Edward II is rarely performed. The first act is a bit samey, the arc a little wobbly. It’s one of those plays where 90% of the fighting and screwing happens offstage, and if you’ve turned up anticipating the titular character’s totally grody death (poker, arse, up) you can forget it – it’s “tasteful blackout” all the way. But you could hardly call it boring, not while there’s homosexual love, war, madness, and betrayal to contend with. Sadly, a cast that aren’t up to the task and no end of comically bad direction mean that any glimmers of promise collapse into a soup of lazy interpretation.
Alex Stutt’s jittery Edward could be wonderful, but soon grates, mostly because he doesn’t know how to just stand on stage (or in character: he’s frequently so sad he falls over, once whilst sitting down). A lot of the cast seem to have this problem – guys, it’s okay! You’re still acting! – though Stutt is the main culprit. If you’re going to dodder around like a coked-up heron, you need a counterpoint in your quieter moments. Everyone’s energy kicks off in such a SHOUTY WAY, because they are ANGRY with the KING for GAYING UP THE PLACE with his EYESHADOW (though how he stops faffing long enough to apply it is a mystery), that it knocks the wind out of later confrontations, or moments that demand a subtle change in stakes to avoid being repetitive. A pre-set emotional range of “capslock”, “devastated”, and “horny” robs the action of the danger it demands. Josh Booth is an appropriately petulant Gaveston, though the character is underexamined and the journey flat. There’s a lot of groping and not much chemistry. Worse, the decision to have him multi-role as seductive poker-wielding assassin Lightborn turns Edward’s death, by implication, into a horrifically misjudged pantomime of sodomy. Classy. Moritz Borrmann, Tim Forshaw and Tom Heaps are forgettable as three Barons with an amusing habit of standing in height order.
It’s not all bad, though. Lizhi Howard is a delightfully miscast Arundel, with all the bellicose kill-rage of the Tellytubbies’ sun baby, or a primary school teacher who’s somehow got a sword stuck in her belt, and Emily Warren’s Matrevis makes an enjoyable and genuinely thoughtful transition from wet lettuce to torturer. Phoebe Hames is a true standout, a breath of fresh air as the jilted Queen Isabella. Her performance feels lived-in, by turns spiky and stricken, or else heavy with wounded dignity, like she’s just had a good long cry.
As always, the devil’s in the detail, and you really wonder whether Francesca Petrizzo (who is responsible and should feel bad) was conscious at the time of directing. Actors read A4 lined scrolls, “waterboard” each other from cups dashed to the ground – also, student productions are hard-up, I get it, but I think critics are entitled to have a pop when that “glittering” crown you’re monologuing about came free with a Happy Meal and weighs visibly less than a satsuma. The blocking alone is a laff riot: at one point Canterbury is sent to inform Parliament that Edward will yield the throne. He stands at the back of the stage and gazes at the wall. Pondering the weight of responsibility, perhaps? No, just waiting to be “called back” ten seconds later. Outstanding.
ONE STAR
