Richard II review: Jonathan Bailey’s wickedly charismatic king rules the Bridge Theatre
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Sian McBride
Guys and dolls have made way for kings and dukes at the Bridge Theatre, where Jonathan Bailey rules in his first stage role since Wicked and Bridgerton fame.
No stranger to Shakespeare (Bailey trod the boards with the RSC long before he walked down the Yellow Brick Road in Wicked), the Olivier award-winner appears centre stage, bathed in a decadent glow of light from three large crystal chandeliers - a false halo cast over him. The titular character in the lesser performed ‘Henriads’, Richard II (Bailey), believes he’s Jesus. That he is of divine right. But when we see the angelic image quickly dispel as he steps out of the light and stalks downstage (or upstage, it is in-the-round afterall) to claim his crown, we see he’s simply delusional.
Sitting in a sea of black and gold furniture, grandiose and ostentatious. The decor, chosen by set designer Bob Crowley, could quite easily fit into a hotel room in Trump Tower. This visual parallel sets the tone for a king who, like President Trump, craves admiration and notoriety above all else, shifting opinions to curry favor or simply to alleviate his own boredom. Bailey’s Richard is intoxicated by his own divine right, dismissive of his advisors, and blinded by entitlement—a dangerous cocktail that ultimately sets in motion his downfall. When he banishes his cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, and seizes his inheritance from his uncle's hospital bed (and celebrates by scoffing the dead man's grapes) the cracks in his rule begin to show, paving the way for rebellion.
Grant Olding’s music, reminiscent at times of Nicholas Britell’s Succession theme, underscores the fragile morality and dubious judgment of the powerful elite, amplifying the sense of impending doom as Richard's reign unravels. As the play progresses, the soft furnishings are stripped away, mirroring Richard’s psychological disintegration. The chandeliers vanish, replaced by a stark, clinical square of light. The house lights are raised, exposing the audience and symbolically laying bare Richard's vulnerabilities and emotions. He is no longer the king of England but its mere landlord, clinging desperately to power as Bolingbroke’s forces rise against him.
Bailey's portrayal is layered and multifaceted. His eyes, often twinkling with mischief, belie his increasingly erratic behavior. His movements, jittery and spiky one moment and filled with a slow and calculated coolness the next, is both unnerving and compelling. In a particularly striking moment, when Richard steps onto Gloucestershire’s rubbish-laden soil upon returning from Ireland, his eyes glisten with tears of joy. But is this a genuine display of love for his land, or a sarcastic outburst from a man unraveling under the weight of his own folly?
The figurative battle for the crown is matched by a literal fight for the headpiece, grounding the play's themes in physicality. When Richard is asked to return the crown, Bailey plays the moment with comedic, childlike, defiance, thrusting it high above his head before pressing it against his chest, like a petulant heir refusing to share his toys. His mockery continues as he is asked to read his documented crimes. Crying out, “I cannot read it... my eyes are full of tears,” despite them being bone dry. He refuses to conform to the expectations placed upon him, exposing his self-pity.
Bailey's return to the stage is nothing short of triumphant. With his razor-sharp delivery and mercurial presence, he proves he is not just a star name but a true theatrical force. Long live the king.
Richard II plays at the Bridge Theatre until 10 May 2025.