@ Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, until Sat 13 Feb 2016 (and touring)
Game of Thrones has ruined audiences for historical drama. It has made clear (as if it weren’t already) just how convoluted and twisted tales of dynastic struggles can be while still retaining mass appeal. By contrast, James I barely gets out of Janet & John territory. Not that it doesn’t look good, cover an interesting subject and score well with segments of the audience, but any pretension to a meaningful, lasting interpretation of history is undermined by lame humour and shallow characterisation.
The opener of Rona Munro‘s trilogy for the National Theatre of Scotland, the play follows the first King James from his imprisonment in the court of English King Henry V, through his ransom and release, and ends with the savage enforcement of his authority over his nobles and country.
Instead of epic drama, though, James I takes its sensibilities from musical theatre or even panto, down to the roisterous crowd scenes and verbal sparring. We start with a song, we follow up with some puerile English-Scottish banter, and a dispiriting tone is set for the piece.
It’s capped by the introduction of a insultingly Disneyesque princess and maidservant pairing. English aristo Joan (Rosemary Boyle) is posh, pampered, virginal and, it goes without saying, blonde – the textbook fantasy princess. Meg (Sally Reid), the maid sent to prepare Joan for marriage to the Scottish king, is the frumpy, funny, plus-size one. Ginger, obviously. Because nothing says “Scottish” like a big, ginger bird who’s a bit of a laugh. Stereotypes like that in a play of this nature take some rowing back from.
Cheap laughs undercut the script frequently. Not just one, but two groany gags about the Scottish weather: “There’s usually some nice weather about September…”, “It’s not cold! This is our summer!” More gags about poor Scottish food. In mitigation, it’s possible there are ambitions to follow Shakespearean precedent. The Bard knew how to play to the house when he needed to, how to score an easy laugh even in a serious setting. The difference is he was a wit. There’s little of that on show here.
Trivialities clutter the play, whether it’s Isabella Stewart (Blythe Duff) trying to snaffle silver as she vacates the Royal residence to make room for the new king, or Joan fretting about how her skirt hangs. There’s ample swearing, which one supposes is meant to bring earthiness to the script, but only sounds authentic in the mouths of Scots. Hearing King Henry V (Matthew Pidgeon) effing and jeffing in unnatural places sounds too much like your uptight uncle trying to show he’s really not a square.
The frailties of the dialogue are laid bare most obviously when the female characters come together in a confrontational bedchamber meeting – Isabella Stewart threatening Queen Joan’s unborn child. “So, you’re here to frighten us are you?” asks Meg. In what genuinely intimidating scene should that ever need asking?
The set, with a huge sword thrust forebodingly through one side, and several rows of audience members seated in the court chamber above, works well, costumes are lavish, and the large cast show few weaknesses. Mention is particularly due to Steven Miller in the title role. He conveys well the arrested development of a king who has spent most of his life imprisoned, even if the script charts his progress more through a change in circumstances than a change in personality.
As a digestible, diverting historical tale, James I is fine, but that’s not enough when everything else about it – the visuals, the title, the whole concept of a trilogy – suggests it was aiming for something much grander. Fortunately, there is better to come…