Food for powder, food for powder. They’ll fill a pit as well as better.
This play is indeed one of Shakespeare's most powerful works. In terms of tone and atmosphere, it is much more diverse and naturalistic compared to its predecessor, Richard II. The scenes featuring Hal among the low-life in London are captivating and do a great deal to relieve the rigid and stuffy courtly ambiance present in some of Shakespeare's historical plays. The comedy also plays a significant role; and this play encompasses some of Shakespeare's highest and lowest forms of comedy, both of which are vividly embodied in the corpulent Falstaff.
I suspect that most readers will agree with Harold Bloom in considering Falstaff one of the bard's remarkable creations—although we might not go as far as to place him on the same level as Hamlet. Bloom is correct in viewing one's perception of Falstaff as a crucial factor in interpreting the play. Some people see in Falstaff the essence of carnival—the joyous embrace of all life's pleasures and the complete rejection of all social hypocrisies. Others, however, regard Falstaff as a corrupter and a boorish lout—a lazy and selfish fool.
For my part, I find myself vacillating between these two viewpoints. There is no disputing Falstaff's wit; and his soliloquy on the futility of honor is incredibly refreshing, cutting through all the political absurdities that drive the bloody conflicts. Nevertheless, I cannot help but think that if the Falstaffian attitude were too widely adopted, society itself would be unviable. Some degree of social restraint on our pleasure-seeking instincts is necessary to prevent us from becoming obese, drunken thieves. On the other hand, a healthy dose of the Falstaffian attitude can serve as a great antidote to the self-righteous nonsense that leads us into war.
In any event, Falstaff is not the only outstanding character in this play. Hotspur is a bundle of furious energy, an electrifying presence whenever he appears on stage. Prince Hal, although less charismatic, is more complex. From the very beginning, he already has an ambiguous relationship with Falstaff, a sort of icy affection or warm indifference. Indeed, Hal keeps everyone at a distance, and one senses a skeptical intelligence that is cautious about committing until the circumstances are precisely right. It is difficult to view his character's development as that of a wayward youth who learns to embrace his identity. His actions seem far too deliberate, his timing too perfect. Was he hoping to gain something by associating with Falstaff and his ilk?