Wednesday 16 June 2004 British Kings and Queens on Film - A Royal FilmographyPart II: Tudor and Stuart MonarchsHENRY VII - The founder of the royal Tudor line and father of
England's most famous monarch doesn't fare nearly so well in the cinema as his
larger-than-life son. Only two primary depictions: those of John Woodnutt, in the BBC-TV
miniseries, The Six Wives of Henry VIII (1971); and Edward Jewesbury in Richard
III. Too bad that back in those halcyon days when PBS was first gaining an audience for quality television in America, when programs like this one forever dispelled the notion that American TV was better than the British variety, even this series wasn't perfect. Michell's towering Henry overshadows the weakness of his supporting cast and the thinness of the scripts and production values. Some of the six wives scarcely resemble their historical counterparts, Catherine of Aragon (Annette Crosbie) being the inspired exception - Henry's first Queen did not have the "traditional" Spanish complexion so often depicted. And in a few cases these ladies are so plain and boring as characters that you cannot believe a King, who presumably could have any wife he wanted, would choose them. And some of the historical situations chosen for dramatization, like Catherine's miseries for Henry's growing flirtations with Anne Boleyn; Jane Seymour's pathetic and fatal pregnancy (it could have been a great farewell love scene); Katherine Howard's skulking adulteries (only hinted at); and Catherine Parr's intellectual forays that land her in trouble with her husband are stunningly, accurately costumed but talky and lugubrious as written. Acted out on barebones, claustrophobic sets, mostly in tight close-up, with little or no music to set the tone, the televised episodes sometimes seem as heavy-handed and stifling as the historical Henry must have been toward his women. Still, for TV of the time, and with the limitations of budget and acting skills firmly in mind, Six Wives is a milestone of history reenactment. And much better fare for this then-high-school-age viewer than what was on the American networks. There are other good Henrys, of course, in livelier films. In A Man For All Seasons (1966), Robert Shaw as Henry craftily outmaneuvers the churchman who has become his nemesis, Thomas More (a saintly man as played by the immortal Paul Scofield, but in historical reality a fiery hater and punisher of Protestants, and a Tudor apologist who may have been responsible for the blackening of Richard III's name as the murderer of the Princes in the Tower in 1483). Charles Laughton plays a roaring lion of a King in The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933), and again in Young Bess (1953). In Crossed Swords, known also as The Prince and the Pauper (1978), he's played (not badly, either) by an American: Charlton Heston, no less. And in Anne of the Thousand Days (1969), a rather listless and unfiery Richard Burton plays Henry. Genevieve Bujold as Anne Boleyn shines far more, as do the sumptuous, carefully-styled costumes and sets (in one scene her Court gown and jewels match one of the historical Anne's portraits virtually exactly). This French-Canadian actress' accent is quite accurate historically, by the way, as Antonia Fraser points out, because Anne was brought up in the Queen of France's household and probably spoke English with a slight French intonation. Another man playing the most famous of English Kings is Montagu Love in The
Prince and the Pauper (1937) with Errol Flynn. Finally, there is the BBC Shakespeare
Plays' version of Henry VIII (1979) with John Stride in the role of the King. A
perennial favorite on film, no doubt many more Henrys will strut the world's stage, in
years to come. As Queen, Elizabeth undoubtedly appears in more films than any other English monarch. Probably because she is such a fascinating and enigmatic woman, because she wielded power so well, with an iron will, and since her world was so colorful and tumultuous, her role remains a tour de force for an actress to play. One of the many Good Queen Besses is the redoubtable Flora Robson, in Fire Over England (1937); The Lion Has Wings (1939), a semi documentary; and The Sea Hawk (1940). These films, used as Allied propaganda in wartime Britain, depict a strong, confident woman who is the living symbol of her embattled country. Robson does not, however, physically resemble the historical Queen. Bette Davis also takes two starring turns as Elizabeth, in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939) and The Virgin Queen (1955). The best modern interpretation of England's beloved Queen for many is seen in Elizabeth R. Glenda Jackson, now a Member of the British Parliament, begins her political career, so to speak, by playing one of the greatest world leaders of all time. Her Elizabeth is many-faceted: cunning, artful, smart, brave, cool-headed, hard, fiery, and dangerous; just as the historical Queen must have appeared to her political allies and enemies alike. It's a triumph of reenactment, and its being shown in America at a time when the women's political movement was at its height marks it as another television milestone. Ms. Jackson was honored with an Emmy Award for her portrayal. Of course, she, like Mr. Michell, has many hours of screen time to hone and perfect her characterization. She also gets to repeat it in Mary, Queen of Scots (1971). (The movie title inserts the comma.) This film is historically inaccurate in many key scenes; for example, Elizabeth and Mary never met. But the English Queen's greater political savvy and her manipulation of her royal cousin are well depicted. Finally, in the last few years there have emerged two more theatrical
Queen Elizabeths. Cate Blanchett as the eponymous Queen in Elizabeth has the
right-looking features and physical build, and certainly the correct historical demeanor
of sly innocence. But the film suffers for its dark, lurid, Gothic tone and set direction.
Since the historical Elizabeth loved bright gowns and loads of jewels and adornments, her
palaces were surely brilliant with candles and mirrors and glitter, befitting a vain and
very feminine Queen; with furniture and baubles and royal bric-a-brac crammed everywhere.
Not dark holes with but one single solitary chair per dim chamber, or one dark tapestry to
divide a gloomy passageway, allowing regicides easy concealment behind it. Spend some
money next time on Queenly gewgaws, Mr. Kapur! Also, as Roquemore points out, torture of
political prisoners was not in common use in the Elizabethan era, but this film wallows in
it. On a lighter note is Dame Judi Dench's all-too-brief appearance as a middle-aged
Elizabeth in Shakespeare in Love (1998). She storms into the Globe Theatre, heckles
the Bard like a groundling, storms out, and along the way picks up an Oscar� for Best
Supporting Actress, so much life and regal character does she inject into this silly
little failed-the-history-exam comedy. Yet is it a show worth stealing? It's slow-moving, the battle scenes aren't thrilling, and as the inexorable (and interminable) trial of the stylish, gentleman King by the boring, grim-faced Parliamentarians drones on, you almost want to cry, "Get on with it! Off with his head!" It's no doubt good history, since extensive records of the historic proceedings are readily available and were in 1970, but lay audiences for what is really just an entertainment, not a scholarly debate on royal prerogative, don't need such intensive and exhaustive legal detail to understand the protagonists' arguments. Film is the medium of images, not words. To their credit, the filmmakers have the good sense to reenact the most dramatic event in Charles' reign: his execution. The King dies nobly, just as the historical Charles did, in a poignant scene that looks very much as the turbulent reality outside the Banqueting Hall of Whitehall Palace must have to him and to history's witnesses, on that chill January day in 1649. Several other actors who play this royal Cavalier are Rupert Everett, in To Kill A King (2003); and Martin Turner, in the TV miniseries, The Last King (2003). Another fine cinematic portrayal of Charles I is seen in another TV miniseries, By the Sword Divided (1983), a fictional account of a family torn by conflicting allegiances in the English Civil War. Jeremy Clyde (of Chad and Jeremy fame) makes a slight, haunted-looking Charles who is nonetheless a dapper, noble, impeccable little gentleman. And historically right, just as everything else about this series seems to be. The period detail in costumes and furnishings had me awestruck. British films always do royalty and gentlemen right, just as American ones
do common soldiers best, German ones do officers, and French ones do downtrodden peasants.
Could it be, ventures this American for whom another Civil War is much more familiar
ground, that the British celebrate Henry VIII as the symbolic Englishman and archetypical
King, but know down deep that Charles I is really that man? - Mel Whitney |
Previous columns by Mel Whitney can be found in the archive
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