Shakespeare at his freest and most exuberant: The Wars of the Roses reviewed

The RSC’s The Wars of the Roses solves a peculiar literary problem. Shakespeare’s earliest history plays are entitled Henry VI parts (I), (II) and (III), which is thought to put people off. If you see one why not see all? If you miss the opener will the sequels confuse you? The solution is to condense the material and to reconfigure it as a single theatrical event. The result is a revelation. Here we have Shakespeare at his freest and most exuberant cramming the stage with every blockbusting trick he can contrive. Sex, battles, conspiracies, sword fights, gorings, cuckoldings, lynchings, beheadings. And there’s a constant stream of jibes aimed at the faithless French. The action opens with the death of Henry V. His successor, Henry VI, is a dreamy wimp who wants the warring barons to embrace love, peace and understanding. Fat chance. While they prepare to manipulate their hopeless new master, the scene changes to France where we meet the arrogant but likeable Dauphin and the visionary Joan of Arc. She couldn’t be further from the preachy exhibitionist created by Bernard Shaw. Imogen Daines plays her as a spiky sex bomb with a milkmaid’s purring accent. At her first encounter with the Dauphin she responds to his schoolboy pranks by pulling a sword on him and nearly cutting his head off. They launch into battle together and after walloping the English they celebrate with an all-night sex marathon.

Henry meanwhile needs a wife to provide him with an heir. Enter Joely Richardson as the penniless but beautiful Margaret, a refugee princess, who allows herself to be seduced by the handsome baddie Suffolk. To increase his influence at court Suffolk palms Margaret off on the weedy king and within weeks she’s expecting a child.