[In the following review, Hornby praises Edward Hall's 2003 production of Rose Rage, a two-part adaptation of Henry VI, Parts 1, 2, and 3, for its stirring “visual poetry,” stylized violence, and musical virtuosity.]

Rose Rage, [is] the best staging I have ever seen of the Henry VI plays. These have been done a lot in recent decades, after centuries of neglect, because, to everyone's surprise, they turn out to be highly theatrical. They were directed in this instance by Edward Hall, son of the famous director Sir Peter Hall, who could learn a thing or two about directing from the young man. Hall manages to combine a respect for text with a flamboyant imagination and a focus, always, on the actors.

Like Twelfth Night at the Globe, Rose Rage had an all-male cast and figurative staging, but there the resemblance ended. Unlike the vapid Globe productions, Hall's work was vigorous, intense, and terrifying. It was set, quite bluntly, in an abattoir. Michael Pavelka's design used a raked stage with a constructivist metal setting, with wire mesh, ladders, and meat hooks. At the opening, men in white coats and facemasks were scrubbing the place down, while another man sharpened a cleaver. (Pavelka also designed the costumes.) Singing “Abide with Me,” they removed the coats to put on uniforms, which were adaptations of World War I and World War II British military garb. Henry VI appeared, a small, wide-eyed young man, dressed in a costume that made him look like a messenger boy. In contrast to the dark, drab military uniforms, the Bishop of Winchester, standing over the catafalque of Henry V at stage center, wore an intense, blood-red robe.

I was going to add “of course” to the mention of the red robe, but then I shudder to think how they would have costumed the Bishop at the Globe—maybe as a cricket player. The problem at the Globe is not lack of realism—the Rose Rage costumes were anything but realistic—but lack of iconographic meaning. The Rose Rage set and costumes were a visual poetry that addressed us powerfully, while the Globe equivalents stammered and whimpered.

The visual iconography continued throughout the two-part production. All the violence (and these are very violent plays) was stylized, mimed to drumbeats or depicted purely symbolically. Beheadings were done by chopping red cabbages! Battles were presented by having the men in white coats chopping up real animal entrails. This may sound a bit obvious, but what else is war about, if not slaughter? I had been reading Stephen E. Ambrose's recent book on D-day, which draws on many oral histories; again and again, men speak of body parts floating in the sea, or a human head rolling down a street. The offal in Rose Rage was not just some bright directorial notion, but a potent reminder of the horrid reality of warfare.

Despite the strong visual elements in Rose Rage, Hall, like Trevor Nunn, showed himself to be an actors' as well as a designers' director. Shakespeare's early history plays were written before his association with Richard Burbage, which may be the reason they are more ensemble pieces than star vehicles like the great tragedies to come. Hall has been working with a regular male ensemble of actors—known as Propeller—for five years, based at the Watermill West Berkshire Playhouse, but touring all over the UK and occasionally venturing abroad. The ensemble work shows. The cast worked beautifully together, with the looks between actors often telling more than their words. Not that they spoke poorly; their verse work was excellent, as good as at the Globe, where speech is the one good thing going for it. This reflects Hall's announced goal, to perform Shakespeare with a contemporary aesthetic while maintaining emphasis on the spoken word. Edward Hall is a young director to watch out for; I can only wish that the Globe is looking and listening.