Henry V is a barometer of British views about war. In 1944, Laurence Olivier’s film was flooded with patriotic zeal; in 2003, Nicholas Hytner’s production spoke sardonically of invading Iraq. Now Max Webster finds an illuminating path through the play in his production. Never has the word “mercy” resounded so insistently in Shakespeare’s drama of conquest.
In this game of thrones Kit Harington’s young king is subtle, precise, steadily growing in resolution. Passages from Henry IV are tucked in early on – the renunciation of Falstaff among them – so that his growth from lad to leader is clear. He is first glimpsed bleary after roistering; later, bewildered after his father’s death; then, newly crowned, attentively picking his way through baffling hereditary arguments at which sleekly suited courtiers groan “oh God”.
