Iain Glen is a van Dyck portrait come to
life in this condensation of Schiller’s three (or two and a half) plays
about the Habsburg military leader of the Thirty Years War. It is not
simply his appearance, with luxuriant moustache, trimmed beard and
period military officer’s garb. His manner, too, is not quite
swashbuckling nor yet reckless, but… there is no better word than
cavalier: this Wallenstein,
provided only that his stars are favourable, is supremely confident
both of his own military ability and of his men’s loyalty to him.
Although he is aware of factionalism against him in the court at
Vienna, nothing seriously dents his self-assurance, even as he prepares
to desert the Holy Roman Emperor and ally with the enemy Swedes in
order to obtain the throne of Bohemia, which is after all no more than
the emperor has promised him. So it is that an effective first-half
cliff-hanger can be fashioned not out of a momentous military event but
simply his sudden realisation that he has been manoeuvred into a
position where, one way or the other, he can only lose.
This is one of Schiller’s high-Romantic historical tragedies in which
moral and political issues come together in a crisis for some towering
figure. Mike Poulton has form as a translator of such plays, having
already tackled the same author’s
Don
Carlos and
Mary Stuart.
He ably captures the passion and idealism in the various characters’
major speeches without making them sound airy-fairy. It is only in the
latter stages that interest flags, when Wallenstein’s downfall is
inevitable and it is merely a matter of when, where and at whose hand
he falls. Angus Jackson’s focused production can carry us through the
thicket of military officers’ names and shifting allegiances, but not
so fluently down the long ramp to the general’s ultimate fate. Once his
dear protégé Max (Max Irons, son of Jeremy, in his
professional stage début) decides that loyalty to the Emperor
must outweigh his love both of Wallenstein and of his daughter, much of
the human drama dissipates; the tactics of Charlotte Emmerson as
Wallenstein’s sister-in-law have succeeded, and Max himself dies
offstage. Wallenstein’s own murder, and the subsequent elevation of his
nemesis (Max’s father) to a Dukedom, come as a grim but somehow almost
perfunctory ending.
Written for the Financial
Times.