August 5, 2008
Falstaff, adapted from Robert Nye’s lovely, cleverly conceived and frankly criminally neglected novel, tries to retrofit the incidents from the various plays in which the character appears to the sketchy history of the soldier on which he was reportedly based. His wars long since fought, the ‘real Falstaff’ holds forth in a grubby London tavern, reflecting on the random progress of his life, the nature of honour, the glories of battle and his brief and bitterly ended friendship with a future king.
This, however, is not quite the rambunctious John Falstaff we know and love. This is a far more complex proposition: Johannes Fastolf, a soldier and gentleman of whose long and eventful life those fleeting scenes were a tiny part. Forty years have passed, and he is now an old man concerned with setting straight a record yet to be written. In Shakespeare’s plays (some heavy-handed references to which are one of the script’s few missteps) he was full of life, in this one he’s had his fill and is beginning to feel the pangs of indigestion.
It’s not all gloom, though. Fastolf likes a drink and by God he likes a fart gag – the second half opens with an uproarious slew of them. He’s vocal on the horrors of war, but honest enough to admit pleasure at its savage triumphs, roaring through his memories of Agincourt with a gleam in his eye even as he describes the French struggling over heaps of their own dead.
Good acting might let one man hold a stage for two hours. Roger Forbes totally lived up to his impressive biography – a charismatic player with a strong physical presence. Good writing might keep the audience interested, and John Wood’s script – developed in collaboration with Forbes – brought out the broad themes and rough poetry of its source.
None of these will count for anything, however, without stagecraft. Congratulations, therefore, to Eo Sharp for the sumptuous set dressing, Keith Handegord for the cleverly conceived ambient sound and John Munro for the perfectly timed shifts in lighting that boosted the piece from mere monologue into visually compelling theatre.
It’s a pretty limited tour for this acclaimed show, so we’re lucky to have it come to Oxford. Given the limited number of seats in the Burton Taylor – which seemed just a tad too small to contain Forbes’ powerful performance – I’d book quickly. You won’t regret it.
This, however, is not quite the rambunctious John Falstaff we know and love. This is a far more complex proposition: Johannes Fastolf, a soldier and gentleman of whose long and eventful life those fleeting scenes were a tiny part. Forty years have passed, and he is now an old man concerned with setting straight a record yet to be written. In Shakespeare’s plays (some heavy-handed references to which are one of the script’s few missteps) he was full of life, in this one he’s had his fill and is beginning to feel the pangs of indigestion.
It’s not all gloom, though. Fastolf likes a drink and by God he likes a fart gag – the second half opens with an uproarious slew of them. He’s vocal on the horrors of war, but honest enough to admit pleasure at its savage triumphs, roaring through his memories of Agincourt with a gleam in his eye even as he describes the French struggling over heaps of their own dead.
Good acting might let one man hold a stage for two hours. Roger Forbes totally lived up to his impressive biography – a charismatic player with a strong physical presence. Good writing might keep the audience interested, and John Wood’s script – developed in collaboration with Forbes – brought out the broad themes and rough poetry of its source.
None of these will count for anything, however, without stagecraft. Congratulations, therefore, to Eo Sharp for the sumptuous set dressing, Keith Handegord for the cleverly conceived ambient sound and John Munro for the perfectly timed shifts in lighting that boosted the piece from mere monologue into visually compelling theatre.
It’s a pretty limited tour for this acclaimed show, so we’re lucky to have it come to Oxford. Given the limited number of seats in the Burton Taylor – which seemed just a tad too small to contain Forbes’ powerful performance – I’d book quickly. You won’t regret it.