‘The King’ review: Timothée Chalamet stars as Henry V in David Michod’s Netflix production
The King, the latest project by David Michôd, is following a growing trend: after screenings at film festivals, it is being released via Netflix instead of in cinemas. The platform continues to cement its place in film as well as television, with high-profile releases like Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman and Steven Soderbergh’s The Laundromat, starring Meryl Streep.
Co-written by Michôd and actor Joel Edgerton, The King is a deft mix of historical fact, Shakespearean drama, and modern character study. It’s updated and accessible without feeling anachronistic, with characters that feel like fully developed people rather than distant historical figures. The result is a grand, gripping historical drama.
Set in the early 14th century, The King begins with an ageing Henry IV ruling over a fractured England, locked in a near-constant war with rebel factions. His estranged heir, Hal—later Henry V—has turned his back on the royal court, disillusioned by power and politics. Instead, he spends his days drinking and drifting through life with his companion and mentor, Sir John Falstaff. Hal is viewed by the court as reckless, but the film paints him as a young man frustrated by the corruption around him, numbing his disappointment with revelry.
Falstaff is reimagined not as a comedic drunk but as a flawed yet deeply human guide—a surrogate father figure. Although the crown is meant for Hal’s more obedient brother, Thomas, Thomas dies in battle, forcing Hal to reluctantly assume the throne. From the start, the film sets up a central conflict: Henry’s desire to rule without betrayal or bloodshed and his doomed hope for a united kingdom. As Hal’s journey unfolds, both the action and the emotion build toward the tragic dismantling of his youthful ideals.
The film is visually striking, with every element of the set and costume design chosen for authenticity and dramatic impact. Everyday locations—taverns, villages—are rendered with quiet realism, while more pivotal moments allow the design to step forward and heighten the emotion. One standout is the new king’s anointing, a scene that captures the weight of Henry’s transformation. It’s a moment of solemn beauty, emphasising both his sacrifice and the gravity of leadership.
Timothée Chalamet anchors the film with a measured, affecting performance as the reluctant monarch—earnest, uncertain, and deeply committed to doing right by his kingdom. Joel Edgerton is equally strong as Falstaff, grounding the character with warmth and complexity. Ben Mendelsohn brings suitable gravitas to Henry IV, while Tom Glynn-Carney delivers a sharp edge as the fiery Hotspur. Robert Pattinson steals scenes as the sneering, flamboyant Dauphin of France, adding a touch of theatrical menace.
The dialogue strikes a smart balance—elevated yet accessible, rich in tone without tipping into parody or feeling overly modern. It supports the film’s immersive tone, complementing the drama without distracting from it.
Moving quickly ahead from the coronation, the story focuses on King Henry as intrigues, both domestic and international, threaten to upset the peace that was the new king’s chief goal. Advised to declare war against the French in response to an apparent threat, Henry struggles to make the right choice and is finally driven to the unwelcome conclusion that war must take place. The lengthy scenes of war and preparation for war that follow are some of the most authentic and carefully devised in the film. Details of 14th-century warfare, which would not usually occur to the modern non-historian, are brought out. The use of the trebuchet to hurl fireballs is an exciting moment, but the Netflix film also reveals the tedium and specific dangers of a prolonged siege, the odd rules of warfare and negotiations in place at the time, the strategic disadvantages of full armour, and the possible adverse effects of details as simple as the weather.
The account of the outnumbered English company, their negotiations, and their desperate strategy is well told, and the actual battle of Agincourt, shown in lengthy detail, is particularly brilliant. The battle dispenses with the usual film heroics and instead provides a detailed, shockingly realistic portrait of warfare of the era and, it must be noted, a marvel of crowd scene management. There is little real swordplay but startling images of men, afoot and on horseback, running at and virtually crashing into the opposing army; shots of chaotic mobs slashing at one another, trying not to trip over the corpses gathering at their feet; and men reduced to rolling in the mud, thrashing at one another. Men die from being trampled, strangled, stabbed, or even on a battlefield thick with mud and rainwater by drowning. The battle scenes are both horrible and magnificent, and in terms of plot development, they fully justify King Henry’s reluctance to consent to war in the first place and his dismay at the deadly event, regardless of victory. For this reason, the film makes no attempt to recreate the famous St Crispin’s Day speech in any form: this version of Henry V finds nothing glorious in war, and the film’s portrayal of war as simple butchery justifies his view.
The final act, following the war’s resolution, is quieter but still intense, as the king discovers the many levels of influence and double-dealing running through his court, how easily he has been manipulated, and faces the coming years of mistrust and deception, with virtually no-one he can unreservedly trust left alive. His confrontation with one of his underhanded advisors is a long, tense cat-and-mouse scene that clarifies the situation while introducing the sadder and wiser king who has emerged from both the war and the battle at home. All in all, it is a clever reimagining of a well-known story, which finds new layers and presents them in a novel and stirring way.
