HENRY

Against the dark moody geography of 15th century England, Kenneth Branagh weaves a tale of political intrigue in his darkly brilliant film "Henry V." Taking on Laurence Oliver's classic 1944 version of the tale, Branagh brings us both the fierce conceit and urgent soul-searching of Henry's character just as gallantly as his predecessor. However, he adds a few of his own complicated twists by not only making the film fast-paced enough for modern Hollywood audiences, but also by fleshing out the full pantheon of psychological contours that make Henry such a complex hero. From the grime to the sublime, Shakepeare's tragedy, with Henry's conscience as the centerpiece, is translated into a visual maelstrom of patriotic noblemen, blood-curdling gore and ruthless bastards. It's foul, grim stuff with a strong dash of realism to make Shakespeare's play a passionate contemporary tale of shuddering wartime horrors and brutality, without sneaking in too many cliched lessons for us mere mortals.

Branagh deftly plays with the intersection of art, cinema and the theater. He opens the movie with our narrator, Derck Jacobi, playing the role of the chorus. He lights a match and by doing so invokes the predominant motif of fire, which flickers throughout the darkness of the film. In his shady-looking black trenchcoat, he them saunters across the set of the movie, surrounded by cameras, sets and lights--all the contraptions of film-making. We are clearly made accomplices to the fact that this is a constructed story. Rather than allow us to be lulled by the illusions of the film maker's world, Branagh alerts us that the film-maker's world is all a Shakespearean masquerade. Throughout the movie, this narrator-chorus will abruptly return to remind us that this is not reality. The abruptness is also a reflection of the emotional suddenness we see both Henry and in the motley characters--thieves, villains and princesses--which populate his land.

After this opening monologue, our narrator turns to two heavy doors which crash open and immediately reveal Henry's world. The mood is intensely somber and filled with dark foreboding, lit only by sideline torches. The young king is captured in a magnificent silhouette by the camera as it surges forth to meet him. All the pride and glory of the English kings is captured by the sweep of the camera as it passes along the dark eyes of conniving Archbishops, corrupt nobles and toady servants, all fixed upon the image of Henry on the throne.

Truth be told, Branagh does not seem quite fitting for the role. While he executes Shakespeare with finesse and a startling accessibility, his chubby-cheeked, doughy countenance is a mismatch for the role. True, he manages to convey the youth of Henry but when the role demands the handsome, strong-jaw-boned fierceness of a young firebrand, he is somewhat limited by the wimpiness of his looks. In spite of these handicaps, however, he admirably manages to convince us of his common humanity--he is one with his men and his dedication to Mother England.

Through various cinematic techniques, Branagh alludes to and illuminates Henry's affinity with the lower classes of England. We are treated to a series of oneiric sequences in which Henry turns in on his past life. Here we see the dissipated life he led under Falstaff's tutelage. The bacchanalian rollicking of yesterday contrasts sharply with the cold reality of the present. The film brilliantly captures these ironies of Henry's transformation. In one tense scene, Henry orders one of his old thieving comrades, Bardolph, to be hanged. The poor man looks straight at Henry and as the young king returns the piercing stare, we see the contradictions of Henry's ascension to royalty.

The culmination of the film is the Battle of Agincourt--the wartime victory against the French which every young English Schulkind cherishes and commits to memory. However, Branagh explores the complicated ironies of the triumphant underdogs. With long and short shots, we see the full-scale massacre of chaos as well as the upclose bitterness and mudspattered savagery of war. Branagh's final elegy is a tragic pacan to the misery of battle. Corpses strewn across the fields in a violent fashion are a gruesome testament to the brutal pain before us. Branagh plays up the ambiguity--he lets us recognize the real feelings and the victims of war, while at the same time Henry can revel in his new found glory. It is a moment in the film where the complex relation between dishonor and honor meet upon the film. We fell admiration, pity and horror as we look upon the failings of man, and the failings and triumphs of one man.

The cinematography of the film is beautifully rendered. The camera is a living, prowling creature of the inner and outer English lanscape. Interior shots are filmed in warm, sepia-toned pigments that highlight the humanity, as well as the coarseness, of English life. Similarly, the film-maker captures the indifferent cruelty--tooth and claw--of nature with cold, harsh shots. From the panoramic sweets, the camera always returns to the pockmarked faces of individuals in the crowd. This is a living portrait of England, from the impoverished riff-raff to the royal few.

The score is also well-suited to Henry's interior moods, although, upon occasion, it borders on the cliched. Yet, it's easy to get caught up in the intensity of the wild overtures and become reflective when the somber melodies herald the doom of war. The music becomes a character as it shapes, together with the camera, the intensity of the moments.

The costumes of peasants and nobles are stunning in their simplicity and evoke the period brilliantly.

Branagh skilfully offers us an interior look at the rocky and craggy lanscape of Henry's own mind and soul amidst the grey and ghostly lands of the 15th century.

With a hallucinatory power, he captures for us the contradictions of Henry's character. Even though he himself is not able to do this by merit of his acting alone, though his prowess as a director he creates a wild sense of the oppositions embodied within Henry.

At the same time, Branagh is able to satiate the cravings of a Hollywood-pampered audience, and at the same time leave room for graceful introspection and an enjoyment of the old Bard's genius.