Nicholas Hytner’s Richard II is a high-calibre version of a fascinating story. A king reluctantly yields his crown to a usurper who wants his violent revolt to seem like a peaceful transfer of authority. This delicate, complex narrative is presented as a boardroom power struggle in corporate Britain. Snappy suits for the dukes and princes. Commando uniforms when they take to the battlefield.
Jonathan Bailey (Richard) starts as a swaggering, coke-snorting yuppie who dreams of extending his realm overseas with someone’s else money. Disaster strikes, the crown slips. Calamity sharpens his awareness and he becomes a lyrical philosopher who laments the bewitchments and pitfalls of power. Bailey’s charming, easy-going Richard brilliantly traces the character’s journey from glib party-lover to meditative hermit.
The modern stylings don’t work perfectly. The ‘sceptred isle’ speech sounds banal when delivered by John of Gaunt slumped in an NHS wheelchair. The battle scenes are marred by plastic detritus scraped from a landfill site. And the musical soundtrack surges and fades at random, as if it had a mind of its own. Here’s an idea. If you don’t notice the soundtrack, it needn’t be there. If you do notice it, it shouldn’t be there.
The second half includes two passages of heartbreaking comedy. Richard and Bullingbrook tussle physically over the gold crown like brothers unable to share a box of Quality Street. Later, Michael Simkins and Amanda Root (as York and his wife) beg the new king to spare the life of their wayward son. On their knees, they hobble around the castle floor, pleading and weeping.
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