★★★★★ Eleven hours, three plays and one huge standing ovation for Rona Munro’s Scottish trilogy.

Festival Theatre, Adelaide Festival Centre
February 27, 2016

The age of binge watching and Netflix may rule the television world, but even the most ardent theatre lovers might baulk at the thought of 11 bum-atrophying hours of medieval history. On the other hand, as I sat, completely transfixed by the National Theatre of Scotland and National Theatre of Great Britain’s marathon triptych, exploring the turbulent lives, loves and losses of the three Scots kings named James, it struck me that the contemporary television penchant for epic narratives, recurring characters and natty twists offers the perfect inoculation for endurance performances such as this. 

It helps, of course, that the source material explored in these three plays is ripe with sex, death and a quintessentially Scottish brawn, but here it is plugged into an electrifyingly gripping energy. Thanks to playwright Rona Munro – astonishingly the first person to transport this period of Scottish history to the theatre – these dynamic characters are brought to life with superb clarity and a colloquial, whip-smart attitude. 

There is inevitably a distant resonance with Shakespeare’s history plays, and indeed these James plays, premiered in 2014, do serve a similar function in unriddling this dense and patchily recorded history, transforming it into a narrative worthy of the stage. However, the most remarkable thing about Munro’s take on these stories is the way they are packaged, smoothing over any turgid academia to draw the most relatable aspects to the fore. Coupled with unanimously accomplished performances, the cultural specificity of these plays melts away, leaving a stunning level of theatre that can communicate with any audience.

James I, The Key Will Keep the Lock, is reimagined as a pseudo rom-com, focusing on the cute, awkward charm of the arranged marriage between the Scottish King (Steven Miller) and Queen Joan, his royal English bride (Rosemary Boyle). The departure from the trite Hollywood formula comes when the young King is forced to assert his rule on his new subjects. After 18 years as a prisoner of King Henry (whose love of the word “fuck” sets the contemporary tone of these three plays in the first 30 seconds), James is sent back to Scotland in order to bring order to the troubled region, now allying with France to assault their neighbours south of the border. There’s a surprisingly successful combination of elements; a mix of situational comedy, cultural quirkiness and mortal danger, which brilliantly peppers this character-driven theatre with the right amount of historical detail.

Despite James’s intention to treat his people with intelligent benevolence, it soon becomes clear that violence and fear are the most important tools a medieval monarch possesses. The political power tussle between James and his close relatives, Murdac (John Stahl) and Isabella (Blythe Duff), who held the Scottish throne in his absence along with their three psychotic sons, becomes a swelling current that carries this narrative forward. However, the action floating on the surface never submerges too far into the whys and wherefores, sticking closer to the emotional nucleus of these characters. It’s because we are allowed this intimate connection that when, in the later plays, we meet these figures again, our understanding and insight of them transforms the way they engage us. 

James II, Day of Innocents, charts a darker, more multi-faceted terrain. Just a boy when his father is murdered, the child King (Daniel Cahill), with his distinctive birthmarked face, becomes an unwilling and manipulated pawn as various corrupt and power-hungry men attempt to use his birthright for their own greed and prestige. A more conspicuous subtext is present than in the first play, questioning the inevitability and yet uncertainty of death and the corrosive effect of fear on the mind. James’s intense friendship with a young Lord of the powerful Douglas clan (Andrew Still) makes suggestions of a subtle homoeroticism, which later becomes a study of the similarities between rage and jealousy. There is a sophisticated array of stage effects used – most notably eerie under-stage lighting, a giant flaming sword and a virtually endless supply of haze – to conjure the nightmarish hallucinations of the troubled King and delineate between what is real and what is imagined. 

The third instalment, James III, The True Mirror, makes a radical aesthetic departure from its two siblings. The historical lens is shifted into a hinterland between epochs. As the audience take their seats we are presented with a rose trimmed pleasure garden, luxurious and gaudy. Across its lawns, people dance to Lady Gaga’s Born This Way, performed by a Scottish kaylee band. The costumes also straddle multiple historical references, with a hint of the 1960’s percolating through the mock-period garb. Humour is once again a vital ingredient, delivering a curious cocktail of historical fact told via theatrical whimsy – Blythe Duff’s account of Annabella, the King’s sharp-tongued, plain-speaking aunt, must receive special mention for its comic brilliance. 

Of the three kings, James III (Matthew Pidgeon) is by far the least likeable monarch. Self-centred, egotistical and hedonistic, his carnal urges and an indestructible sense of entitlement threaten to tear down his reign. Cruel to his family and extravagant in his tastes, this bi-sexual playboy, with delusions of genius and an overactive libido, remains defiantly incorrigible, alienated from all, save for his troupe of singing sycophants, paid to serenade him wherever he goes. 

Fortunately, his beautiful Danish wife, Queen Margaret (Malin Crépin), is a born leader: gracious, intelligent, pragmatic and inspiring. Among the roll-call of strong female characters in this trio of plays, she is perhaps the most generously realised. We see her journey from a pampered yet neglected wife to a strong and decisive leader, who guided the Scottish nation for two years while the King indulged himself with sex and excess. It’s an intriguing punchline: after eleven hours, the most convincing monarch in this royal trilogy is not a James at all. 

Where the reigning king of the history play is concerned, Munro’s superb trilogy is perhaps unlikely to knock the crown from Shakespeare’s head. But in bringing this ancient and often unheard narrative within such easy reach, she has created a way for these historical characters to speak to the present day that is both intellectually rewarding and relentlessly entertaining.