Summary 
A sprawling epic with a terrific supporting cast like a who's-who of superb Festival character actors, in a difficult to follow history. Muddled themes, a modern-day Chorus of actors trading lines, use of flags both medieval and modern (and Canadian), even a head-scratching if rousing "Revolution" by the Beatles as the audience exits. Hal now the stiff and stoic Henry V, a well-spoken young monarch that provides a disappointing center for an admittedly difficult play.
Design
Directed by Des McAnuff. Set design by Robert Brill. Costume design by Paul Tazewell. Lighting design by Michael Walton. Compositions by Michael Roth. Sound design by Peter McBoyle.
Cast
Aaron Krohn (Henry V), Timothy D. Stickney (Exeter), James Blendick (Archbishop), Randy Hughson (Bardolph/Erpingham), Tom Rooney (Pistol), Lucy Peacock (Hostess), Wayne Best (Gower), Ben Carlson (Fluellen), Keith Dinicol (MacMorris), Richard Binsley (King Charles), Claire Lautier (Queen Isabel), Gareth Potter (Dauphin), Bethany Jilliard (Catherine), Deborah Hay (Alice), Juan Chioran (Montjoy).
Analysis
Des McAnuff's most recent directorial efforts for the Stratford Shakespeare Festival were Twelfth Night in 2011, a stunning criticism of the ultra-wealthy infused with raucous rock and roll, and As You Like It in 2010, a brilliantly cerebral staging that contrasted surreal art against European fascism in the 1920s. McAnuff fares better with the comedies, with this season's history of Henry V in comparison a sprawling and unfocused disappointment. The staging is dark and medieval, and McAnuff uses enormous medieval flags as backdrops - the St. George red cross against white background for the English, and yellow fleur-de-lis against azure blue for the French - though at the end he adds a triumphant rise of the modern Canadian flag.
McAnuff begins with the Prologue as the house lights remain up, actors in modern attire - sneakers, jeans, ball caps, T-shirts, scarves - taking the stage to drum beats while carrying assorted properties such as saddles and barrels and big wooden sawhorses that will represent horses. A torch-yielding actor begins the play, then has his lines traded across the cast, the final line - "gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play" - spoken by all in unison. McAnuff reverts to medieval history then, with the 1.1 conversation between the seedy Archbishop and his Bishop played out with two actors astride the saw horses - yes, I get it - to whinnying sound effects, the actors moving side to side and back and forth as if riding actual horses. Behind them on the shadowy Festival stage is a looming medieval drawbridge, all heavy timber and chunky metal hardware, held up with metal chains.
Aaron Krohn portrays the legendary Henry with no hint of the drunken prig Prince Hal: his is an intellectual, carefully measured, almost expressionless Henry V. Among choral singers, attendants, and hooded observers - the flag of St. George looming behind him - Krohn's red-robed Henry presides over court at a long wooden table 1.2. He listens stoically as James Blendick's Archbishop carefully lays out a messy call to war - "as clear as is the summer's sun" - citing with religious fervor from thick tome after thick tome. When the Archbishop rests his hand on the collection of books, the attendant holding them nearly buckles.
More importantly, Krohn's Henry reveals himself an easy pawn for the Archbishop, and even for his uncle, a fiery Exeter, bald, bearded and wearing black. Henry defies the messenger from the Dauphin, attempting to juggle the insulting ton of treasure - tennis balls - but dropping the balls and scrambling in an unkingly way after them. He punctuates each "mock" in his message with a toss of a tennis ball to a different courtier, but in light of the failed juggling showmanship, the flamboyance seems only peevish, proof of the veracity of the Dauphin's insults. McAnuff segues quickly to Southampton, Krohn's expressionless Henry less upset at the treachery of the traitors than the glowering Exeter, and McAnuff cuts again to Harfleur as Henry's cry of "King of France" is punctuated with the fall of a sword on a traitor's neck. Krohn's Henry delivers a quiet "once more unto the breach!" alone on the stage in front of the lowered drawbridge, eventually joined by his army in a rallying scene that is a bit lacking in fiery inspiration. Stage traps open to indicate the mines beneath the besieged town - and the emerging bond between the Welsh, English, Irish, and Scot troops - and McAnuff stages the scene ("use mercy to them all") with Krohn's Henry downstage left addressing the Harfleur governor elevated upstage right.
Krohn fares better with the more intimate moments, like the 4.1 "touch of Harry" scenes, which follow a melancholy guitar melody played by Ben Carlson's excellent Fluellen. Henry's interaction is sincere and apparently effective - "I love the lovely bully" - and he moves downstage and sinks to his knees to pray. When the camp rises and men begin rushing around to the approaching sound of horses, the flag is raised upstage, but Krohn's "we few, we happy few, we band of brothers" disappoints in a lack of passion. More interesting, really, is the often-excised command by Henry to kill the French prisoners. Krohn's incensed King hands a soldier a sword and watches as prisoners are dumped into traps that glow red with stage fire as the sound of screaming men fills the theatre.
The King's former haunt, the Boar's Head tavern, is represented only by the head of a boar on a spike downstage, but the portrayals of Prince Hal's former friends are uniformly superb, rivaling Carlson's Fluellen as best in the production. The group wears tattered wool, frayed and with holes, and they appear grimy and dirty, a great distance from Krohn's carefully posed and poised Henry. In 2.1 they fear for Falstaff's health, only the stockinged feet and round belly of the fat knight visible far upstage. Big-nosed Bardolph swills from a tankard, and Tom Rooney's sharp-tongued Pistol gives mock-chase to the Hostess, but the mood is melancholy: "the King hath killed his heart." In 2.3 Pistol watches with the Hostess from within the audience as Falstaff's pallbearers struggle with the heavy coffin onstage, huffing and puffing and staggering beneath the weight, and by 3.2 he is a whistling thief, using a sword to cut effects and clothing from dead soldiers.
The best scene of McAnuff's production comes right before interval, with Rooney's Pistol imploring Carlson's Fluellen for mercy as the moon-eyed Bardolph stands condemned to hanging upstage. With an array of English soldiers both onstage and off, all watching intently, Henry approaches, and despite some relief in Pistol's and Bardolph's expressions, he slips the noose himself over the head of his former friend. Briefly interrupted by the French herald - Bardolph begins to weep at the charge that Henry "betrayed his followers" - Bardolph is hung in a ghastly spasm of kicking and struggling. He finally goes limp, hanging high above the stage as the lights come up for an uneasy intermission, remaining there for several long and uncomfortable minutes.
McAnuff choose to portrays the French with less than the usual amount of caricature and derision, although Gareth Potter's Dauphin somewhat resembles Jim Carrey's "Dumb and Dumber" character, minus the buck-toothed grin. The King is played with subtlety, a quivering monarch that speaks in a near whimper. The 3.4 Catherine and Alice scene is a delight, played as the servant lady bathes the attractive princess, their verbal toying with the English language - hand, fingers, nails, arm, d'elbow - softened by Catherine's coquettish charm. Some inexplicable nudity, however - Catherine stands then turns, completely naked before Alice covers her with a towel - seems more than a little gratuitous.
The French army show hubris in 2.4 and especially during 3.7, seated upon sawhorses representing their steeds - "will it never be day?" - and in 4.2 they clamber and clunk along the stage in unwieldy heavy silver armor. Their battlefield loss is an unsurprising denouement, with Potter's Dauphin more down-in-the-mouth than abject in defeat. McAnuff manages to conclude with Krohn at his best, interacting with Bethany Jilliard's Catherine: she hides behind a table to avoid an encounter, and when Krohn's Henry explains their social and political standing - "we are the makers of manners" - they sit by side at the throne and share a kiss. The conclusion comes swiftly - "there is witchcraft in your lips" - and with general happiness, despite the snarls from the queen of France, the English flag replaced with the Canadian as Henry and Catherine embrace and kiss again center stage. After the Chorus delivers its final apology and intimates the future losses and rebellions under the stewardship of Henry VI, the blaring guitar intro to The Beatles' 1968 "Revolution" comes across the loudspeakers, followed by John Lennon's hoarse scream and the remainder of the song - apparently a nod toward Henry VI rather than to any theme within this production - as the audience exits.