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Those nasty York boys

I should have started watching The Hollow Crown earlier. The Henry VI cycle doesn't interest me that much, but this is a very interesting rendition.

The three sons of York were excellent, though they were all ungroomed,almost to GoT levels. In fact, one could tell Royalty in this adaption, not by pennants or badges, white roses or red, but because above a certain rank no-one ever got a haircut. Still,  they feel like brothers, quarreling, caring, being general nuisances. I felt for them, indeed I felt for the saintly king Henry, armed with nothing but a prayer book and a pout. For the first time I could really feel the humanity of him, trembling in the face of blood and war, and repulsed to breaking point by all the suffering. Yes, I enjoyed it. Benedict's Richard glimmers with an ever-developing irridescent evil; this actor either strongly prefers camera to stage,  or is relaxing in the knowledge that this production, unlike the Barbican Hamlet in which he starred, is very strong and plays to his abilities.

He has to work extra hard now that Richard's baddy license is almost revoked. No-one really knows RIII's part in the murder of the Princes,and it's strangely difficult to reconcile the beautiful moments of Shakespeare's favourite psychopath with some bloke found stabbed up in a car park.  But that's OK. Shakespeare wrote plays, not gospels.

Much else about this weekend has not gone well, and I am too tired to write about it.

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