Summary 
Uneven production with strong but anachronistic concepts - an onstage jazz-and-blues band, projections of modern battlefields and war memorials - clumsily commingled with a traditionally staged medieval historical chronicle. An anti-hero Henry - dashing and daring, but cold-hearted and sadistic - allows himself to be manipulated into declaring war against France.
Design
Directed by Barbara Gaines. Set by Donald Eastman. Costumes by Karin Kopischke. Lights by Michael Philippi. Sound by Robert Neuhaus. Original songs and music by Alaric Jans.
Cast
Stephen Kunken (Henry V), Timothy Askew (Gloucester), Ian Vogt (Bedford/Bates), Sean Fortunato (Exeter/Erpingham/La Fer), Daniel Gold (York), Henry Godinez (Cambridge/ Dauphin), Robert Scogin (Canterbury/Pistol), Fredric Stone (Ely/Burgundy/Constable), Patrick Clear (Fluellen), Neil Friedman (Gower/King Charles VI/Governor), Dan Zakarija (Jamy), Thomas Vincent Kelly (Macmorris), E. David Roth (Williams), Guy Barile (Nym), Richard Wharton (Bardolph/Orleans), Christopher Grobe (Boy), Cheryl Lynn Bruce (Hostess/Alice), Laura Lamson (Katherine), Kevin MacDonald (Montjoy).
Analysis
Shakespeare Repertory remounts Henry V at the Ruth Page Theatre on Chicago's Gold Coast, a decidedly different venue than their inaugural production of the same play upon the Red Lion Pub rooftop in Lincoln Park back in 1986. Barbara Gaines directs again, this time with New York actor Stephen Kunken as Henry, with a focus on the anti-hero elements of the story and a decided emphasis on an anti-war theme. Gaines stages the production against an unadorned black background, with just some brickwork to suggest castle walls and ramparts. Henry and his court wear black leather and medieval robes and furs - some of them heavy and lush - in traditional costumes. At the beginning an upstage scrim bearing the full large-print title of Shakespeare's play hangs from the proscenium arch, and the large white curtain later provides a backdrop for projections.
James "Jay" Williams acts as an onstage chorus, singing the part as well as some additional lyrics, with musical accompaniment by Alaric Jans (who also composed the score) amid a four-piece jazz-and-blues band. Williams croons "O for a muse of fire" as a jazzy original blues number, the entire cast joining Williams onstage and snapping their fingers in rhythm, then dispersing as the production begins. Wiliiams' Chorus remains onstage throughout the production, wearing black slacks and a black shirt along with sunglasses, his voice heavily amplified and booming, as he sings, recites, and sometimes reads from a script upon a podium. Williams and the band lend an entertaining flair to the production, but twentieth-century style American blues tunes are decidedly anachronistic within a play set in late fifteenth century England and France. Their onstage presence furthers the storytelling aspect of the overall production, with the actual performance of the medieval period piece somewhat minimized in emotional impact due to the constant reminder that this is simply a story being told. The musical score itself is bold and vibrant, mostly jazz-inflected numbers played with lively flourish by the onstage band, until a heart-wrenching blues tune at the conclusion.
Gaines begins the production with the twisted Church-fueled argument for declaring war with France. In a particularly sordid portrayal, Canterbury and the sycophantic Ely lounge around awaiting their audience with the King, and they puff on cigarettes, swill from bottles of liquor, and play betting games of cards while they wait. At Henry's court, Canterbury melodramatically snaps the pages of a series of massive books held before him by robed and kneeling monks. It is clear that the display is not meant to deceive but simply to provide the King with a public rationale for the declaration of war as well as a funding partner with the Church. The sordid manipulation tarnishes Henry and his reputation, as the King stands and eagerly clasps the arms with the seedy Archbishop in a symbol of their agreement.
Kunken portrays a dashing Henry, athletic and handsome, with an eagerness to prove himself and act heroically, even if within a contrived and soul-crushing circumstance. During Montjoy's explanation of the Dauphin's gift of tennis balls, Kunken's Henry makes a show of calmly selecting a tennis ball, pondering it, then crushing it within his fist. He successfully defends a sudden knife-attack from the kneeling traitor Cambridge, and at Harfleur he ascends a fly-high ladder to turn in a glare of light and cry, "once more unto the breach!" to hyper-dramatically rally his forces. Along with this heroic side of Henry is a brutal coldness - Bardolph shows relief when he sees Henry but the King turns his back upon him as a guard breaks Bardolph's neck, then flings his body to the ground - and a nearly sadistic vindictiveness: Henry slashes a French soldier's throat and fiercely orders all prisoners be killed when the dead boys are discovered; and he physically intimidates the diminutive Williams, using his imposing brawn to bully his way to victory in the disagreement over kingship. The St. Crispin's Day speech is played ironically, with Kunken's Henry actually addressing his own brothers Gloucester and Bedford - "we few, we happy few, we band of brothers" - in a private family moment rather than a public rallying of the entire army.
Gaines provides a few rare glimpses of humor in the production, most effectively Fluellen's impossibly thick Welsh accent as he attempts to discourse on the proper conduct of war, and the wheezing Bardolph breaking up a swiftly paced swordfight between Pistol and Nym by wielding a gigantic broadsword to intimidate them, but she has less success with the depiction of the French: while the nobility are attired in shades of creamy white and tan velvet, brocade, and satin in a striking contrast to Henry's black fur and leather court, the preening King and Constable are shown getting haircuts and being fawned over by attendants, their apparent obsession with grooming and appearance a fatal battlefield flaw. The actual battle at Agincourt is similarly depicted - brilliantly staged, but with odd touches - beginning within peals of thunder and flashes of lightning, then the ragged English soldiers hunched against a stunning upstage downpour that puddles on and splashes the set. But there is no combat, and the build-up fades away into strobe-like lighting effects and the sound effects of snorting horses and clashing blades. When Kunken's battle-weary Henry sits and slowly reads the names of the French battlefield dead, the image of the Vietnam Veterans War Memorial is projected on the upstage scrim. The emotional connection regarding the universality of the horrors of war is diminished by the jarring anachronism of France in 1485 juxtaposed against Washington D.C. in 1990. The non-dramatic battle concludes with a poignant moment, however, as a soldier carrying the bloody body of the Boy slowly crosses the stage a la Kenneth Branagh's 1989 film version.
The conclusion further reveals Henry's brutish nature with his clumsy attempts to woo a charming and pretty Katherine. She stands elegantly upstage upon her entrance, physically opposed to the bickering politicians downstage, and she seems intrigued by and attracted to Henry, but after Henry's unreasonable demands and difficult terms for peace, she refuses his kiss and exits from him in the opposite direction. In an awkward attempt to expand the anti-war sentiment of the production to a timeless level that transcends continents, Gaines projects images across the upstage scrim as James wails a bluesy dirge. The conceit sounds like a compelling concept, but projected images of Flanders Field and Arlington National Cemetery feel contrived following a historical re-enactment of the battle at Agincourt. The lights fade upon Gaines' production as Williams croons about "so many horrid ghosts," and one has the disappointed sense that this show is a series of dramatic near-hits that could have been a remarkable experience.