Howard Brenton’s 55 Days, debuting at Hampstead Theatre in
2012, explores a pivotal moment in English history: the fifty-five days from
the New Model Army’s takeover of Parliament to King Charles I’s execution in
January 1649. Brenton clearly states his goal early on — “We are not just
trying a tyrant, we are inventing a country” — and the play largely succeeds in
making this idea convincing. Though it is less than a hundred pages, 55 Days
encapsulates a much larger historical scope, including the fall of the Stuart
monarchy, the division within the parliamentary-military alliance, and the rise
of an English republic.
Cromwell, Charles, and the Drama of Reluctant Regicide
Brenton correctly emphasizes the connection between Cromwell
and Charles as the core of the play. Historically, Cromwell was one of the last
in the Parliamentary leadership to believe that executing the King was
inevitable; during much of the Civil War, he favored a negotiated settlement
that could have kept the monarchy intact in a constitutional form. Brenton
effectively portrays this hesitation, illustrating that regicide was not the
original aim of the war but resulted from Charles’s refusal to accept any
restrictions on his authority.
Brenton's most significant liberty is his depiction of a
face-to-face meeting between Cromwell and Charles during the trial, a scene
that never actually happened. Such dramatic inventions have a long history,
from Schiller’s Mary Stuart onwards, and Brenton employs it to heighten the
tension. The issue isn't the invention itself but its impact: it risks turning
a massive social and political upheaval into a private clash between two
consciences. Cromwell’s restraint in late 1648 was influenced more by the
complex power dynamics he faced, including an army radicalised beyond
Parliament and a Leveller movement even more radicalised than the army. The
play is most powerful when it hints at these broader pressures; it weakens when
it reduces the conflict to personal psychology.
History as a Mirror of the Present
Brenton consistently uses historical drama to shed light on
current political issues, and 55 Days follows this tradition. The play is
rooted in a Brechtian approach where history is presented not as mere costume
theater but as a debate on political action. While audiences unfamiliar with
the period’s factions—Presbyterians, Independents, Levellers—might find it
challenging, those willing to engage with the play discover a dynamic work that
presents the English Revolution as an ongoing, relevant question rather than
just a historical exhibit.
Brenton’s depiction of the regicide is largely historically
accurate. He portrays the execution not as an act of personal revenge or
religious justice, but as a crucial step for the emerging bourgeois class to
eliminate the final barrier to consolidating their power. This represents the
play’s most significant historical point, and Brenton openly acknowledges it.
The Levellers and Brenton’s Politics
The play notably includes John Lilburne and the Leveller
movement, challenging many modern historical narratives that tend to underplay
their significance. Brenton grants them a voice but moderates their political
stance: notably, Lilburne’s opposition to regicide is left out, which could
have intensified the drama rather than diminished it. Brenton’s sympathies are
apparent in his work with Tariq Ali in the late 1990s, and the criticism from
the British press over his satire of the Blair government has influenced his
reputation. 55 Days reflects these commitments, emphasising the revolutionary
nature of 1649 and resisting the conservative view that treats the period as
merely a constitutional curiosity.
The mixed costuming in the Hampstead production—Charles
wearing a Stuart collar and carrying a cane, while Cromwell and others sport
clothing reminiscent of the 1940s—was criticized, yet it can be justified as
highlighting the bourgeois nature of Parliament in contrast to the lingering
feudalism of the Crown. Although this symbolism may not fully align with
current scholarship, it effectively fulfills its theatrical role.
Conclusion: Remembering the Revolution
55 Days is not a flawless history play. Its central
invented scene risks personalising a conflict rooted in class forces rather
than individual conscience. Yet Brenton remains a serious dramatist, and his
willingness to treat the English Revolution as a revolution — rather than as an
aberration or a constitutional dispute — is itself a political act. He has
recalled being told by a Frenchman that the English seem to have forgotten they
had a revolution at all. 55 Days attempts to correct that forgetting. Modern
English society, and many of its historians, remain reluctant to reckon with
1649 as a revolution in the full sense. A play willing to insist otherwise,
whatever its dramatic compromises, performs a genuine service.
