I have seen Henry V performed in a barn. I have seen it staged by high schoolers dressed as Minions. I have even seen it done entirely in mime (don’t ask). But nothing,nothing,prepared me for the theatrical punishment dealt by the Screaming Badger’s latest attempt. To call it a misfire would be generous. This was less an artistic interpretation and more a crime against theatre.
Let’s start with the concept. Director Allegra Fistmoss, a self-described “interpretive dramaturge and spiritual conduit,” decided to set the entire play in a modern-day WeWork. Yes. A WeWork. Battle scenes happened in open-plan office spaces. Henry’s throne was a standing desk. And the Siege of Harfleur was depicted using Post-it notes and angry Slack messages. If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Shakespeare was adapted for LinkedIn influencers, wonder no more,see this and then go and scream into a bin.
The actor playing Henry, one Colin Fallow, was clearly cast not for talent but for his ability to fit into slim-cut suits. His performance was less “young lion of England” and more “accountant who got cast in the office Christmas play and took it way too seriously.” His “St. Crispin’s Day” speech, traditionally a rousing piece of oratory, sounded like a man trying to remember his wedding vows. The audience clapped out of pity.
Supporting roles fared no better. Fluellen, usually a comedic Welsh captain, was reimagined as an Egyptian mummy. The Bishop of Canterbury delivered his lines in the style of a TED Talk, complete with headset mic and a PowerPoint titled “War: How to Profit.” And inexplicably, the French court wore shorts and rode around the stage on tiny bicycles. I’m not even going to try and unpack that.
The tech was a disaster. The lighting designer must have thought they were at a rave, because scenes were regularly punctuated by flashing strobes and inexplicable blackouts. One actor was visibly concussed by a falling ceiling tile in Act II, but bravely carried on in character, which is the closest we got to actual drama all evening.
The only remotely effective performance came from the dog that came onstage in Act II and took some cajoling to leave on cue. Named “Toast” according to the programme, it showed more stage presence, emotional depth, and commitment to the role than the entire cast combined. The audience applauded whenever Toast came on stage, enjoying its performance more than any of the actual actors.
At the curtain call, someone booed so loudly that Toast started to wail. I didn’t boo, but I did throw my program on the floor, which is the closest I’ve come to violence in years.
In short: this production of Henry V made me long for the bubonic plague. One star, and that’s only because Toast is a very good boy.
