There is a lot of fun with gaudy pink balloons, pretty pink and green inflatable armchairs, and the like, all of which is amusing and unusual but pointless.
I could see the point being made when a huge gold inflatable penis was lowered onto the stage, alongside two vast gold inflatable balls, and one of the women started to caress it, but it felt crass all the same. When I was at a Jesuit boarding school, a rhyme went round about Protestants, attributed, probably wrongly, to Brendan Behan, which made the same point more tersely:
Trust not the alien minister
Nor his creed without reason or faith.
The foundation stone of his temple
Is the bollocks of Henry the eighth.
Henry himself (Adam Gillen) is played for laughs, with all Henry’s brittle egoism and none of his terrifying mercilessness – his rages sound weak and pettish. We see him dressed in his finery, we see him on the lavatory, half naked, and we see him playing with a strategically placed rubber penis.
All this undermines the drama, but is probably inevitable, since it suits both Shakespeare’s purpose and Khalil’s purpose to make Wolsey the real villain of the piece.
This is an interesting evening in the theatre which throws away its chance to be a great one.