Historical fiction is given life in Showtime's The Tudors. The sex and politics-driven series is sure to draw Canadians in its new 9pm time slot, Tuesdays on CBC.
Equal parts fact and fiction, Showtime’s The Tudors delivers apt performances and heavy doses of sex and betrayal. For those who missed the first season of The Tudors on Showtime, it is now airing in its entirety on Canadian network, CBC. The series stars Jonathan Rhys Meyers (Match Point) as Henry VIII, Sam Neill (Jurassic Park) as Cardinal Wosley, Jeremy Northam (Emma) as Sir Thomas More, and Canadian Henry Czerny as Norfolk. Irish actress Maria Doyle Kennedy (The Commitments) affects a Spanish accent as Henry’s first wife, Catherine of Aragon, and Natalie Dormer (Casanova) plays wife-to-be Anne Boleyn.
The historical figures are in place, and one can assume that key moments in British history will be touched on. However, it is the in between that the show will inevitably skew, and has already begun to. The first episode opens with the murder of Henry’s uncle—Ides of March-style—by French assailants. Historically speaking, Henry did not have an uncle, but the fabrication serves to communicate the hostility between the French and English. Past box office and television ratings success tells us that fiction mixed with fact is not necessarily a bad thing. HBO’s critically acclaimed and award-winning Rome, for one, is known for being factually inaccurate at times; 1996 Best Picture winner, Braveheart, was terrifically inaccurate, but still managed to draw audiences. The viewers who have thus far made The Tudors a success are obviously not in the market for a documentary.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers, who thankfully keeps his Irish accent—there is no evidence of how the English accent actually sounded at the time—portrays two character-types very well: the slightly insane, and the slightly effeminate ladies man a la Match Point and Bend it Like Beckham. Although he manages to dull down his typical acting traits as Henry VIII, for the first half of the seasons premiere, he simply manages to be dull: a quivering lip denotes his anger and pain when his uncle is killed, and his skills as an actor are no more drawn upon in sex scenes involving Henry and more than one lady in waiting. However, the second half of the episode provides the actor with more substance.
After mostly romping and raging, Rhys Meyers begins to show deeper emotion, most notably, when the king worries aloud in a confessional—are those tears?—about whether he has been punished for marrying his dead brother’s wife. Catherine of Aragon, 7 years older than Henry, was married first to Henry’s brother, Arthur; he died shortly after, and she claimed the marriage was never consummated. Catherine’s inability to produce a living male heir—she had one son that died after only a few weeks of life—leads Henry to believe that she is lying. Portraying the sadness, suspicion, and anxiety surrounding the marriage are where both Rhys Meyers and Doyle Kennedy, looking her character’s age, surprise and excel. Viewers can look forward to a more intimate introduction to Anne Boleyn, played by relative newcomer Dormer, in the next episode of The Tudors.
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