WHO’S AFRAID OF ELEANOR AND HENRY?

THE LION IN WINTER
Directed by Tony Giordano; written James Goldman
With: Michael Balsley, Seth Dube, Lee Godart, Don Harvey, Zachary Knower, Cristine McMurdo-Wallis, and Kit Paquin
At Portland Stage Company in Portland, Maine
From September 28 through October 17, 2004

Reviewed by Laurie Meunier Graves

“What family doesn’t have its ups and downs?”
—Eleanor of Aquitaine

“Damn the French.”
—Henry II

Senator Kerry, who has often been accused of “looking French,” should take heart. The rivalry between the English and the French, and, by extension, Anglo-Americans and Franco-Americans, has been going on for a very long time. As is often the case with such rivalries, the French and the English have had what might be considered a love/hate relationship fraught with passion, domination, anger, and attraction. All that separates the two countries is a small channel, easily navigated by conquerors from each side. In 1066, William of Normandy had the upper hand when he defeated the Anglo-Saxons at the battle of Hastings. However, by 1183, the tide, so to speak, had turned, and the English King Henry II owned a nice slice of France, from Normandy all the way to Auvergne. To make matters worse, King Henry II married Eleanor of Aquitaine, who had previously been married to Louis VII, king of France. (With all this to-ing and fro-ing across the channel, one might be forgiven for suspecting that the blood of the French and the English is so intermingled that ancient and current rivalries are essentially meaningless. But I digress.)

In Portland Stage Company’s entertaining production of The Lion in Winter, medieval resentments and rivalries come to a full head between kings, queens, sons, brothers, England and France. The result is a somewhat trashy yet highly diverting play where the witty repartee between the characters is as sharp as any sword and nearly as deadly. It’s almost as though the playwright James Goldman had channeled Noel Coward, Edward Albee, and Robert Graves (I, Claudius) to create a play that is part vicious sex farce and part Masterpiece Theater.

The action revolves around the afore-mentioned Henry II (Lee Godart) and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine (Cristine McMurdo-Wallis), whom he has imprisoned for joining with their sons in battle against him. Good sport that he is, Henry allows her to come out once a year at Christmas so that they can spar, plot, and connive. The Lion in Winter opens on one not-so-jolly Christmas Eve in 1183, with King Henry brooding about what will happen to his kingdom when he is dead. This is no idle, melancholy worry. At fifty, Henry is well past his prime, and he knows it. He has three sons, and he must choose one of them to be the next king. Will his choice be the strong, ambitious Richard of Lionheart fame (Don Harvey); the efficient, devious, yet uninspiring Geoffrey (Zachary Knower); or the shallow, not-so-smart, sniveling Prince John (Seth Dube)? And the king’s choice is…Prince John, who seems as though he could barely walk a dog across the street, much less lead a kingdom. At this point, viewers might begin to wonder if the king’s mind is slipping along with his body.

Eleanor quite sensibly thinks Richard should be king, and given the other two choices, it’s not hard to see why. Richard might be domineering and might like going into battle just a little too much, but he has the strength and the bearing of a monarch. Much of the play consists of Eleanor and Henry trying to outmaneuver each other to get the son they want on the throne. Henry, being the king, would seem to have the upper hand, but Eleanor does have a few tricks up her sleeves. She owns the Aquitaine, a choice piece of French real estate that Henry wants, and her ability to plot and connive puts her on an equal footing with him.

King Philip II of France (Michael Balsley) is also at the Christmas court, and he has his own demands. Alais (Kit Paquin), his sister, has been in Henry’s court since she was young, and she was supposed to have married one of Henry’s sons. Instead, Henry has taken her as his own mistress, and he really doesn’t want to give her up. To further complicate matters, a rather nice dowry came with Alais, and Philip wants either Alais or the dowry back.

Soon, the plots and the counterplots start flying back and forth and with them rapid-fire dialogue reminiscent of screwball comedies. In between the fighting, backstabbing, and manipulation, there is time for lust and longing. In her own way, Eleanor still loves Henry and, at one point, admits that every devious thing she’s done was because of her passion for him. Henry, a true alpha-male, doesn’t want to be confined to one woman, and while he appears to genuinely love Alais, he still has a hankering for Eleanor. To spice up the plot, Eleanor’s love for Richard is a little too intense, and in one scene, she gives him a kiss that doesn’t exactly seem motherly. And if that weren’t enough, Richard, in turn, is in love with King Philip of France.

This play’s success hinges on the actors who play Eleanor and Henry, and Cristine McMurdo-Wallis and Lee Godart do a splendid job with these over-the-top characters. The dialogue between the two snaps and sizzles, and the actors really do make Eleanor and Henry seem like both lovers and adversaries. Their performances have so much spark that when they are on stage, it is nearly impossible to look at anyone else. McMurdo-Wallis is slim, regal, and elegant, and her husky voice as well as her glittering eyes come together to give us an Eleanor who has seen it all and endured much. Not for one moment do we doubt her power, her passion, and her cunning. Lee Godart, as Henry, is more than a match for her. Large, charismatic, and imposing, Godart brings a wry glimmer of humor to the aging monarch. Despite his blind spot with his son John, Godart’s Henry has keen powers of observation which extend even to himself, and it is this self-knowledge that saves him from being insufferable.

This is a family divided by their lust for power and their love for each other. If Shakespeare had written The Lion in Winter, by the end of the play, the stage would be littered with dead bodies. Goldman, however, lacks the depth and the intensity of the Bard, and The Lion in Winter skitters maliciously to its slight but satisfying conclusion. It qualifies as a “guilty pleasure,” lowbrow art at its most entertaining. It probably has as much historical accuracy as the movie Amadeus, but who cares? After seeing The Lion in Winter, I couldn’t help but think how satisfying it would be to have a modern remake of this play. I even came up with a title—The Hyenas in December. It would be set in Kennebunkport, Maine, and the action would revolve around a family where the father was once the President of the United States, and the eldest son is the current President of the United States. Younger sons lurk in the background. Behind them all schemes a larger-than-life mother. I’m sure you can fill in the rest.

 

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