set is among the costliest and loveliest things I’ve ever seen in a theatre. The rear of the stage has been rebuilt as a miniature auditorium with three pillared galleries overlooking the playing area. The facings are painted a gorgeous deep blue-grey with austere gilded decorations. The panelled roof is scattered with winged stars like butterflies or twinkling comets. The sumptuous restraint of this design is stunning. The lights are artfully satisfying as well. Two huge candelabra shimmer with naked flames (a nod to Wolf Hall) and they’re supplemented by conventional spots concealed so effectively I couldn’t locate them.
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