A Spritz on Both Our Houses

Posted by Bruce Miller
In My Big Fat Greek Wedding, the mega-hit movie from 2002, the father of the bride uses Windex as a cure-all. “Put some Windex!” he continually shouts as he sprays every ailment from facial blemishes to curvature of the spine.

At last night’s Bootleg Shakespeare production of Romeo and Juliet, Windex’s “medicinal” properties did an about-face. The Smurf-blue solvent stood in as the poison that brought about the final demise of our title characters.

Jacquie O’Connor, in the role of the Apothecary, rummaged through her bag of tricks for the toxicant Romeo requested. She pulled out a bra, a pop culture magazine, and a few other dainties before finally retrieving the powerful venom (in a convenient spray bottle) for which she had been searching.

By design, the actors in Bootleg Shakespeare provided their own props. Anything can and did happen. After the Windex arrived on stage, it was a slippery slope to the climactic reconciliation of Capulet and Montague.

When young Paris tried to prevent Romeo from entering Juliet’s crypt, Romeo dispatched his rival not with a dagger or sword but with a quick spray of Windex to the face. Soon thereafter, Romeo removed the spray nozzle and guzzled the Windex down, immediately responding with the exact grimace and gurgle one would expect should one contemplate a greedy gulp of household cleanser.

Suffice it to say, last night was not your daddy’s Shakespeare.

But it may have been somewhat reminiscent of your great great great…(add however many greats it takes to get you back to the late 16th century) granddaddy’s experiences with the Bard.
Scholars advise us that Shakespeare’s plays at the Old Globe were performed after only minimal rehearsal (Bootleg Shakespeare was rehearsed over the course of one day), and that they almost certainly were not directed (the concept of a stage director uniting a cast’s intentions did not emerge until two to three hundred years later).

Also, all of Shakespeare’s women were played by men. So when all the world was Shakespeare's, seeing the wonderful Molly Hood as Juliet would have been far more jarring than seeing the equally wonderful Fredrick Kaufman as Juliet’s Nurse.

Best of all, there was no reverence whatsoever in last night’s friend- and fund-raiser for the up-and-coming Henley Street Theatre. For one night only, Shakespeare’s work was light on gravitas and rife with spontaneity—which I suspect was VERY much what the Bard himself expected and experienced in merry old London.

And in the middle of everything, was Joe Carlson's magnificent portrayal of Mercutio.

Just like Shakespeare, last night’s event was popular with the masses. Granted, it was free and there was only one performance. Nonetheless, what a thrill it was to drive into the parking lot at Willow Lawn at 6:10 pm and see a line of well over a hundred stretching from Barksdale’s front door half way to Staples.

Now if they'll only return for the sheer delight of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee.

All of us at Barksdale felt privileged to have had the opportunity to work in cooperation with Henley Street as they brought to Richmond this fun and exciting new venture. If you couldn’t make it last night (or arrived too late to snag a ticket to the sold-out event), you missed a night to remember.

Congratulations to all involved!

--Bruce Miller

Language - Part III: Our Latest Offense and Censorship Elizabethan Style

Posted by Bruce Miller
The following comments were phoned in to Theatre IV’s general voice mail yesterday (Sunday) by a very distressed older woman. I’m quoting the message in its entirety, word for word. “We’re just wanting to know why in the world Barksdale chose such a play as Doubt. That is obnoxious in every way. And we are grossly disappointed in the selection of that play. And we just wanted to express our sincere regrets.”

Click.

Had the distraught woman left her name and/or phone number, we would have called her back today, respectfully, and offered her tickets to Greater Tuna or some other play to replace the tickets she is apparently holding to our upcoming production of Doubt. But as is so often the case, the message was left anonymously.

As a further wrinkle, we suspect she may not have named the play she intended to condemn. In some ways, it makes more sense if she had just seen Moonlight and Magnolias and was among those who objected so strenuously to the language in that comedy. Doubt doesn’t begin performances for four weeks, and the immediacy in her delivery made it seem like she had just witnessed something horrible. Furthermore, it’s hard for me to understand what would make anyone who had read Doubt or seen it previously say that it was “obnoxious in every way.”

I guess we’ll never know … which is frustrating.

Perhaps we should take some comfort in knowing that theatre artists have been shocking audiences with “offensive language” ever since the first curtain rose on the first performance. In fact, long before theatres even had curtains, conservative playgoers were taking umbrage at some of what they heard on stage. Back in those pre-curtain days, the consequences of offending the powers-that-be were a lot worse than they are today—setting aside for the moment that little matter of “eternal damnation” mentioned in a comment to Language – Part I.

Consider the Puritans. The Puritan movement began to gain strength in England in the 1570s, about the time that Shakespeare was entering grammar school. The Puritans didn’t call themselves Puritans; if they called themselves anything, they called themselves “the Godly.” The name “Puritans” was devised and employed by their opponents, who resented their attempts to “purify” the Church of England in keeping with other Protestant reformation efforts in John Knox’s Scotland, John Calvin’s Geneva, and Martin Luther’s Germany.

Today in the U. S. of A. we tend to think of the Puritans as the guys who landed at Plymouth Rock. We should also remember that it was the Puritan Roundheads under the political and military leadership of a “born again” Oliver Cromwell (pictured to the left), who closed England’s theatres in 1642. (Shakespeare, had he lived, would have been in his 70s.) The Puritans also defeated the royalist Cavaliers during the English Civil War, and beheaded King Charles I in 1649.

Needless to say, throughout Shakespeare’s lifetime, the Puritans were a force to be reckoned with. And they hated the theatre. They found the worldly delights of London to be so abhorrent that, during the Great Migration of 1620-43, approximately 21,000 of them crossed the ocean to establish wilderness homes in the Massachusetts Bay Colony—and in communities surrounding the Chesapeake Bay.

In his new biography, Shakespeare – The World as Stage (my daughter gave it to me for Christmas and it’s a great read), Bill Bryson (pictured to the right) says, “Puritans detested the theatre and tended to blame every natural calamity, including a rare but startling earthquake in 1580, on the playhouses. They considered theatres, with their lascivious puns and unnatural cross-dressing, a natural haunt for prostitutes and shady characters, a breeding ground of infectious diseases, a distraction from worship, and a source of unhealthy sexual excitement. All the female roles were of course played by boys—a convention that would last until the Restoration in the 1660s. In consequence the Puritans believed that the theatres were hotbeds of sodomy—still a capital offense in Shakespeare’s lifetime—and wanton liaisons of all sorts.”

The good news for theatre artists during the English Renaissance was that Queen Elizabeth (pictured to the left) was relatively neutral in the religious culture wars. She returned her country to Protestantism after succeeding her half-sister, Mary, to the throne in 1558. (Queen Mary had earned from the Puritans the moniker “Bloody Mary” because of her Catholic persecution of Protestant reformers.) But despite her Protestant leanings, Elizabeth had a healthy distrust of the Puritan movement because of its anti-monarchist sentiments. Throughout the Shakespeare Era, she resisted the Puritan’s efforts to shut the theatres down while enacting rules and regulations that encouraged the Puritans to feel like their concerns were being addressed.

From all accounts, Queen Elizabeth enjoyed the theatre herself, and her government certainly benefited from the substantial licensing fees that the theatres were charged. The Master of the Revels, Edmund Tylney (Tilney), licensed all play scripts at 7 shillings each. To mollify religious conservatives, he also served as the royal censor, expunging language that could be perceived as anti-God or anti-Queen. In 1592, when the Puritans convinced the Lord Mayor of London to close the theatres, it was Tylney who lobbied on behalf of the crown to keep the theatres open, protecting royal revenues and keeping Puritan power in check.

Despite his liberal use of odds bodkins, ‘zounds and ‘sbloods (blasphemies all), Shakespeare remained relatively free of official condemnation and/or punishment throughout his career. Several of his colleagues fared far less well.

Henley Street Theatre is now presenting The Spanish Tragedy by Thomas Kyd, frequently referred to in theatre history texts as the “most popular play” to grace London’s stages during Shakespeare’s lifetime. Kyd heads the list of playwrights who are believed to be the author of Hamlet and King Leir, late 16th century plays that preceded Shakespeare’s revered rewrites by a decade or more. Thomas Kyd was also horrifically wrapped up in British censorship.

In the 1580s and 90s, both Thomas Kyd and fellow playwright Christopher Marlowe (Tamburlaine, The Jew of Malta, Edward II, The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus) were working under the patronage of a particular nobleman, most likely a fellow named Lord Strange. Kyd and Marlowe became roommates for a time, and both men wrote a quantity of plays that were hugely successful.

In 1593, the Master of the Revels and the Privy Council ordered the arrest of both Kyd and Marlowe on suspicion of creating “divers lewd and mutinous libels.” Tracts, it seems, had been posted all around London disparaging the Protestant refugees who had come to England to escape the Catholic societies in France and the Netherlands. One of these posters was written in blank verse, mentioned themes, characters and scenes from several plays by Christopher Marlowe (pictured above and to the left), and was signed “Tamburlaine.”

Thomas Kyd was the first of the pair of playwrights to be apprehended and sent to Bridewell Prison. Built by Henry VIII, Bridewell was London's first correction facility. The former gatehouse (pictured to the right) is all that remains today.

Under the threat or the actuality of torture—we’ll never know for sure which one—Kyd proclaimed his innocence and implicated Marlowe in the “crime.” When incriminating evidence was found among Kyd’s papers, Kyd asserted that the offending document had found its way into his portfolio by accident during that period when he and Marlowe had been roommates. He accused Marlowe of blasphemy, atheism and homosexuality.

Bill Bryson continues the story: “Marlowe was brought before the Privy Council, questioned, and released on a bond that required him to stay within twelve miles of the royal court wherever it happened to be so that his case could be dealt with quickly when it pleased his accusers to turn to it. He faced, at the very least, having his ears cut off—that was if things went well—so it must have been a deeply uneasy time for him.”

Marlowe’s biographer, David Riggs, reminds us, “There were no acquittals in Tudor state courts.”

Now back to Bryson. “It was against this background that Marlowe went drinking with three men of doubtful character at the house of a widow, Eleanor Bull, in Deptford in East London. There, according to a subsequent coroner’s report, a dispute arose over the bill, and Marlowe—who truly was never far from violence—seized a dagger and tried to stab one Ingram Frizer with it. Frizer, in self-defense, turned the weapon back on Marlowe and stabbed him in the forehead above the right eye—a difficult place to strike a killing blow, one would have thought, but killing him outright. This is the official version, anyway. Some historians believe Marlowe was assassinated at the behest of the crown or its senior agents. Whatever the motivation, he was dead at 29.

Kyd died the next year, aged just 36, never having recovered from his ordeal at Bridewell. Shakespeare would have no serious rivals until the emergence of Ben Jonson in 1598.”

And all I get is letters, voice mails and blog comments—mostly anonymous. I guess I should count myself lucky.

--Bruce Miller

Language - Part I: From Potter to Shakespeare to Jesus and Beyond

Posted by Bruce Miller
Writing about “offensive language” has the potential to be both dangerous and constructive. I vote for the latter. Some of you are more liberal than I, and may find this post to be prissy and/or quaint. Some of you are more conservative, and may be upset by what you’re likely to view as rationalization or misrepresentation. To one and all, I say this: I’ve written this carefully, intending all due respect to others who hold opinions different from mine. Every word was selected thoughtfully and is meant to be sincere. I’m not trying to rationalize, criticize, or look down upon anyone else’s beliefs. I hope not to have the last word, and welcome your comments.

Following that preamble, I will now begin to ramble.

To many if not most theatre artists, the subject of “offensive language” is simple. We don’t believe there is such a thing. No word, we believe, can be inherently offensive. Language is our medium. Find me the painter who is offended by a particular color. We celebrate and revere language, in all its variety, beauty, coarseness and power.

We are like Harry Potter. Let the rest of the wizarding community cower in the Dark Lord’s shadow, referring to him euphemistically as “you know who” or “he who must not be named.” We refuse to give darkness that power. We shout the name “Voldemort” out loud. And just like Harry, we sometimes get in trouble for it.

We may not believe that language is inherently offensive, but, unless we are fools, we are well aware that there are audience members who are offended by certain language. If we are pure artists—I am not one but I ask God to bless those who are—we relish this knowledge. Offend is a very useful instrument in our tool box, laying right there alongside amuse, titillate, anger, sadden, inspire, thrill, scare, energize and delight. Our job is to connect with audience members using every tool at our disposal. Why on earth would we be afraid to pick up offend? When an awl is called for, a carpenter reaches for his awl.

In Act III, Scene 2, Shakespeare famously has Hamlet deliver this advice to the players: “Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing so o'erdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature: to show virtue her feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.”

In other words, the life we create on stage should accurately reflect the life we find in our world. The language featured in an on-stage scene reflecting the life of a ladies luncheon should sound one way; the language found in a theatrical portrayal of a fight in a soldier’s barracks should sound another. Were we to apply a filter that made the language in the barracks sound just the same as the language in the church parlor, we would be holding the mirror up not to nature, but to priggishness.

But let’s step back into that church parlor for a while. I love the peace, comfort and fellowship I find in my church’s parlor. I am a Christian—a quiet, introspective, “religious left” Presbyterian—a Christian nonetheless. I’m slightly ashamed to say that I’m not confident enough in my faith—my pride would prefer me to say not arrogant enough regarding my confidence—to proselytize. So I’m speaking personally, for whatever that’s worth.

Here’s what my Bible tells me about language:

from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, chapters 4 and 5 – “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. … Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving;”

from Paul and Timothy’s letter to the Colossians, chapter 3 – “But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips;”

from James’ letter to the twelve tribes, chapter 3 – “Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be;” and

from the second letter of Simon Peter, chapter 2 – “For they mouth empty, boastful words and, by appealing to the lustful desires of sinful human nature, they entice people who are just escaping from those who live in error. They promise them freedom, while they themselves are slaves of depravity—for a man is a slave to whatever has mastered him.”

Also, of course, there’s the Ten Commandments, but most Biblical scholars agree that “You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God” refers more to false oaths than to profanity.

I accept all of these Biblical lessons and value their guidance as it relates to the way in which I personally speak to those around me. When I speak to others, I try mightily (not always successfully) to speak graciously and not to offend. But I do not believe these lessons relate directly to my calling as a theatre artist or as artistic director of Barksdale Theatre. My responsibilities in that realm, I believe, are to create theatrical productions that impact our community positively. And often the best way to have a positive impact is to honestly examine human behavior.

Consider the great variety of human behavior, and language, detailed in the Bible itself. As only one of scores of examples, no lesser light than the Apostle Paul uses scatalogical profanity when he’s trying to make a point. In Philippians 3: 7 through 9, Paul recounts and disavows his former prosperous life as a Pharisee (more about them momentarily).

“But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith.”

Please note in the above quote that itilicized word, rubbish. The word Paul actually wrote is skubala, which in Greek was the lowest, most coarse word for animal excrement, a word that appears frequently in the ancient graffiti found in archeological digs, a word more accurately translated as shit. All the profit and respect I gained as a righteous Pharisee, Paul states, doesn’t mean shit compared to the peace and strength I find in my Christian faith.

One of my favorite readings in the New Testament is found in Mark 7: 1-20. I recommend it to you. It is a complex passage which is near and dear to my heart. I will now, humbly, summarize it, inadequately I’m sure.

Jesus and his disciples (pictured in the Ottonian vellum panel to the right) were carrying out their mission of healing the sick and ministering to the poor. The Pharisees (one of the most influential, zealous and traditional religious parties operating during and after Jesus’s lifetime—see the reference to Paul above) saw the disciples eating with unwashed hands, in noncompliance with Jewish tradition. “So the Pharisees and teachers of the law asked Jesus, ‘Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with unclean hands?’”

Jesus replied, “Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written: ‘These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain; their teachings are but rules taught by men.’ You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to the traditions of men.”

Jesus then gives specific examples of how religious fundamentalists can, by demanding strict compliance with established religious laws and traditions, inadvertently “nullify the word of God.” He adds, “Listen to me, everyone, and understand this. Nothing outside a man can make him ‘unclean’ by going into him. Rather, it is what comes out of a man that makes him ‘unclean.’ … For from within, out of men’s hearts, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly. All these evils come from inside and make a man ‘unclean.’”

A contemporary corollary comes from a Baptist preacher whom I admire, although I don’t always agree with him. Tony Campolo (pictured to the left) began his famous sermon entitled The Positive Prophet with this: “I have three things I'd like to say today. First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a shit. What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night."

Whatever language is said from our stage, I'm confident that the purpose that comes from our hearts is free of “evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and ...” All right, I confess to “folly.” The language on stage will not always be in compliance with religious law and tradition, because I believe that such compliance would cause us to “let go of the commands of God.” Here’s what I believe: whatever “uncleanliness” is perceived comes from the heart of the hearer, not from the heartfelt intentions of our humble, respectful company of fools.

Coming soon, Language – Part II (maybe even III), in which we shall discuss copyright law, the history of censorship, specific complaints we’ve received at Barksdale and Theatre IV, and other funny theatre stories.

--Bruce Miller

Celebrating Twelfth Night

Posted by Bruce Miller

Today is Jan 5, the day to wish each of you a very joyous Twelfth Night, that most theatrical of holidays.

Or is today the day?

That irresistible—or irresponsible, depending on your point of view—carol “The Twelve Days of Christmas” first reared its lyrical head in the early 1780s in England, and most of us today associate Twelfth Night with the Twelve Days of Christmas. The Twelve Days of Christmas is that period on the Christian calendar that separates Christmas from Epiphany. The Twelve Days are also known as Christmastide and Twelve-tide.

Christmas, or Christ’s Mass, marks the birth of Jesus Christ on the Christian calendar, and has been established since the Middle Ages as occurring on the Julian date of Winter Solstice, Dec 25. (See Theatre and the Winter Solstice, posted on this blog on Sat, Dec 22, 2007.) Epiphany, also known as Twelfth Day, Three Kings Day and Theophany, is a Christian feast intended to celebrate the revelation of God to mankind in human form in the person of Jesus Christ.

Some Christians believe that Epiphany marks the day when the Magi visited the child Jesus—hence the alternate Three Kings Day. (According to Biblical historians, Jesus was a toddler of two by that time, so next year you might want to consider removing those wise men from your nativity scene.) Other Christians believe that Epiphany marks the day when Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist in the River Jordan—hence the alternate Theophany. As early as the Third Century, Epiphany (or Twelfth Day) was established as Jan 6.

Twelfth Night concludes the Twelve Days of Christmas and falls on the evening before Twelfth Day. A word of caution for those of you who are keeping count—you may be pondering, if Dec 25 is the first day of Christmas, then Jan 5 is Twelfth Day and Jan 4 is Twelfth Night, not Jan 5. Ah, but you’re forgetting that in days gone by a calendar day actually began at sundown on the evening before, somewhat like the Jewish Sabbath today.

In other words, Christmas Day began at dusk on Dec 25 and continued until dusk on Dec 26. So even though Christmas Day began on Dec 25, the daylight part of Christmas Day (the First Day of Christmas) actually took place on Dec 26. This would place Twelfth Day on Jan 6 and Twelfth Night on Jan 5.

Have I confused you enough? Let me see if I can confuse you some more.

Shakespeare’s play Twelfth Night, or What You Will was written as a holiday entertainment in 1601. Its first performance was most likely on Feb 2, 1602, the day of Candlemas, the holiday that marked the end of Twelfth Night celebrations in 17th Century England. But then again, the premiere may have taken place one to five days earlier or later, since Candlemas, in those days and today, could be celebrated either on Feb 2 or on the Sunday that fell between Jan 28 and Feb 3.

In 1602, Twelfth Night was not so much a specific night as it was a four week festival that began on the specific night of Jan 5 and ended on Candlemas. The important point to note is that in Shakespeare’s time, as today, Candlemas was a Principal Feast of the Anglican Communion—make note all ye Episcopalians—and the observance of Principal Feasts was and is obligatory.

What we know for sure is that the world premiere of Shakespeare’s play marked the royal observance of Candlemas in 1602, concluding the festival known as Twelfth Night. The play, one of Shakespeare’s greatest comedies, was staged in the magnificent Middle Temple Hall which still stands today (see photo below). And it was staged sometime between Jan 28 and Feb 3.
So, whether you celebrate Twelfth Night today, Jan 5, or, as Shakespeare likely did, four weeks later, all of us at Barksdale hope you have a joyous one.

Once we get to Feb 2, I’ll revisit this subject with another story about the theatrical connections of Candlemas, which was not only the end of the festival of Twelfth Night, but also the beginning of Carnival, the international festival that lasts until the beginning of Lent on Ash Wednesday.

Let’s face it, for those who celebrate every religious festival out there, it’s just one party after another.

Joyous Twelfth Night!

--Bruce Miller

Majesty, Magic and Mayhem at Agecroft Hall

Word on the street is that Henry IV, Part I may be Richmond Shakespeare Theatre’s best effort to date. I know plenty of theatre lovers who would fight for their own favorite, but it's good to see that this new entry is so clearly joined in the competition.

I’m ashamed to say I haven’t seen enough RST productions to assert which one may or may not be the best of all. But I can say this. Henry IV offers pleasures to spare, and if other productions have been better, then they must have been pretty sensational.

I love seeing theatre at Agecroft. I loved Henry IV, Part I.

I wish I were smart enough, or educated enough, to be able to watch Shakespeare and actually understand all the language. That’s a criticism of me, not of Shakespeare or any particular production—certainly not this one. Truth is, I fully understand about 50%—particularly if we’re talking about the histories and the tragedies.

In my youth, I used to hang on every word, trying to cogitate my way through each sentence. I learned long ago that that was just too exhausting. Now I let the language flow over me like beautiful music and through me like red wine, understanding all the words I can and feeling fulfilled by following the characters, emotions and story. That is fulfillment aplenty.

With this production, I was captivated. I still couldn’t understand every word, but I certainly understood the story. And the rest didn’t matter. There are four reasons why.

In alpha order, they are Phil Brown, Jack Parrish, Daryl Clark Phillips, and James Ricks.

I don’t want to take away from the many other fine actors on stage, or the capable direction and fight direction, or the beautiful setting, or Grant Mudge’s growing expertise as a producer, etc etc etc. But I don’t think I’ve ever before seen four such capable actors in a Shakespearean play in Richmond, VA. Unless maybe it was an As You Like It at VCU in the early 70s that may have starred, now that I think of it, Jack Parrish. Forgive me, Jack, if I’m wrong. The main thing I remember about that gorgeous production was a radiant Roxanna Prosser as Rosalind.

Anyway, all four of the gentlemen noted above knocked my socks off. Anyone who loves theatre in Richmond is CRAZY to miss their performances.

Phil Brown came over from England to play Prince Hal and I wish he would stay in Richmond forever. Are there any other roles you’re dying to play, Mr. Brown? Have your people call my people.

Phil is a good looking guy, and he fits the rake to champion character to a tee. He and Jack Parrish, who plays King Henry IV, have a wonderful father son chemistry, and he and Daryl Clark Phillips have an equally wonderful Hal / Falstaff chemistry. It starts out with Falstaff being the dominant force, leading Hal down the rosy path of debauchery, but then reverses in a really moving role-playing scene, when Hal begins to mature into the princely presence he will so fully inhabit by play’s end.

And then there’s James Ricks. I was prepared to be in a snit with James, because as I read the playbill before the show I noticed he failed to mention in his bio that he first came to Richmond to work at Barksdale, and that’s just how petty and persnickety I am. But about five sentences into his performance, all was forgiven.

In an ideal world, Hotspur should be a strapping lad, a physical equal to Prince Hal. At least in my ideal world. And James is not what one would call physically imposing. But once he started speaking, who cared. For my money, he completely mastered the language and, even when I couldn't instantly translate a 17th century sentence into my 21st century vernacular, I could read his inflections and his face like a book.

All four of these guys were terrific, and I selfishly hope they all four work at Barksdale sometime really soon. Three of them have in the recent past, and it's time for their return.

Before going, I want to say that the final fight between Hal and Hotspur was really well staged. It was gasp-worthy. If you don’t believe me, ask Jackie Jones.

I know how hard it is to assemble four such expert actors in one production. Thanks to Grant and everyone on the Henry IV team for a wonderful, rejuvenating evening.

--Bruce Miller

Photo captions: top center - James, Phil, Jack, Daryl, Grant; first right - Agecroft Hall; second right - portrait of King Henry IV