The Hollow Crown: The real Game of Thrones
The Binge
Jessica Zafra
RICHARD III of England has gotten a bum rap for 500 years. He was not a hideous hunchback with a withered arm. He did not murder King Henry VI and his heir. He did not contrive to have his brother George imprisoned, and then have him killed. He probably did have something to do with the disappearance of his nephews, the Princes in the Tower, but he did not poison his wife, Anne. In recent years historians have tried to rehabilitate Richard’s reputation. They may have the facts on their side, but good luck to them because they’re up against Shakespeare.
If it’s propaganda you want, hire a great playwright. Seize the narrative. Shakespeare wrote Richard III under the auspices of the Tudors who overthrew Richard, the last of the Plantagenets. It’s been a lasting investment in public relations. “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!” Richard cries in the fatal battle, and that at least may have been true. His bones were discovered a few years ago, under a carpark where the battlefield used to be. Examination showed that one of his shoulders was higher than the other because he had scoliosis. Spin that detail and you have the villainous Crookback.
At Richard’s reinterment, a poem was read by one of his relatives, the actor Benedict Cumberbatch. The star of Sherlock and the forthcoming Doctor Strange is Plantagenet’s second cousin 16 times removed, but before his ardent fans get any ideas about putting him on the throne, there are several thousand Plantagenet descendants walking the earth. Now Cumberbatch plays Richard III in the season finale of BBC’s The Hollow Crown. His late cousin still doesn’t get a fair shake, but as supervillains go, he’s awesome.
In this TV production adapted for the screen by Ben Power and directed by Dominic Cooke, Richard isn’t just bad. He glories in malevolence. The first image we see is that of a chessboard, a hand moving the pieces, and then the huge lump and distorted spine. It looks like some alien experiment. Cumberbatch himself has always struck me as odd-looking: beautiful from some angles, extraterrestrial from others. As he struggles to put on his shirt he announces his intention of screwing over his brothers, the king and the duke, and details his nefarious plan. Since he looks like a monster anyway, he’s going to be a monster.
Quickly he demonstrates his talent at deception, confiding his schemes to the viewer one second, and in mid-speech appearing concerned as his brother George is led away to the Tower. Just as he had planned. Later he invites us to watch as he convinces his cousin Anne (Phoebe Fox), whose husband and father-in-law he had killed, to marry him. After all the horrible things I’ve done to her, she still says yes, he gloats. Richard is intent on seeing how low he can go. It’s not merely ambition or resentment that drives him, but bottomless self-loathing. Cumberbatch shows us a man who wants the world to revile him as much as he reviles himself. He’s evil, but recognizably human.
Usurpation and murder are rife in The Hollow Crown, which presents Shakespeare’s history plays for the contemporary audience. The BBC series, launched during the 2012 Olympics, comes at a time when the most popular TV show on earth was inspired by the wars for the British throne. Game of Thrones has its Starks and Lannisters, The Hollow Crown has its Yorks and Lancasters — and text by Shakespeare, which Power’s adaptation prudently abridges so it serves as an efficient introduction to the Bard.
In the first season the fey Richard II (Ben Whishaw), makes arbitrary decisions that lead to his being deposed by his cousin Bolingbroke (Rory Kinnear), who becomes Henry IV. Whishaw is a marvelous Richard II — he never raises his voice because everyone must hang on his every word. When the crown is taken from him, he sees himself as a Jesus figure carrying the sins of the world. Where Whishaw is wispy and otherworldly, Kinnear is stocky and grounded — his Henry reveres his king and is consumed by guilt. His actions reverberate through The Hollow Crown, setting in motion a series of power plays ending with the death of his dynasty. As Henry’s father John of Gaunt, Patrick Stewart doesn’t get much screen time, but his rendition of “This sceptred isle” reminds us why men would follow him anywhere, be he the Duke of Lancaster, Captain Picard, or Professor Xavier.
I find Richard II and Richard III, directed by Rupert Goold and Dominic Cooke, respectively, the most compelling episodes in the series. Both contain indelible images — the chess pieces, the name written on the sand in Richard II — and allow their stars to go big. Wisely they set up dramatic oppositions: Richard II vs Bolingbroke, Richard III vs Anne, Elizabeth (Keeley Hawes), his mother (Dame Judi Dench) and Margaret (Sophie Okonedo). Roles for women are scarce in the history plays, so the emphasis on all the fierce women in Richard III is refreshing.
Richard II is followed by Henry IV parts 1 and 2, with Jeremy Irons taking over from Kinnear. Henry IV is still guilt-ridden, and his past actions hang heavily over his rebellion-plagued reign, and his relationship with his son, Hal (Tom Hiddleston). Hal may be the rightful heir, but what does that mean when the king himself is a usurper? Simon Russell Beale turns up in the three Henry episodes as that agent of chaos, that lecherous thieving braggart Falstaff. He’s okay, which, since he’s playing Shakespeare’s greatest comic creation, is not okay.
As the roistering prince who hangs out with the lowlife, Hiddleston seems too polite and cerebral. In the first season finale he grows into Henry V the warrior king, but still seems too polite and ruminative. Granted, this is a Henry V for an age grown weary of the War on Terror, and I prefer the traditional blood-and-thunder approach to the St. Crispin’s Day speech. “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” says Irons as Henry IV. You got it, King.
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