Seeing Henry IV is somewhat like entering a theatre late and leaving it early: one comes after the plot has been set in motion and does not stay to see it resolved. And so, one complaint about the Phoenix Theatre productions of the second and third parts of the tetralogy is external to the productions themselves--they are not preceded by Richard II and, short of a trip to Central Park for Joseph Papp's production, one cannot see Henry V after Part II. In these circumstances, it is all the more remarkable that Stuart Vaughan has achieved balanced and memorable productions of the great chronicle plays.

The usual reaction to mention of Henry IV is to think first of Falstaff (and the Cambridge Drama Festival has chosen a drawing of him for its poster) and second of politics. But these plays are less about drinking sack and more about ruling England (and Falstaff wants nothing to do with that, save as it gives him a chance to abuse the King's press and line his pockets with silver and his belly with food and wine.

First we see Richard II, a ruler who is unjust and arbitrary, but with unquestioned title to the throne. Then Henry IV: a fair and wise king, whose attempts to rule are thwarted by the manner in which he reached the throne. And finally, one who combines all the elements necessary for successful rule, Henry V.

The two parts of Henry IV thus concern themselves with the failure of one king, and the development of another. In these productions, the excellence of Fritz Weaver as Henry and Edwin Sherin's more than competent Prince Hall combine with Eric Berry's somewhat unsatisfactory Falstaff to show the plays in this light despite the missing context of the two other plays.

Weaver's King has a sombre majesty of such impressiveness that when Douglas says "I fear thou art another counterfeit;/And yet, in faith, thou bearest thee like a king," we nod in inward and compelled assent. His face bears the signs of his shaken age, "wan with care," and there is a poignancy to his recurring mention of his desire to embark on a Crusade that becomes near unbearable when the dying King asks to be carried to the Jerusalem Chamber: It hath been prophesied to me many years I should not die but in Jerusalem, Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land. But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie. In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.

Weaver uses his hands as intelligently and skillfully as he does his face and voice. It is in their taut anguish that we perceive his double burden of worry about his kingdom and his son and it is the slow pounding with clenched fist that tells us what his apoplexy means to him, dying still worried about Hal's fitness for the throne. His performance moves me to hope, as Caldwell Titcomb did last week after Carnovsky's Prospero, that Weaver will have a chance to play Lear.

Edwin Sherin's Prince Hai does not reach the heights of Weaver's performance, but then, the role hardly permits it. His chief asset is a face that combines an appealing boyishness with intelligent solemnity, the latter growing as the plays progress. He moves well and his voice handles verse cleanly and expressively. Particularly impressive in the tavern scenes, where he manages to retain his stature as Prince and heir to the throne even in the Boar's Head atmosphere, he excels in Henry's death scene, where he matches Weaver's virtuosity.

A few minor errors and one major failure mar Eric Berry's Falstaff: The small things are almost petty, but they make a difference. To cite one only, Berry has been made up with eyebrows that appear perpetually raised and slightly turned up at the outside ends. Thus he looks always surprised and quizzical. Surely, Falstaff is at heart not a questioner: he cares not for the future, lives entirely in the present (Hal's first words to him are "What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day?") and accepts that present without surprise or query. The eyebrows set a false tone that, in a small way, throws off Berry's performance.

More important, Berry stays too much at the surface of the role. In the case of Falstaff, surface bulks large, and Berry satisfactorily pads himself out and gives us the lovable fat knight. But he does not attempt the more difficult task of showing us Falstaff in all his unlovely reality--he is, after all, a coward, a thief, an abuser of the right of conscription--and after making us realize all this, bringing out the spirit that still makes him "sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff."

Ray Reinhardt plays Hotspur at too high a pitch, Impetuosity, excitement, and vigor would suffice but he gives us an overwrought, almost frantic, interpretation that lacks all subtlety. Hotspur's ineptness was matched by Franklin Cover's Owen Glendower. The splendid and famous interchange between the two--"I can call spirits from the vasty deep." "Why, so can I, or so can any man;/But will they come when you do call for them?"--has no life and no wit, save what is in the lines. Reinhardt as Pistol in the second part shows greater understanding of his role, and provides several amusing moments.

The assorted lords and ladies are competently rendered, although only Elliott Sullivan's North-umberland and Pirie MacDonald's Douglas merit note. The latter is as Scots as an Edinburgh scone and a delight to hear. Falstaff's company remain in the memory longer than the nobility do--a slatternly Mistress Quickly (Alice Drummond), a frowsy and frazzled Doll Tearsheet (Patricia Falkenhain), a red faced, guileless Bardolph (Dana Elcar).

Justices Shallow and Silence provide two carefully done character vignettes. Except for a lapse into poor taste in excessive use of a palsied hand, Franklin Cover's feeble old Silence complements splendidly John Heffernan's Shallow, garrulous and in his dotage. Heffernan, in the first part, brings his talent to the role of Francis, the waiter. Caught between two masters calling for him, he looked for all the world like the proverbial ass, stranded midway between two bales of hay.

Will Steven Armstrong's setting has familiar virtues and is always a pleasure to see. His costumes are less successful. Most are satisfactory and one brilliant, but what is splendid for Rumor, the Presenter and Epilogue in the second part, is on the wrong track for too many others. He has too often costumed, not clothed, and--except for the fantastical Rumour--this just fails. Some of his soldiers wear heraldic outfits, which for some reason makes them look like figures out of Tenniel's illustrations for Alice. Glendower looks as if he might glow in the dark. Messengers arrive from arduous journeys looking neat and clean. In contrast to the uneveness of Armstrong's work is David Amram's uniformly fine music, highlighted by a charming Welsh song.

Stuart Vaughan's directing usually shows a sure hand, but, to switch extremities, he makes one false step. Part One ends with an overly theatrical addition: soldiers kneel in a hollow halfcircle, facing inward with banners flying, and cheer several times: "For England and Saint George!.!" This might come off after Henry V, but Henry IV: I does not end on a note that can sustain a gesture such as Vaughan has added to the script. Except for this mistake, Vaughan's staging always enhances Shakespeare and shows his willingness to trust the plays, a welcome change from the fooling-around and gimcackery that characterizes many American Shakespeare productions.

[Since last year the CDF has changed the sound system at McBAC and it is now possible to hear well from all parts of the tent. There is a special student rate of $150 on Sundays and Tuesday through Thursday. Best remaining seats will be sold at the box office to properly identified Summer School students one hour before performance time.]