Opening night was an apt illustration of the power and appeal of the festival. As thunderclouds darkened the skies over Ashland, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, the dauntless audience nonetheless filled the outdoor theater, toting along rain ponchos and pillows, and a mere downpour early on did little to diminish the crowd.
Rather, they seemed to be in agreement that the tempest was merely a grand backdrop for the rarely performed "Henry VIII," as if wild old Henry himself in heaven (well, one hopes hes in heaven) was pulling a few strings to make the arrival of his play all the more impressive.
"Henry VIII" is rarely performed (it was last on the Ashland stage in 1984) with some good reason. Its not on the list of greatest works, but it is nonetheless an intriguing telling of the story of the king with many wives. Henry has inspired so many works, from the BBC series to the current Showtime "The Tudors," it's interesting to see how his tale was told by a playwright who was almost a contemporary (Henry died in 1547; Shakespeare was born in 1564): Its considerably milder than anything from modern times. Also, it merely recounts the story of Henry's divorce from his first wife Katherine of Aragon to marry Anne Bullen and ends, conveniently, with the birth of Henry and Anne's daughter, and Shakespeare's patron, Elizabeth. Anne is merely a shadow figure in this work; the stage is dominated by Katherine, in a deeply moving performance by Vilma Silva.
OSF presents the play in all its Renaissance splendor, from the opulent opening scene, in which the larger than life Henry (Elijah Alexander), sporting what appears to be an entire ostrich on his head, arrives at a pantomime on a huge statue of a horse.
It is this visual appeal--the rich costumes abound--that confirms the sense that one has been dropped into Henry's time and place and makes this production well worth seeing, and it takes on a special interest in the staging lineup this year, which also includes (in the indoor Angus Bowmer Theater) the world premiere of the utterly brilliant "Equivocation," by Bill Cain.