Henry IV (Theatre for a New Audience)

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Henry IV, Part I is one of the more popular history plays in Shakespeare’s canon, but Henry IV, Part II is seldom presented on its own. There may be scenes in Part II that seem like filler in comparison to the necessary scenes in Part I, but at the risk of being overly obvious, having King Henry IV die is a necessary event for there to be a crowning of King Henry V, and that doesn’t happen until Part II. Dakin Matthews’ on-the-mark adaptation of the two plays, Henry IV, makes a welcome return to New York after its resounding success with Lincoln Center Theater over 20 years ago, now in a new production for Theatre for a New Audience in Brooklyn.

Eric Tucker, artistic director of Bedlam, one of the consistently preeminent theater companies these days, is at the helm of this engrossing production. The audience surrounds the action on all four sides of what appears to be a small stage decked out in a chessboard pattern. Further, the show begins when the actors take their seats amongst us in the audience. From the moment Dakin Matthews as the King takes the stage and begins, “So shaken as we are, so wan with care,/ Find we a time for frightened peace to pant/ And breathe short-winded accents of new broils/ To be commenced in strands afar remote,” we are in England in the court of King Henry IV as he speaks to Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, and us. He confides in us his envy of Lord Northumberland for having the fierce-in-battle Hotspur for a son, while his own son Prince Hal, the heir to the throne, does not rise to the occasion, choosing to spend time with Falstaff and his fellow ne’er-do-wells.

Shakespeare’s history plays are always more than just a chronicle of a king. The plays Henry IV, Parts I and II, here simply entitled Henry IV, paint the king into a supporting role from the outset. It is more a play that deftly charts Hal’s transformation from a reckless, carefree party boy to a determined, duty-bound prince striving to prove himself worthy of the crown. At its core, it’s a compelling exploration of the fraught dynamics between fathers and sons, probing the inescapable tensions that arise as young men navigate their relationship with the elder figures they look to for both guidance and validation. The narrative wrestles with the complexities of identity and expectation, capturing the delicate balance between seeking approval and asserting independence. The dramatic structure is at its best when Shakespeare pits Prince Hal and Hotspur scenes against each other in an aggressive compare-and-contrast of what makes both of these men tick.

Tucker has put together a first-rate cast, beginning with Matthews who imbues the role of the elder Henry with a sharp, almost brittle, irritability, capturing the weariness of a monarch whose reign is nearing its inevitable close. Matthews’ portrayal hints at the frailty of a man who, despite his regal status, is struggling against both internal and external forces. As Henry grapples with his son Hal’s reckless past and his own simmering frustration with the prince (“Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,/ See riot and dishonor stain the brow/ Of my young Harry”), Matthews presents a ruler on the brink of decline. We see in the very first scene as he meets with his court, his Henry is not just a king contending with his legacy but one who seems increasingly resigned to the unlikelihood of fulfilling his remaining ambitions—chief among them a longed-for pilgrimage to the Holy Land—while the specter of rebellion looms from the discontented aristocrats of northern England, Scotland, and Wales. This Henry is a monarch waning, his power slipping away as he watches the world around him change.

Henry’s cold dismissal of his son provides crucial context for Hal’s early struggles with identity, beautifully captured by Elijah Jones, who plays the young prince as a figure in flux. Hal’s camaraderie with his companion Poins (played with effortless charm by Jordan Bellow, who also portrays a dutiful Prince John, King Henry’s other son) is playful and carefree, where the two seem more like mischievous adolescents than future rulers. Watching Jones’s Hal evolve throughout the play is a true delight, with the actor skillfully infusing his performance with layers of complexity. Jones imbues key moments with the careful articulation of a Black preacher, demonstrating Hal’s ability to shift from youthful recklessness to moments of serious gravitas, even amid his “sowing-wild-oats” phase. Hal’s disinclination toward leadership stands in stark contrast to the assertiveness of Hotspur. Kudos to Catherine Zuber & AC Gottlieb for the entrance of the new king in Act V, Scene 2 of Part II for when he acknowledges,  “This new and gorgeous garment, majesty/Sits not so easy on me as you think,” we are informed by the weight of his robe just how much of his father’s woes he has inherited.

Hal’s loyalty to his rogue mentor, the ever-appealing Falstaff, played with an infectious, hedonistic flair by Jay O. Sanders, further deepens his internal conflict. Falstaff, a master of quick wit, endless storytelling, and evasive irresponsibility, serves as both a source of entertainment and a symbol of the life Hal must eventually leave behind. The prince’s affectionate pranks and verbal sparring with Falstaff reveal a tender bond, yet Hal’s growing awareness of Falstaff’s refusal to mature becomes a pivotal moment of reckoning. As he faces the inevitability of stepping into the responsibility of the crown, Hal realizes that, unlike Falstaff, he must evolve, making the painful decision to leave his mentor behind. The play’s final tableau has Falstaff’s entire retinue pull away from him one by one, all but Francis, Mistress Quickly’s waiter, each taking their lead from the new king.

Any production of Henry IV ultimately hinges on the strength of its Falstaff, and in this instance, Sanders delivers a performance that is nothing short of glorious. “Give me life!” cries the corpulent knight, and Sanders infuses the role with precisely the vitality he yearns for. His Falstaff is both quick-witted and steadfast in his beliefs, commanding the stage with such charisma that he seamlessly earns his place at the very heart of the narrative. The heartache in the play’s final moments is all the more poignant, not only because Sanders navigates them with exquisite finesse, but also because he has spent the preceding hours so thoroughly captivating us with his portrayal of Falstaff.

The cast, which deftly navigates multiple roles, delivers a masterful performance across the board. Cara Ricketts stands out with her striking versatility, shifting effortlessly from the formidable Lady Percy to the cunning, seductive Doll Tearsheet. Irish Rep mainstay John Keating is equally impressive, embodying both the dignified Earl of Westmoreland and the comically self-important Robert Shallow, a landowner ensnared in Falstaff’s antics with remarkable ease. Steven Epp is a veritable chameleon in his varied portrayals: the fiery rebel Earl of Worcester, the exuberant barman-turned-page Francis, and the ravenous, ever-hungry Silence. Each character is rendered with such distinctiveness, it’s a testament to Epp’s remarkable range.

The entire company would rival any company you’d see do this play across the pond, but one particular actor is somebody to watch. While most actors can get lost as part of Prince Hal’s and Falstaff’s rabble, not so James Udom as Pistol. His Pistol may be a little awkward, but he is impish and delightfully cagey. Even when he breaks character to announce intermission, it is delivered with a disarmingly toothy grin. Udom’s take on Hotspur is a revelation. It is an riveting command of the stage, whether it is in a domestic scene with his Lady Percy, or holding court with the other rebels, but it is in the “My liege, I did deny no prisoners” scene where he attempts to negotiate with King Henry respectfully running circles around his highness that we see a brilliant diplomat and a true leader. Udom leaves you, in a word, breathless. It is understandable if your mind starts to wander imagining his Othello, his Henry V, his Coriolanus, his Macbeth, and his Richards II and III in his near future.

Ultimately, it is Sanders’ portrayal of Falstaff that commands the most attention, presenting a man who has reveled in his carefree ways for so long that he remains blind to the reality that his companions, including Hal, have matured and moved on. The gut punch of Hal’s final rebuke — “I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers./ How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!” — is palpable on Sanders’ face, a striking moment of vulnerability that cuts deep. Yet, Falstaff’s resilience is unmatched, a man who finds no glory in self-sacrifice, only in survival. Mere moments after being cast out from the new king’s court, Falstaff is already scheming to turn his misfortune into an opportunity. Falstaff is never down for long — and certainly never out. He always remains standing, (or taking a load off), and like the clown toys from the 1970s, Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.

Though the scenic elements are minimal with Jimmy Stubbs’s set almost magically getting tables and then in a blink they’re gone, and Zuber & Gottlieb’s costumes offering subtle nods to the period while incorporating present day, hoodie-inspired elements — Tucker cleverly injects a series of inventive ideas to contemporize and reframe the narrative. The second act, which focuses on the intense battlefield encounter between Hotspur and Hal (along with the lead-up and aftermath), is transformed into a stylized, yet subtle UFC mixed martial arts bout.

This is underscored by a low-hanging tic-tac-toe grid of overhead lights over the “ring” and the eerie chiming of a bell that punctuates each scene. Nicole E. Lang’s lighting in the early scenes is a startling bath of fluorescent whites. Mistress Quickly’s tavern is dolled up in quaint Christmas lights for ambience but the lighting takes on a chilling, horror-film aspect during the climactic sword fight, amplifying the tension and making the moment even more visceral.

Dakin Matthews’ Henry IV is a consistently engaging gift to the theater season. Shakespeare scholars may quibble about the extent of the cuts from Henry IV, Part II, but the reality is the original in its entirety can be a bit of a slog. Eric Tucker’s company treats us to the sheer thrill of witnessing a rarity executed to perfection, its invigorating energy palpable in every precise detail.

Henry IV (through March 2, 2025)

Theatre for a New Audience

The Polonsky Shakespeare Center, 262 Ashland Place, in Brooklyn

For tickets, visit http://www.tfana.org

Running time: three hours and 45 minutes including two intermissions