It’s to my shame, gentle reader, that I never even knew there was another Boleyn girl. For someone who ought to have a love of history, I blame bad teachers. And, if I’m honest, being a history-hating kid. Too late to do anything about it now, sigh. Mike Poulton’s new play, based on Philippa Gregory’s best selling romantic novel, is my new gospel on the subject and I am sure it’s one hundred percent historically accurate. I trust.
Mary is the other Boleyn girl in question, used by Henry VIII for some diverting rumpy-pumpy whilst Catherine of Aragon was giving him dark looks. No surprise that Mary had a son by him whilst Catherine was “determined” not to conceive – how simple that period of history could have been if only the young lad had been born legitimate; but no, Henry had to keep banging away, literally, until a legal son and heir would be born. As history recounts, it was, in modern parlance, a big ask. Anne, Mary and their brother George were a trifle unorthodox in their relationships, with the very first scene of the play strongly hinting that they were equally at ease with each other’s bodies; yes, incest does raise its ugly head in this story. So do their hideously ambitious mother Lady Elizabeth and their cruelly manipulative uncle, the Duke of Norfolk. Two very ugly heads.
This is a court where, like Glen Campbell’s Rhinestone Cowboy, nice guys get washed away like the snow and the rain. Mary’s husband William Carey has to watch powerless whilst his wife is regularly summoned to the king’s bedchamber and there’s nothing either of them can do about it. Harry Percy secretly marries Anne Boleyn only to be subsequently “cancelled” and “ghosted”. Only William Stafford is sufficiently lowly of status to keep his head below the radar and end up happily married to Mary for as long as God allowed – which sadly for them wasn’t that long.
Mike Poulton’s adaptation tells a story that brings together many plots, relationships, deceptions, manipulations and a lot of highly unpleasant people with enormous clarity and simplicity. This is not meant to be uncomplimentary, but it felt to me like each scene was an episode in a rather classy soap opera, keeping us hanging on with interest until the next part of the tale would be unfolded. Lucy Bailey directs with appropriate stateliness and brings out a lovely juxtaposition between the formality and privilege of the setting and the common ruthlessness of status and ambition, which only the strongest (and luckiest) survive.
Joanna Parker’s set is austere and foreboding, super-simple in having a few rooms and hiding places at the back in a suggestion of rooms and corridors that we never see – all the machinations at court and elsewhere are played out in the useful open space that dominates the front of the stage. Orlando Gough has composed a few stately dances where backhanded comments can be shared and devious plots hatched. The costumes are classy but darkly severe; even Henry VIII’s outfit is elegant but subdued.
The performances are of an impeccably high standard, with Lucy Phelps giving us a Mary Boleyn with whom we can all identify; juggling her life as enforced Royal whore with trying to do her best to protect her children, being a good wife and fully grappling with the needs of running a farm. Freya Mevor is excellent as Anne Boleyn, ambitious from the start, always with an additional touch of arrogant haughtiness that her siblings lack, but as much a victim as anyone else who came into the orbit of the Court.There’s a terrific scene where Anne demands official recognition of her status from Mary, constantly requiring her to call her Your Grace, which Mary steadfastly refuses to do. Sisters, eh, what are they like? Another Anne highlight is her daring to dominate King Henry by refusing his advances and even physically rejecting him, knowing full well that he will bow to her will – temporarily at least. It was as near to an if you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it moment as you could find in Tudor times. Gripping drama – but with the benefit of dramatic irony, it had the whole audience muttering to themselves oh, she’s going to come to regret this.
James Corrigan makes up the sibling throuple as George; it’s an excellent portrayal of a character who is only ever a supporting cast member, trying to do the right thing for the Tudor dynasty whilst still maintaining his own value and position, hiding his male lover Francis in plain sight whilst saddled with marriage to the ghastly lady-in-waiting Jane Parker (Lily Nichol brandishing very nicely underplayed mischief in the role). Alex Kingston and Andrew Woodall are terrific as Lady Elizabeth and Norfolk, the mother and uncle from Hell, prepared to sacrifice the younger Boleyns’ happiness, health and even necks for the sake of the surname.
Kemi-Bo Jacobs is superb as the dignified and tragic Catherine of Aragon, playing the game that she knows she has to play, and also as the money-grabbing midwife who does her job with brutal callousness. And Oscar Batterham delivers an appealing portrayal of the practical and loyal Stafford; one of those rare characters in and around the Court who simply falls in love, says so, and acts like he does.
At just short of three hours, you’d think this show might drag a little but it never does. There’s always a new plot twist or characterisation to appreciate that keeps our attention throughout; and the simplicity of the storytelling really helps our enjoyment of the play. It continues at the Festival theatre until 11th May and it’s well worth a trip to the South Coast to enjoy it!
Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!
