Wolf Hall: The Mirror and The Light - Review

Rating: 5 out of 5

IT'S been almost 10 years since the BBC aired the first part of Wolf Hall, which covered the first two books in Hilary Mantel's trilogy about Thomas Cromwell and his relationship with King Henry VIII. Now, it completes the journey in quietly mesmerising fashion with the final chapter [or book], The Mirror & The Light.

And just as that first series garnered serious acclaim, so too does this finale - a meticulously crafted, emotionally complex and surprisingly moving insight into a key passage of Tudor history.

Picking up in the aftermath of the execution of Anne Boleyn, The Mirror & The Light follows Cromwell as he plots to marry Henry to Jane Seymour, in the hope of securing the king his long coveted male heir. By the time it concludes, Cromwell will have fallen from Henry's favour and be facing his own reckoning with the axeman.

Yet while history buffs will doubtless know what lies in store, along with the many machinations that take place along the way, Wolf Hall's mastery of its subject matter makes for fiercely compelling viewing - so much so that nothing seems as certain as you know, instinctively, that it is.

Part of the reason for this lies with Peter Straughan's thoughtful, wily script, which does a great job of playing its cards close to its chest (much in the same way that Cromwell does), while also lending its events a contemporary resonance befitting the commentary (or mirror) it offers on modern politics (especially in light of Trump's second coming).

But it's also down to the masterful performance of leading man Mary Rylance, whose enigmatic portrayal of Cromwell leans towards courting audience sympathy without shying away from the devastating cost of many of his deeds - self-serving or otherwise.

His intepretation of Cromwell is multi-faceted and genuinely complex. He is an engima within a puzzle. A clever man, even arrogant at times. Yet mostly careful never to overplay his hand or give too much away, mindful of the wolves with which he walks.

And yet there's a fragility lurking somewhere beneath the surface too, born out of his relationship with the late Cardinal Wolsey (Jonathan Pryce), who appears to him throughout this series as both a confidant and a conscience. There's a keen sense of loss and regret attached to the two men, which offers a glimpse into Cromwell as a tortured soul - mindful of his blind devotion to Henry VIII and his possible betrayal and abandonment of his one-time religious master and adviser.

Rylance channels all of this so well - expressing so much with a quiet look, whether of hurt or disdain. He's quietly charismatic and charming when he needs to be, paternal at other times, yet capable of giving as good as he gets in verbal jousts with his fellow courtiers. When he does offer a rare outburst of anger, the break from his usual calm, calculated demeanour is striking.

This is a masterclass from Rylance - fully deserving of the many accolades that will surely be coming his way.

Yet there's fantastic support too. The aforementioned Pryce is similarly clandestine in the type of role that he offers to Cromwell - be it imagined comradeship or feared judgement. The actor imbues him with just the right amount of uncertainty, allowing viewers to interpret from his looks what they want.

Damian Lewis, too, is magnificent as Henry - by turns self-aggrandising, volatile, arrogant and angry. He has the charisma, even if the looks have started to fade and the jousting injury is taking its toll. But there's a sustained danger to him, coupled with an almost child-like ego, that nods towards modern-day Trump while tapping into the fascination and appeal that sustains his place in history as one of the most interesting rulers to sit on an English throne.

The cast is immense - but everyone is afforded the chance to shine thanks to the appropriate pacing of Peter Kosminsky's measured direction, which establishes a meticulous eye for period detail from the outset, as well as a shrewd awareness of pace. This is a slow-boiler, for sure, yet deservedly so. It creates the room needed for his performers to dazzle, is seldom showy, yet astute and incredibly tense when it needs to be.

The final episode, in particular, delivers two memorable and lengthy scenes of Cromwell being interrogated by his persecutors, which creates an incredible tension and gives rise to some scintillating performances. Yet when the dust settles, there's also consequence and regret beneath the skullduggery and betrayal.

Here, the likes of Timothy Spall (as the powerful Duke of Norfolk), Harry Melling (the turncoat Thomas Wriothesley) and Thomas Brodie-Sangster (the sympathetic Rafe Sadler) all contribute memorably to the sense of tragedy on display.

The women, too, contribute memorable support - from Lily Lesser's diplomatic Princess Mary (whose fate would so often hang on Cromwell's political skill), to Hannah Khalique Brown's Dorothea (Wolsey's illegitmate daughter), who delivers a memorable scolding to Cromwell early on. 

Indeed, there is an embarrassment of riches throughout this adaptation of Hilary Mantel's book that it would be easy to run out of superlatives. Suffice to say, it stands among the finest of TV shows from throughout the ages, comparable to the likes of Succession and Shogun for the way in which it captivates from start to finish.