Wolf Hall Recap: Three-Card Trick
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It’s finally time! Wolf Hall made its buzzed-about debut on PBS’ Masterpiece on Sunday, and it did not disappoint, even if it didn’t exactly fill us with unbridled joy for life.
But we’ll get to that. First the back story, relayed via opening text: King Henry VIII has been married to Catherine of Aragon for 20 years and is still without a male heir. Mightily displeased by this, he’s been looking for an annulment of his marriage from the pope. The man tasked with this mission impossible: Cardinal Wolsey, the king’s lord chancellor. So far, Wolsey has failed to get Rome’s support in the matter—and as we are reminded, Henry is not a forgiving man.
With that in mind, we go to York Place, the cardinal’s residence in London. The year is 1529. The first time we see Thomas Cromwell he has his back to us, gazing out a window. The scenery is peaceful, but a storm is brewing. The storm comes in the form of a gaggle of horsemen, led by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, here as Henry’s henchmen. They attempt to strip Wolsey of his title as lord chancellor, and all the trappings that come with it—until Cromwell intervenes, using a mixture of bureaucracy and strong-arming to buy Wolsey a little more time. But only a little: soon, Wolsey’s household is packed up, to become the home of the king’s infamous (and doomed) consort, Anne Boleyn.
In flashback, we see a flirty young Anne getting a little too cozy with Harry Percy, future earl of Northumberland. Cardinal Wolsey scolds her father, Thomas Boleyn, forbidding the match—and making a dangerous enemy of Anne, soon to rise in the king’s favor. On his way out Papa Boleyn pronounces Wolsey, born to low circumstances, a “butcher’s boy,” and Cromwell a “butcher’s dog,” a telling assessment of how he’s seen by most of the men who seek to be cozy with the king.
Following this ordeal, we get a peek at Cromwell’s happy home life, with two daughters and a wife, Liz. “You know what you’re doing, I suppose? Or at least you look like you do,” she says, summing up the philosophy that will eventually help him scale to the heights of power. Cromwell receives a copy of the New Testament, as translated into English by rebellious reformer William Tyndale. This is our first look at his religious progressivism. It will not be the last.
Over at York Place, he shows the cardinal some nifty sleights of hand, a three-card trick that’s also a neon sign of a metaphor for his future role in royal affairs. The two discuss—delicately—Henry’s belief that his queen’s failure to provide a male heir is attributable not to nature or his own shortcomings, but to the wages of sin—committed by the queen, of course. She first came to England at 16 to marry Henry’s older brother, Arthur. When Arthur died soon after, Henry decided to carpe diem and seize his brother’s widow; Catherine claimed their marriage was never consummated, so Rome allowed it. Henry now seeks to overturn their bond and undo the “sin.”
Having failed to secure Henry’s annulment and incurred the wrath of his paramour, Wolsey’s fate is sealed. He’s a broken man, stripped of power and waiting for his enemies’ next move. But Wolsey’s enemies aren’t the only fish Cromwell’s got to fry: at an extremely awkward dinner party, he makes mincemeat of the alleged asceticism of Thomas More, Wolsey’s replacement as lord chancellor and a grade-A blowhard. You can bet the two men will butt heads again, and soon.
In more flashbacks, we see Wolsey’s life before his fall, as he schemes to secure that treasured annulment—then get a glimpse at Cromwell’s very distant past, when he was at the mercy of a brutally violent, now estranged father. But Cromwell is moved to see him again by a sudden and horribly complete personal tragedy: the “sweating sickness” death of his wife and daughters. The visit with his father brings no satisfaction, but the request, by his young ward, to take the last name “Cromwell” appears to ease some of his loneliness. The fact that Cromwell takes his time informing Wolsey of his loss just goes to show how closely he holds his cards.
Aaaand back to business, more Cromwell’s wheelhouse than all this feelings stuff. Wolsey has conspired to get a papal envoy sent to England to hear Henry’s case. At this Legatine Court, Catherine once again proclaims her innocence, and we get our first onscreen glimpse of King Henry. Even better, Cromwell visits Anne’s chambers, where she and her women, including sister (and former paramour of the king) Mary sit in idle splendor. Anne is unmoved by Cromwell’s defense of the cardinal, claiming he’s taken too long to accomplish the “simple” task of securing an annulment. Cromwell realizes there’s only one way Wolsey’s going to keep his head: if he, Cromwell, gets a seat in parliament from which to protect him.
Finally, Cromwell has his first tete-a-tete with the king himself, in a super lush garden. The king displays conflict over what he’s done to Wolsey, irritation at Cromwell’s gall in questioning his foreign policy…and a shrewdness that doesn’t quite match Cromwell’s, and should make for some very interesting scenes to come.
“Master Cromwell, your reputation is bad,” Henry concedes. “You don’t defend yourself?”
“Your Majesty can form his own opinions,” Cromwell replies with no trace of emotion.
“I can. I will,” is Henry’s ominous reply.
Cromwell’s “what just happened here?” look follows him home, where he’s asked by a workman whether to paint over the cardinal’s coat of arms on the wall. Cromwell’s reply is emphatic: no, paint it again—and brighter. He may be on the verge of becoming the king’s man, but he’s still the cardinal’s, too. But for how much longer?
In flashback, we see a flirty young Anne getting a little too cozy with Harry Percy, future earl of Northumberland. Cardinal Wolsey scolds her father, Thomas Boleyn, forbidding the match—and making a dangerous enemy of Anne, soon to rise in the king’s favor. On his way out Papa Boleyn pronounces Wolsey, born to low circumstances, a “butcher’s boy,” and Cromwell a “butcher’s dog,” a telling assessment of how he’s seen by most of the men who seek to be cozy with the king.
Following this ordeal, we get a peek at Cromwell’s happy home life, with two daughters and a wife, Liz. “You know what you’re doing, I suppose? Or at least you look like you do,” she says, summing up the philosophy that will eventually help him scale to the heights of power. Cromwell receives a copy of the New Testament, as translated into English by rebellious reformer William Tyndale. This is our first look at his religious progressivism. It will not be the last.
Over at York Place, he shows the cardinal some nifty sleights of hand, a three-card trick that’s also a neon sign of a metaphor for his future role in royal affairs. The two discuss—delicately—Henry’s belief that his queen’s failure to provide a male heir is attributable not to nature or his own shortcomings, but to the wages of sin—committed by the queen, of course. She first came to England at 16 to marry Henry’s older brother, Arthur. When Arthur died soon after, Henry decided to carpe diem and seize his brother’s widow; Catherine claimed their marriage was never consummated, so Rome allowed it. Henry now seeks to overturn their bond and undo the “sin.”
Having failed to secure Henry’s annulment and incurred the wrath of his paramour, Wolsey’s fate is sealed. He’s a broken man, stripped of power and waiting for his enemies’ next move. But Wolsey’s enemies aren’t the only fish Cromwell’s got to fry: at an extremely awkward dinner party, he makes mincemeat of the alleged asceticism of Thomas More, Wolsey’s replacement as lord chancellor and a grade-A blowhard. You can bet the two men will butt heads again, and soon.
In more flashbacks, we see Wolsey’s life before his fall, as he schemes to secure that treasured annulment—then get a glimpse at Cromwell’s very distant past, when he was at the mercy of a brutally violent, now estranged father. But Cromwell is moved to see him again by a sudden and horribly complete personal tragedy: the “sweating sickness” death of his wife and daughters. The visit with his father brings no satisfaction, but the request, by his young ward, to take the last name “Cromwell” appears to ease some of his loneliness. The fact that Cromwell takes his time informing Wolsey of his loss just goes to show how closely he holds his cards.
Aaaand back to business, more Cromwell’s wheelhouse than all this feelings stuff. Wolsey has conspired to get a papal envoy sent to England to hear Henry’s case. At this Legatine Court, Catherine once again proclaims her innocence, and we get our first onscreen glimpse of King Henry. Even better, Cromwell visits Anne’s chambers, where she and her women, including sister (and former paramour of the king) Mary sit in idle splendor. Anne is unmoved by Cromwell’s defense of the cardinal, claiming he’s taken too long to accomplish the “simple” task of securing an annulment. Cromwell realizes there’s only one way Wolsey’s going to keep his head: if he, Cromwell, gets a seat in parliament from which to protect him.
Finally, Cromwell has his first tete-a-tete with the king himself, in a super lush garden. The king displays conflict over what he’s done to Wolsey, irritation at Cromwell’s gall in questioning his foreign policy…and a shrewdness that doesn’t quite match Cromwell’s, and should make for some very interesting scenes to come.
“Master Cromwell, your reputation is bad,” Henry concedes. “You don’t defend yourself?”
“Your Majesty can form his own opinions,” Cromwell replies with no trace of emotion.
“I can. I will,” is Henry’s ominous reply.
Cromwell’s “what just happened here?” look follows him home, where he’s asked by a workman whether to paint over the cardinal’s coat of arms on the wall. Cromwell’s reply is emphatic: no, paint it again—and brighter. He may be on the verge of becoming the king’s man, but he’s still the cardinal’s, too. But for how much longer?