• DVD: Henry V (1989)


• CD: Henry V (soundtrack)

It is conventional wisdom that the movie industry's most sought-after audiences are the young, particularly teenaged boys, especially those who will see a film multiple times in the cinema. Well, this blogger has never belonged to the latter demographic, but I will see a select few films more than once in the theater. It requires, though, a movie worth the trip.

That was not a problem back when Kenneth Branagh's Henry V was released and I spent two separate evenings at Buffalo's North Park Theatre watching it. You should know that Buffalo is a city with a vibrant theater community and even its own outdoor Shakespeare festival, so it wasn't as though cultural deprivation had drawn me down to Hertel Avenue.

Imagine sitting in a vintage movie house and gazing at a pitch-black screen. Out of the darkness emerges Henry V's Chorus, Derek Jacobi -- he of the silky, insinuating voice -- and suddenly the audience is propelled into a medieval world of politics and power, where closed doors conceal bishops plotting strategy, a traitor hides behind a well-loved face, and the fate of thousands turns on a diplomatic mission -- or a minor affront.

Taking the role of the young, untried English king: the director himself, an Irish-born Shakespearean actor named Kenneth Branagh, who had been before the camera but never behind it. As familiar as his performance is from repeated viewings over the years, it still bears examination from various angles. The way Branagh chose to play the first scene always puzzled me: as the insecure monarch with barely contained fury, he suggests the menace of a coiled snake -- a contrast too great, I believe, with the more human protagonist that is revealed in the battlefield and postwar scenes: by turns boyish, confident, stoic, ruthless, witty, and on the verge of collapse. It's a rich performance, one that's bound to recall some unsettling parallels on the national and world stage.

Still, even if Branagh claimed that career-making lead role, his screenplay and direction reveal a more nuanced reading of the play and a generous approach to his cast.

And what a cast. Note how often the camera lingers on the faces of that powerhouse ensemble, which includes such long-time Branagh associates as Richard Clifford, Michael Maloney, John Sessions, Jimmy Yuill, the great Richard Briers, and of course an ageless Brian Blessed, here playing Exeter, the king's warrior uncle, as a striding, weapon-wielding vat of testosterone.

And if you come expecting cheap shots at the French, don't waste your time. Cast as the king of France: Paul Scofield, whose image ought to appear under gravitas in your dictionary. At his side: an imposing Richard Easton, playing the Constable of France, and Christopher Ravenscroft, all dignity as Montjoy, the herald who at times appears to supplement the role of the Chorus. And the French princess, Katherine, is played by the gifted and intelligent Emma Thompson.

The powerful casting doesn't end there. As Mistress Quickly, wife to soldier and all-round sinner Pistol (Robert Stephens), Judi Dench delivers a touching -- and vanity-free -- performance.

I should note too that Branagh gives some marvelous scenes to Judi Dench's real-life husband, Michael Williams, cast as, believe it or not, Michael Williams, the English soldier who has a crucial pre-battle encounter with the king.

But the moral heart of the film belongs to Ian Holm, a bantam cock of a warrior as Fluellen, the Welsh captain who in this film embodies courage, decency, and good sense. Branagh has not entirely eliminated the comic elements of the character, but as you watch Holm your heart will swell and your eyes will fill quite as often as your lips smile.

Speaking of humor, I recall clearly that North Park audiences snickered when Derek Jacobi, in modern dress, strode onto battlefields and seaside cliffs to hold forth on the action of Henry V. Shades of "This is Dan Rather, reporting to you live from Harfleur." But Jacobi is such a welcome presence and does such wonderful things with his voice that I've completely reconciled myself to the conceit, and I suspect you will as well.

Another distinction: Fans of Laurence Olivier's World War II era film should prepare themselves for a markedly different take on the material. Branagh's interpretation allows for a good deal of moral ambiguity and not a small amount of bloodshed. Yes, his judicious editing of the text emphasizes the king's mercy, and of course the filming and scoring of the Saint Crispian's Day speech is a bit of magic politicians would do well to study. Still, Branagh's Agincourt sequence, with its very graphic look at the costs of battle, ought to spark some post-film discussions.

Thus the depiction of war is considerably earthier than Olivier's, and that extends to sets and costumes. As I watched the 1944 film, I found myself distracted by the grand, rather fussy attire of the actors. On the other hand, Phyllis Dalton's Academy Award-winning designs in the Branagh film are always appropriate to the character but never distract from the performance. In short, they're costumes for the working day.

And what a working day it must have been. By the end of the battle at Agincourt, everyone, with the exception of Christopher Ravenscroft, is coated with a layer or two of blood and mud. In fact, in many scenes our actors look convincingly gritty, greasy, muddy, and miserable, except for anyone safely kept off the battlefield. Branagh's memoir, Beginning, chronicled some of the filming process and its setbacks, including those moments when the production threatened to turn into Carry on Agincourt. So much for glory on the battlefield!

Speaking of memoirs, I'm still waiting -- in vain, apparently -- for a director's edition of Branagh's Henry V. Yes, I'm aware that the DVD was briefly out of print, and we should count ourselves blessed with any region-appropriate edition. Still, it's disappointing that the extras don't include director commentary, interviews, or a "making of" featurette, only French and Spanish subtitles, the movie trailer, and the Cliffs Notes to Shakespeare's play.

No, I am not making that last bit up, and students are going to need those notes anyway, given all the cuts Branagh made to the text. Speeches, scenes, even characters are missing in action, though Branagh does flesh out the story by using flashbacks from Henry IV, Part 2. That has the advantage of allowing us to glimpse Falstaff (Robbie Coltrane, an inspired bit of casting), as well as Pistol, Bardolph, Nym, Mistress Quickly, and even the unreformed Prince Hal, in their wilder days. Whatever the exclusions and additions, the film moves along so briskly that I have a hard time believing it clocks in at 137 minutes.

It goes without saying that I sprang for both the DVD and Patrick Doyle's wonderful soundtrack. His scoring of the speech to the troops on Saint Crispian's Day is a particularly inspiring piece of movie music.

It didn't take very long after the film's release before trailers for other movies were incorporating passages from Doyle's Henry V score, which might have been a clue that the composer was here to stay. In addition to his work for subsequent Branagh films, Doyle has composed scores for projects as diverse as Indochine, Sense and Sensibility, Donnie Brasco, and even Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Most recently his Japanese-inspired compositions graced Branagh's latest Shakespearean adaptation, the HBO film As You Like It, which is now out on DVD.