There are moments in the theatre when time seems to stop,when you’re so enraptured by the performances that you forget to breathe. This was not one of those moments. Time not only didn’t stop,it seemed to drag itself across the floor of the Mayfair Theatre like a wounded French horseman begging for the sweet release of death.
Let’s begin with the titular role. Henry V, our valiant king, was played by local TikTok “sensation” Bradly Mews, who delivered Shakespeare’s immortal lines with the emotional range of a dial tone. His “Once more unto the breach” speech was less a rallying cry and more a sleep aid. At one point, a man in the audience audibly yawned, and it received more applause than anything Bradly did all evening. His idea of commanding presence seemed to be squinting dramatically into the middle distance, like he was trying to read a traffic sign without his glasses.
The staging was somehow both minimalist and cluttered. The director, Juniper Wren-Moon (whose last credit was a gender-neutral mime retelling of Cats), decided the entire Battle of Agincourt should be represented using sock puppets and cigarette lighters. I spent ten minutes thinking the theatre was actually on fire, which almost would have been a mercy.
Let’s not forget the chorus,traditionally a unifying narrative force. Here, it was played by a rotating cast of local influencers reading lines off their phones. One of them paused mid-monologue to plug her oat milk brand.
Costuming? Oh, dear. If “medieval raver caught in a Halloween clearance bin” was the goal, then full marks. There was one poor extra whose armor was made entirely out of painted egg cartons. He looked like a budget Dalek, and honestly, I respected him more than Henry.
The French characters were inexplicably performed in exaggerated Pepe Le Pew accents, which might have been funny if it weren’t so lazy. The Dauphin entered on a Segway wearing what I can only describe as a chainmail crop top. He also dabbed after delivering every line.
In the final scene, Katherine of France was wooed not with poetry, but with an acoustic guitar serenade of “Wonderwall.” I can’t say it worked in the context of the play, but it did cause someone in the back to involuntarily shout “NOOOO”.
If I had one positive takeaway, it’s that this production has an end.
In summary: this Henry V was not a band of brothers, but a tragic parade of theatrical crimes. I award it one star, and that star is for the egg carton knight, who, though made of refuse, had more soul than the rest of the cast combined.
