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The play of Hadrian VII; based on Hadrian the Seventh and other works by Fr. Rolfe (Baron Corvo).
The Play of Hadrian VII, which has enjoyed a highly successful run on the West End stage, is Peter Luke's adaptation of the brilliant fantasy-autobiography of Fr. Rolfe, also known as Baron Corvo.
Rolfe's novel was an upsurge of twenty years of bitterness and frustration against the Roman Church for its refusal to accept him as a priest. In this theatrical version Peter Luke catches the mordant, almost perverse humour of the original, and adds a strong dramatic sense to an already powerful fantasy: the story of Rolfe's elevation to the Papacy and the command of the very hierarchy that had rejected him, of his threat to destroy the temporal power of the Church, and of his highly ambiguous end.
Rolfe's novel was an upsurge of twenty years of bitterness and frustration against the Roman Church for its refusal to accept him as a priest. In this theatrical version Peter Luke catches the mordant, almost perverse humour of the original, and adds a strong dramatic sense to an already powerful fantasy: the story of Rolfe's elevation to the Papacy and the command of the very hierarchy that had rejected him, of his threat to destroy the temporal power of the Church, and of his highly ambiguous end.
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First published January 1, 1968
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
June 17, 2025
The Play of Hadrian VII is a good example of a work that was highly successful in its original production but is now almost impossible to imagine being revived. An adaptation of a baroque Edwardian cult novel, it was an enormous hit in London and New York in the late 1960s. Reading the play today, it’s hard to see why.
The structure is broken-backed: the first act is pure exposition and character introduction, ending on an admittedly great (if implausible) curtain – the election of a failed candidate for the priesthood to the papacy. The second act is diffuse. We see the now Pope Hadrian divesting the Church of its temporal power and wealth, humbling his prideful clergy, taking an interest in a young seminarian who reminds him of himself, and falling victim to a plot by an evil Ulster Protestant.
None of the characters, who promise a Jonsonian energy that is never delivered, are particularly well established; none of the scenes strike the reader as ripe for theatrical gold. The stakes feel low, and there is little narrative tension. It must have been the sheer power of Alec McCowen’s performance that elevated this rather poor piece to its initial success. McCowen could read the proverbial telephone directory to acclaim, though he usually chose better material (I once saw him perform St Mark’s Gospel from memory).
Its subsequent life has been extremely limited. The only major revival was at Chichester in the 1990s with Derek Jacobi, which didn’t come into town. The best that can be said of the play is that it raises interest in the original novel’s author, “Baron Corvo”, who by all accounts was an extraordinary writer. Peter Luke, who was responsible for the adaptation, was rather less so.
The structure is broken-backed: the first act is pure exposition and character introduction, ending on an admittedly great (if implausible) curtain – the election of a failed candidate for the priesthood to the papacy. The second act is diffuse. We see the now Pope Hadrian divesting the Church of its temporal power and wealth, humbling his prideful clergy, taking an interest in a young seminarian who reminds him of himself, and falling victim to a plot by an evil Ulster Protestant.
None of the characters, who promise a Jonsonian energy that is never delivered, are particularly well established; none of the scenes strike the reader as ripe for theatrical gold. The stakes feel low, and there is little narrative tension. It must have been the sheer power of Alec McCowen’s performance that elevated this rather poor piece to its initial success. McCowen could read the proverbial telephone directory to acclaim, though he usually chose better material (I once saw him perform St Mark’s Gospel from memory).
Its subsequent life has been extremely limited. The only major revival was at Chichester in the 1990s with Derek Jacobi, which didn’t come into town. The best that can be said of the play is that it raises interest in the original novel’s author, “Baron Corvo”, who by all accounts was an extraordinary writer. Peter Luke, who was responsible for the adaptation, was rather less so.
September 11, 2015
Perfect play to read on a crappy, rainy day. Play within a play. Some unexpected twists. A murder with no murder.
With finely crafted lines like this, what's not to like?
Act 2, Scene 5
Hadrian (looking around and sniffing): Still the same smell. The inevitable odor of hot boy.
Act 2, Scene 6
Agnes: These your chairs, are they?
Hadrian: Well, I suppose they go with the job.
Act 2, Scene 6
Hadrian: My Lord Cardinal, in every fat priest, there is always a bony martyr crying out for Beautitude.
With finely crafted lines like this, what's not to like?
Act 2, Scene 5
Hadrian (looking around and sniffing): Still the same smell. The inevitable odor of hot boy.
Act 2, Scene 6
Agnes: These your chairs, are they?
Hadrian: Well, I suppose they go with the job.
Act 2, Scene 6
Hadrian: My Lord Cardinal, in every fat priest, there is always a bony martyr crying out for Beautitude.
January 21, 2016
Enjoyable, but not as good as Rolfe's Hadrian the Seventh.
June 22, 2016
Fully fleshed-out characters, and an engaging story.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews