Edward II review: The real-life downfall of England’s gay king – told through a daringly modern lens

It seemed like every literary gay in Warwickshire and the surrounding counties – plus Sir Ian McKellen! – was out in force in Stratford-upon-Avon last week, for press night of the Royal Shakespeare Company‘s first new production of Edward II since 1990.

Having arrived early, Attitude got a good look at all of them: upon entering the auditorium, attendees were invited to process around the coffin of the deceased Edward I. Although the ushers, torn between efficiency and immersion, seemed unsure whether to guide or deter us. Nevertheless, the pomp and circumstance – we fought the urge to steal a very realistic looking crown – was intoxicating, and the opportunity to play the actor thrilling, like breaking the fourth wall in reverse.

On ‘curtain up’, we were plunged into darkness, as the action jolted several levels above the stage, to a different kind of royalty. The self-appointed kind: a gaggle of A-gays in V section-skimming towels, Herculean torsos glistening with sauna steam, reacting to news of the king’s death. Their queen bee? Piers Gaveston, ‘favourite’ nobleman of Edward I’s son, who will become England’s most infamously queer-coded monarch (read: almost certainly gay), King Edward II. We’re minutes in, and we’re sold.

Suffice to say, this isn’t The Crown circa 1327, but a bold spin on extreme, historical homophobia, complete with paparazzi flashes and supermodel-ready minimalist fashion. (Queen Isabella’s wardrobe is a vibe.) The production’s seamless fusion of past and present forces unsettling questions about modern society, and how it might instinctively and inexorably reject – no matter the law of the land, no matter the pervasiveness of Drag Race in that particular country – a publicly gay sovereign like a body rejecting a foreign organ. Perhaps the production should have asked these questions with even blunter force.

Then again, context must be respected. We don’t use the words ‘historical gay play’ often –there aren’t millions, pre-The Boys In the Band, after all – but the descriptor truly applies here. The gumption of playwright Christopher Marlowe to write something so balls-to-the-wall queer in the year 1592 is to be marvelled at. Hence the turnout, hence the unforgettable introduction, hence RSC Co-Artistic Director Daniel Evans being tempted back to the stage after a 14-year absence, and in the titular role no less – an event in and of itself.

Not that the raw material is perfect. The 3.5-hour running time, like its title, is bombastically excessive. (The title? The Troublesome Reign and Lamentable Death of Edward the Second, King of England, with the Tragical Fall of Proud Mortimer.) By predictable contrast, most of William Shakespeare’s play titles were two to six words… “Brevity is the soul of wit” and all. (Such comparisons are inevitable, primarily because Stratford-upon-Avon was The Bard’s hometown–we can’t recommend enough the storybook beauty and knowledgable guides of Shakespeare’s Birthplace, followed by Anne Hathaway’s Cottage, where Wills and his future wife first courted – and also because he and Marlowe were contemporaries, with Richard II said to have influenced Edward II. The fact experts have long suggested both men were far from straight, meanwhile, is giving us ideas for a Shakespeare In Love sequel!)

But where Shakespeare’s language is musical and transportive, even if you don’t understand it, Marlowe’s may prove an impenetrable endurance test. Thankfully, director Daniel Raggett condenses the action into a brisk one hour and 40 minutes without interval, and the expansive cast performs it with such uniform passion and expression, you could follow the plot even in silence.

Gaveston is played with cocksure confidence, and later unbearable pathos, by Eloka Ivo: a more than convincing object of Edward’s lovesick affection. Elsewhere, the brooding Stavros Demetraki is a standout as Spencer, almost an extension of Gaveston himself (are they ex-lovers, perhaps?) in that ‘pack mentality’ manner apparent in some gays even today. Kwaku Mills plays in a refreshingly gentler key as Gaveston’s friend Baldock, one of the only characters permitted to express vulnerability, as opposed to the full throttle defensiveness especially pervasive among the straight male characters, who we at times struggled to differentiate from each other. When the temperature verged on hysterical, an understated Ruta Gedmintas tempered things as ice Queen Isabella.

If the ridiculousness of it all tries your patience, remember, truth might just be stranger than fiction: scholars are still debating whether King Edward, publicly disgraced after shattering his glass closet, was indeed assassinated after a red hot poker was inserted into his anus. That the play sticks such a landing, while lending dignity to its central antihero, is largely down to its central star.

Quite where Evans gets the energy to moonlight on top of his day job is beyond us. The role demands everything – body, voice, and mind – and he attacks it with relentless intensity. Often topless, he navigates group fighting scenes with technical aplomb, and writhes in a muddy pit that materialises from nowhere, howling with blood-soaked devastation. This state of near-constant man-child melodrama (remind you of anyone?) could have descended into farce, but remains decidedly tragicomic, if not humbling. Had the real-life Edward II played his hand differently, where might we be today? Then again, did he ever really have a choice?

Edward II runs in the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon until 5 April. Ticket info: rsc.org.uk.