{"id":1273,"date":"2016-04-28T12:21:56","date_gmt":"2016-04-28T11:21:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/?p=1273"},"modified":"2016-04-28T12:21:56","modified_gmt":"2016-04-28T11:21:56","slug":"take-me-to-your-leader","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/2016\/04\/take-me-to-your-leader.html","title":{"rendered":"Take me to your leader"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Kings<\/a><\/p>\n

What does leadership look like? We\u2019re seeing an American election which has thrown up new models of presidential presentation: female politicrat, throwback socialist, celebrity blowhard.<\/p>\n

In Toneelgroep Amsterdam\u2019s Kings of War<\/em><\/a>, we see three more, applicable to our own time. Henry V, playboy-turned warmonger; the bedwetter, Henry VI; Richard III, the psycho who no one takes seriously until far too late. \u2018Shakespeare is unequalled in his portrayal of leadership and power,\u2019 says director Ivo van Hove<\/a>. \u2018It is inspiring to discover Shakespeare as a contemporary who is dealing with the type of events we see on the news every day: the dark machinations of the people in power and the violence that their decisions bring about.\u2019<\/p>\n

His production distils five history plays down to 270 minutes and reboots the tropes of power. Elaborate ceremony bows to viral soundbite, while warmongers can now wreak havoc from their desk. Regime change is here marked by a perfunctory coronation \u2013 the new monarch plus any confederates still living march down the corridor and across a red carpet (stored on a roller for convenience). Crown and ermine capelet are plonked on, then tucked back onto the perspex shelving, ready for next time (next time is usually less than an hour away). Jan Versweyveld<\/a>\u2019s set, a windowless bunker, is modelled on Churchill\u2019s war rooms but equipped like a modern office \u2013 monitors, clipboards, trombone quartet. This last adds fanfare or ominous drone to events, while a countertenor (Steve Dugardin) in civil servant suiting hoots his laments unregarded.<\/p>\n

CGI rhetoric<\/strong><\/p>\n

Like Toneelgroep\u2019s Roman Tragedie<\/em>s (2007), this production has immense cumulative power. A sterile white corridor frames the set, and a camera captures the offtstage conspiracies and assassinations. By setting it in a blanched site of contemporary leadership, he images government in war as a numbers game with hideous consequences, far enough removed for comfort.<\/p>\n

\u2018Wap bap bap,\u2019 shouts Ramsey Nasr\u2019s bearded Henry V. We\u2019re a long way from Olivier\u2019s puddingbowl warrior, commanding from the front. Nasr leads from a safe distance, inspiring or intimidating through broadcast and sound effect. He recites \u2018once more unto the breach\u2019 from notes (to judge from the surtitles, the adaptation combines direct translation and pointed paraphrase), then goes off-script and jabs a menacing finger into the camera. Nasr insistently highlights threatened atrocities, extreme images of civilian grief \u2013 he bludgeons foes into submission via a kind of CGI rhetoric. When challenged, he blusters. Kings don\u2019t do argument.<\/p>\n

Everyone is miked, muted to an unrhetorical murmur \u2013 the play is shorn of manspreading bravado, but can feel arid. The fractious coalition around Henry VI tends to something more shouty. Muttering conclaves are streamed from the corridor \u2013 as are an adulterous post-coital conflab, several assassinations and, most startlingly, Henry shoving through a flock of sheep, envying pastoral freedom from responsibility, a lamb in a world of wolves.<\/p>\n

\"Kings<\/a><\/p>\n

Henry VI is often played as a dissenter from his bloodbolted world. Here, Eelco Smits gawps through big glasses, a bewildered man-child among snarling adults. Even as people scheme around him, he solemnly climbs into his pyjamas, makes his bed like a good boy. He tries to do politics, but crumples in tears during conflict \u2013 grasping onto his uncle\u2019s tweed jacket even as he has him arrested. The mess of it is magnetic.<\/p>\n

With so much shaved away from the texts, you pay attention to what remains. Van Hove mostly deletes the rebels or anonymous footsoldiers who intrude upon the mighty. A leader\u2019s decisions may affect thousands, but modern government isolates you from sharing oxygen with them. Instead, he examines power grabs among the inner circle: Grey\u2019s ineffectual attempt to double-cross Henry V; the Duchess of Gloucester\u2019s futile coup, which only shoves her family from power; Richard\u2019s confidant Buckingham reaching the limits of his access. All suggest the isolation and paranoia of the powerful \u2013 only a step away from a shafting, never able to relax into friendship.<\/p>\n

For many directors of these plays, the grim cycle of history is the determining factor. Recurring images unify the action \u2013 Peter Hall\u2019s council table, Adrian Noble\u2019s throne, Michael Boyd\u2019s sorrowing fathers and sons. Van Hove offers alternative models, but gives the production a cyclical curve as Nasr, who began as Henry V, returns as Richmond, Richard III\u2019s nemesis and the future Henry VII. Yet Van Hove pursues an idea of the isolation of leadership, even in a tirelessly connected world \u2013 isolated from both the consequences of action, from colleagues and citizens, and ultimately from any sense of conscience.<\/p>\n

When the York dynasty takes charge, the bunker is briefly restyled as a lobby with leather sofas and a resident DJ. The new queen (Chris Nietvelt, whose roles here run from blowsy to beady) serves up a retro gateau with rosettes of whipped cream rosettes, and the play slows for a chorus of murmuring cake appreciation before a new crisis erupts (Buckingham, once everyone else rushes off, snaffles another slice).<\/p>\n

A government of one<\/strong><\/p>\n

You can understand how Hans Kesting\u2019s\u2019s Richard rises without trace. A shuffling bruiser who looks like a dolt, he\u2019s hunched and top heavy, his torso looming about legs squeezed into slimline trousers, his stubbled face with a blotchy blackcurrant birthmark. He seems too lumbering for terror. Richard III\u2019s unholy charm is usually how he plays the audience \u2013 reeling us in before cutting us off. Kesting, however, ignores us, reserving his adoration for his mirror. He confides in himself \u2013 who else can you trust? He\u2019ll sometimes look at the mirror as if checking he\u2019s still there.<\/p>\n

If Henry VI was the good child, made helpless by correct behaviour, Richard is the little devil making home alone mischief. He plays with the official hotline phones, feigning derisive calls to Obama, Merkel, Putin (\u2018Faggot!\u2019). He tries on the crown, adopts the classic Crookback\u2019s kinked stance, grabs a rug and runs amok, holding it like a cape as he hurtles and yelps around the stage. It\u2019s a shockingly raw need for power. As dictator, he seals the doors and hunkers down, a government of one \u2013 and in defeat bellows for \u2018A horse!\u2019 before galloping madly off stage and out of history.<\/p>\n

Photos by Tristram Kenton for the Guardian: Hans Kersting as Richard III (top); Eelco Smits as Henry VI and Janni Goslinga as Margaret. More pictures.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

Follow David on Twitter at @mrdavidjays<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

What does leadership look like? We\u2019re seeing an American election which has thrown up new models of presidential presentation: female politicrat, throwback socialist, celebrity blowhard. In Toneelgroep Amsterdam\u2019s Kings of War, we see three more, applicable to our own time. Henry V, playboy-turned warmonger; the bedwetter, Henry VI; Richard III, the psycho who no one […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1275,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[32,34],"class_list":{"0":"post-1273","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-uncategorized","8":"tag-shakespeare","9":"tag-theatre","10":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1273","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1273"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1273\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1276,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1273\/revisions\/1276"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1275"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1273"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1273"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/performancemonkey\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1273"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}