The Cutprice Guignol

Well, here we are: at the end of Wolf Hall.

I know that it’s a bit of a cliché to talk about how bloody brilliant this show is, but we have to, don’t we? It might have taken ten years to wring twelve episodes out of ’em, but the production behind Wolf Hall delivered what, for me, is one of the best pieces of historical fiction of all time. The performances, the writing, the pacing, the production design, all of it – every episode is a proper feast, and this finale, Light, is no exception.

Much of the episode – and probably its most compelling sections, at least for me – is dedicated to what basically functions as a courtroom drama, as Cromwell attempts to disprove the accusations aimed at him. And if you wanted to distil Wolf Hall, in all its complexity, down to the core of the show, I’d say it’s best-represented here – the taut, pointed dialogue, the layers of political intrigue that drape the whole thing, Rylance’s dominating and confident performance, even in the face of the fate he knows is basically already upon him. Cromwell is not necessarily fighting for his life here, though he holds out hope the King will grant him a pardon – no, he’s fighting to prove his accusers wrong, to remind him that, while they might see him dead, he’s done nothing to warrant it. Like so many of the decisions he’s made over the course of his career, it’s not one based on justice or truth, it’s one based on serving the political goals of the people who can claw out the most power.

Of course, this episode has to take a moment to reflect on Anne, who’s been the spectre haunting Cromwell since the start of this season. In a conversation with the Duke of Suffolk, Cromwell comments on the changes he’s made to a tapestry that once depicted Anne – changing her hair and eyes after her death, scrubbing her from the court as he did in real life. When Suffolk asks him if he did it personally, he assures him that he has professionals do it; Anne’s death was professional for him, as his will be for many of those who are choosing to aid in his downfall. After a tense confrontation with the bishop (Alex Jennings), the two of them share an almost friendly conversation about the imminent marriage of Catherine Howard to the King – a stark contrast to the harm he’s doing to him.

And we do get a brief glimpse of the King in this episode, as Henry fails to take up Cromwell’s attempts to save his own life. While I feel like last week’s episode was really the one that got into the depth of Cromwell and Henry’s relationship, this was a great send-off for the character, and for Damien Lewis’ performance – asking to hear again Cromwell’s assertion that he would allow the King to live as a young man as he could, as childishly removed from the reality of this situation as he can be.

With the end of Cromwell’s story imminent, Light leaves us with an interesting epilogue in the form of two of his proteges: Sadler (Thomas Brodie-Sangster) and Wriothesley (Harry Melling). Now, Brodie-Sangster as Sadler has always been a reliably great part of the show, but often quite a functional one – while he’s always good, he was rarely the most memorable part of any given episode. But this? This might be Brodie-Sangster’s best performance in the whole show, as he does everything he can to keep Cromwell from the very literal chopping block. Like Cromwell, he’s been measured, careful, controlled for so long, but here, faced with the loss of a man so important to him, he breaks down. The reality of the situation really begins to sink in when Sadler cries in Cromwell’s arms after the King rejects his pleas for clemency – the contrast between this performance versus those that Brodie-Sangster has put in across the season so far, this moment of raw emotion after so much restraint, really drives the point home in what I found to be the most affecting moment of the episode.

As for Wriothesley – well, he and Cromwell have a markedly less fond farewell. Though there’s little in the way of actual conversation between them, what Melling and Rylance convey in glances and glowers over the course of this episode tells the viewer everything they need to know – that Wriothesley, for all he tries to hide behind the promise of truth and honesty, is a traitor to Cromwell, and CromwellI won’t forgive him for it. I think that Melling’s performance across this season will reward a re-watch, to see all those moments where he’s lurking in the background, absorbing and filing information to ultimately use against Cromwell – but this is where it comes together, and it’s a fantastically satisfying end to his arc.

But, of course, we have to talk about the end of Cromwell, too. The emotion in the face of his imminent demise is almost entirely focused into practicality, as he instructs Sadler on how to ensure the safety of his son and family, now that he’s been deemed a traitor. But, before his death, he sees Wolsey’s ghost once more – asking him if what his daughter said was true, if he really did betray him. And, while Wolsey implies that he didn’t, it’s hard not to see this as an attempt by Cromwell to soothe his troubled soul before he faces the axe, once and for all. I’ve always viewed Wolsey’s ghost, in this season, as a representation of Cromwell’s relationship with him rather than some literal version of his soul – it’s why he can’t tell Cromwell where he’s been when he asks, because Cromwell has no idea what lays beyond the veil. It’s a bittersweet ending to this, Cromwell’s most revered and valued relationship, but it suits the tone of the show to leave things a little more open, instead of granting a straight answer one way or the other.

Which brings us, inevitably, to Cromwell’s death. It’s a fantastically well put-together scene, and one that Rylance imbues with Cromwell’s essence right through to the very end – his words to the executioner, warning him not to hesitate for both of their sakes, the way he insists on no fighting taking place as he walks to his death. The show ends with Cromwell returning, in his mind, to the abbey where he wanted to spend his final years – that buzzing fills his ears, he walks towards a dark doorway, turns his head like Anne did in the seconds before her death, and it’s over.

And, God, I’m sad to see this show finish. Like I said up top, it’s an all-timer for me, and I would truly have watched pretty much endless episodes of these stories unfolding, these characters interacting, these tensions building and breaking. But, with that said, the restraint is so often what’s made Wolf Hall so outstanding, and I’m glad that’s extended to the brevity of the show’s run, too. I can’t think of a way this story could have been better told or better served than by Rylance and company here, and this is a worthy way to send off one of TV’s most compelling characters.

What did you think of this finale? How does this second season rank up against the first now it’s over and done with? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments below (and any recommendations you have for other historical fiction TV you love, now that we’re all at a dearth). If you’d like to check out my reviews of the rest of this season, you can do that here – thanks for joining me for these last six episodes, and I sincerely hope you’ll stick around for more TV chat in the future!

If you’d like to read more of my writing or support this blog, please consider checking out my Patreon or buying my books!

(header image via Radio Times)