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Wolf Hall
by Eugene Paul A huge, lavish, compelling retelling of the seething times of Henry VIII, how lust overcame religious duty Homo homini lupus. Hilary Mantel’s prize winning books, “Wolf Hall” and “Bring Up the Bodies” have been artfully fashioned by playwright Mike Poulton into a confident Royal Shakespeare Company pair of interlocked productions now thriving in New York as Wolf Hall, Parts One & Two, and it behooves you to hie yourself to the feast and gorge. What is extraordinary is that Ms Mantel’s skewed and skewering take on the still lush fodder of gossip, blood letting, treachery, greed, vanity and stupidity surrounding Henry VIII’s (Nathaniel Parker), franticly persistent lusting for fresh flesh queen after queen continues to compel a certain kind of interest to this day and here it is, spread lavishly and proudly all over the Winter Garden stage.
Even more extraordinary is that PBS is broadcasting a mucky, more poignant, less prurient version concurrently, all with Ms Mantel’s approval, indeed, with her cooperative effort. The two versions are , of course, similar in that they are told from the cool, courageous, calculating viewpoint of Thomas Cromwell, a blacksmith’s son whose talent, grit and cautious biting of his tongue have carried him to the flaring skirts of the highest levels of the nobility conniving and swirling around the King’s court. The courtiers despise him for his low birth, cannot fathom how such an unspeakable creature could rise into their lofty presence, and, indeed, it has been a harrowing chore and remains so, even for the nobles, whose heads and fortunes are dispensed with suddenly and violently. The struggle to keep on the right side, whatever that is, is endless. Cromwell, (riveting Ben Miles) a trusted member of the household of Cardinal Wolsey, the Archbishop of York, (exceptional Paul Jesson) reveres the Cardinal, is warned again and again that that is a dangerous position, such loyalty, because Henry has been trying to get rid of his wife of twenty- some years, Queen Katherine of Aragon, for the much fresher delights of Anne Boleyn and everybody knows it. Wolsey has not been able to find legal means for such a contretemps, although he has charged Cromwell with finding a way, even though there isn’t a prayer of the Pope in Rome agreeing to such a—dare we say – divorce. With Wolsey of no use to him, Henry seizes Wolsey’s property, even his robes, banishes him from court. Cromwell is in peril.
He is in even greater danger from vengeful zealot Sir Thomas More, the Lord Chancellor, (strong John Ramm) a rabidly devout Catholic who has heard of Cromwell’s “liberties” with the gospels. But—in these skeins and chains of rumbling change, so has Anne Boleyn,(dominating Lydia Leonard) and Anne will not get to be queen unless the Catholic chains are wangled through, wiggled through or tossed aside. Cromwell’s clever, conniving mind can be of use to her, and aid her through the driving passions and ambitions of the pack of nobles smelling opportunities they are more than willing to take, no matter what. First necessity: Queen Katherine is banished from court. The die is cast, even with the threat of war, the ties that bind England to Catholicism are broken. People are afraid for their lives. And Hilary Mantel’s Cromwellian viewpoint proceeds apace. Scene after scene, tempest after tempest, constant juggling of lives, endless wiles, lies and more lies, it’s all a theatrical pleasure superbly staged by Jeremy Herrin whose large and vibrant company, magnificently dressed in Christopher Oram’s telling costumes – he designed the looming setting, too – drive this piercingly fresh eyed look at a turbulent pace befitting the turbulent times of the tale. Yes, we know, Anne Boleyn triumphs, Anne becomes queen, Anne become tyrannical, Anne loses her head and then loses her head and Henry , over many more bodies, weds the next delectable, Jane Seymour in Part Two but it’s the telling, my dears, it’s the telling. And all the while, the hovering stench: Homo homini lupus. Oh, look it up.
Wolf Hall. At the
Winter Garden, 1634 Broadway, at 50th Street. 
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