The Other Boleyn Girl, Chichester, review: a serviceable start to a new artistic reign

The late Hilary Mantel made her name and catapulted Thomas Cromwell to the forefront of our attention with Wolf Hall in 2009. Around that time, the US series The Tudors also continued to blow the scholarly dust off Henry VIII et al, with its bodice-ripping welter of intrigue.

But ahead of the curve this century was Philippa Gregory whose 2001 novel The Other Boleyn Girl alighted on the lesser-known, almost forgotten figure of Mary Boleyn, elder sister of Anne. A (married) mistress of the not-so-good king Henry, she got discarded but also reprieved – outliving her sibling’s rise and bloody, history-making exit. Taking us into the thrusting, machinating heart of the Boleyn family was an inspired stroke, and prompted starry BBC TV (2003) and film (2008) versions.

Now, helping to launch Justin Audibert’s inaugural season as artistic director at Chichester, Mike Poulton – who did the acclaimed RSC adaptation of Wolf Hall and Bringing Up the Bodies – brings his expert eye to the story, distilling it into a solid three-hour drama. You could argue that the period – and this slant on it – is now so familiar as to breed contempt. But while it’s hard to hail the evening as game-changing, it valuably replays the hazardous game the Boleyns got embroiled in and argues that independent-minded Mary managed to win on her own terms.

At the outset, Lucy Phelps’s “other Boleyn” exists in a half-life, at the beck and call of his majesty’s libido, with her cuckolded husband a bit-player. Adding to the dysfunction, there’s her brother George (James Corrigan), forced to marry, be discreet about his sexuality, and inclined to incest with Anne (Gregory did her research but takes imaginative leaps). “Beds are business ventures,” states their cold-hearted mother (Alex Kingston – to the lofty manor, or Hever Castle, born). But it’s Anne – Freya Mavor, at once ardent and Boleynishly chilly – who catches Henry’s eye, as wife number one Catherine of Aragon’s status dips in accordance with her fertility.

Lucy Bailey’s bustling period production, with a pit-like, hexagonal acting space, is visually commanding. It’s also slow-burn. Poulton’s description of the story as a “chamber-piece” is apt. It’s not that it’s grossly over-exposed on the main-stage, just that the Tudor court looks sketchy; the skulking background figures seem decorative. Henry’s rule fascinates because the body politic was so affected by corporeal matters: yet James Atherton’s Holbein-esque Henry threatens to dwindle to a manly stance and a hunting accident.

Still, the stark divergence in the sisters’ fortunes is astutely – and poignantly – delineated. Anne begins by asserting “I was born to rule” – and comes to rue what she wished for, morphing into a beast of burden, depleted by pregnancies, praying that she never has to wake up. Phelps, a riveting stage presence, handles the ferocity of Mary’s increasing alienation from Anne and the blossoming, redemptive romance with lowly William Stafford (Oscar Batterham) with equal finesse. It’s not exactly a romp, nor quite a play of ideas. Still, compared to the anachronistic noise-fest of Six the Musical, it’s canny, serious-minded fare that augurs well for Audibert’s reign.

Until May 11. Tickets: 01243 781312; cft.org.uk

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