@ Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, until Sat 13 Feb 2016 (and touring)
Where its prequel spoils itself with its simplicity, James II immediately begins posing trickier questions of the audience. Our king, still only a child, and scared witless, is hidden in a trunk abandoned on the stage. Things have gone awry for the monarchy since we saw his father supervise the execution of his rivals; how awry is not yet revealed. Wee Jamie (Andrew Rothney) is discovered by childhood friend William Douglas (Andrew Still), and thus begins the doomed bromance at the heart of this, the second of Rona Munro‘s trilogy of James Plays for the National Theatre of Scotland.
The youngsters make interesting character studies. James, birthmarked with a map of Scotland across his face, is but a shy, frightened, mummy’s boy. Yet, since the murder of his father, he is precious beyond gold, a pawn in a power-struggle between feuding earls – Livingston, Crichton and the Douglases. Whoever has the boy, rules the country. James is forced to age and harden as the nobles force his mother into exile and his sister into marriage. Until he becomes man enough to rule in his own right, evil will continue to be committed in his name.
In parallel, William is fated to become the head of his family, the Douglases, whose ambition is boundless. “Eskdale, Lauderdale, Douglasdale, Wigton…” – he’s forced to learn the Douglas lands by rote as they seek to “close the border with a wall of our land”. At some point, childhood friendship looks like it will come a cropper in a crash of arrogance and aspiration. And it does…
James II has the dial set to tragedy, where its predecessor’s was set to comedy. Dark string music frequently soundtracks the piece, and a doomy atmosphere hangs. Blythe Duff comes into her own, reprising her role as Isabella Stewart, now old and imprisoned in a tower room, and given to gloomy and, yes, Shakespearean, prophesies about the young king’s future. Meanwhile, the king himself is prone to nightmarish fits and visions that send him scurrying back to hide in his trunk. In turn, these flashbacks allow for a teasingly non-linear storyline. We’re brought back to the opening scene and find out why he’s in his box, we revisit conversations we’ve just seen with new understanding. As Act One draws to a close, a powerful dream sequence incorporates bloody apparitions, a severed bull’s head, visitations from the dead, a Freudian encounter during which his mother transforms into his wife… suddenly there are layers for the audience to get their teeth into.
And then Act Two almost undoes the good work. The observational comedy routines of James I make an unwelcome reappearance when James’ new queen, Mary of Guelders (Rosemary Boyle) talks to his sister Annabella (Dani Heron) in the garden. “I hate it [Scotland]… it’s cold and they keep feeding you oily herring and telling you it’s lovely! It’s not! It’s bogging!” [gratuitous Scots slang to please the locals]. Then Mary, whose French accent has been tolerable when played straight, ends up an “oooooooooh, Rene!” away from Vicki Michelle in ‘Allo ‘Allo, as she chats indiscreetly in the Chapel.
The play recovers though. William becomes a brilliant monster, albeit with a monstrousness that has not entirely been justified by the progression of his character. Rothney as James and Still as William deal passionately and convincingly with the childhood-friendship-hits-the-rocks scenario. Youthfulness, vigour, fear and disillusionment all well up palpably in their exchanges.
Something feels intangibly wrong with the key final confrontation scene, however. It’s only afterwards, as the cast take their curtain call, that we realise Rothney has done something nasty to his leg, playing football in an earlier scene. Nobly, he’s made it through his duties in what looks like excruciating pain.
Football, in this play, emerges as a theme of the trilogy. In various scenes, a leather ball is tossed into proceedings for a kickabout. Its larger purpose, if any, remains unclear – a metaphorical symbol of power, division or battle? A nod to the future significance of the sport in Scotland? A parallel between the tribal squabbles of 15th century Scotland and the modern Old Firm? It’s not the only thread that’s left hanging either. James and William’s closeness borders on the homoerotic, but is actual homosexuality meant to be implied?
Either way, being left with questions hanging is preferable to being left with a feeling of subject matter superficially covered. On that score, James II marks a clear advance on its predecessor.