"The Tudors" | The wild and crazy intrigues of Henry VIII's royal court

Who knew that the young King Henry VIII's court was wilder and crazier than a modern-day frat house at a party school?

If you judge by early episodes of "The Tudors," the lavishly produced new 10-part Showtime cable-TV series, Henry and his entourage of great-looking nobles engaged in a rolling, none-too-private orgy of sexual high jinks — with periodic respites for political intrigue and jousting matches.

"The Tudors" invites you to wipe from your mind the iconic image of the corpulent, bearded, elaborately upholstered Henry VIII, best known in the popular imagination for taking six wives (two of whom he eventually ordered beheaded) and breaking England's ties to the Roman Catholic Church so he could obtain a couple of divorces.

This series was conceived and written by Michael Hirst, who got some historians up in arms a few years ago with his portrait of a very sexually curious young Queen Elizabeth I, in the 1998 feature film "Elizabeth: The Virgin Queen," starring Cate Blanchett. (A sequel, "The Golden Age," also with Blanchett, is scheduled for release this fall.)

Now Hirst has reinvented Henry VIII (Elizabeth's much-married father) in the guise of handsome, hard-bodied Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Best known as the amorous, upwardly mobile tennis pro in Woody Allen's film "Match Point," Rhys Meyers here plays Henry from 1520 to 1530, aged 29 to 39.

As for the accuracy of this lusty, brooding Henry, with his sensuous features, whispery voice and buzz-cut hair, many aspects of this "rock star" of a ruler and his period seem more or less true to accepted history, while others are ... well, fanciful.

According to one observer's account, the young Henry VIII was the "hansomest potentate I ever set eyes on ... his complextion fair and bright, with auburn hair, combed straight and short in the French fashion, and a round face so very beautiful that it would become a pretty woman ... "

The sumptuous costumes and jewels on display are in period (some borrowed from a Spanish opera company). The castle interiors, rolling green jousting fields and gaudy pageantry seem on-point — though the landscapes and facades that are computer-generated look fake.

And the temperament and influence of such figures as Henry's key advisers, the sly Cardinal Wolsey (a wryly manipulative Sam Neill) and incorruptible Thomas More (a pious Jeremy Northam), are well-documented.

But Hirst also has juiced up the tale with royal dollops of nudity, ecstatic sexual congress, and with profanities of a distinctly modern, rap-video ring.

Tarting up Britain's already exciting early-16th-century annals with titillation and "Project Runway"-ready trophy mistresses, on the premise that young viewers could not be interested otherwise, is both expedient and specious.

Fortunately, "The Tudors" does not give short shrift to the Machiavellian maneuvers of church and state during this part of Henry's reign. Machinations that had greater historical impact, one can venture, than even the monarch's love life, include the young king's championing of a "Universal Treaty of Peace" — which later, alas, was shelved when war was deemed necessary.

But sexual politics are critical to "The Tudors," which neatly illustrates how women at court became entangled in the plots and counterplots of powerful men, mainly as their breeders and political pawns.

Perhaps the most sympathetic figure, in the first six episodes made available to reviewers, is Spain's Katherine of Aragon, the widow of Henry's older brother Arthur. Married off quickly for dynastic reasons to the teenage Henry, she bore him a daughter — but no male heir.

Played with sober cunning and regal dignity by Maria Doyle Kennedy, Katherine is a sexually spurned wife who quickly senses that her lady-in-waiting, Anne Boleyn (portrayed by a pretty Katie Holmes ringer, Natalie Dormer) is Henry's new paramour, and likely to replace her as England's queen.

Katherine stealthily tries to shore up support in court and among England's European allies. Meanwhile, Anne is essentially the puppet of her father, Thomas (Nick Dunning) and uncle, Norfolk (Henry Czerny), in their clandestine scheme to foil the powerful Wolsey.

There are a wealth of other subplots too, involving an (alleged) secret gay romance in court (Henry VIII instituted a ban on homosexual activity that would stay on the books in England for centuries); the marital woes of Henry's impetuous sister; England's ever-problematic relations with France; and the shifting clout of the Holy Roman Empire.

When it's not reveling in the orgiastic contortions of the hot bods of the crown, "The Tudors" (shot in Ireland on a reported budget of $3.5 million per episode), can be both historically instructive — and challenging to follow. (A detailed tome outlining 16th-century European history would be an excellent companion to the series.)

What remains unclear, though, is whether the series will set aside its gimmicky sexual candor enough to offer an ultimately persuasive overview of Henry's maturation from sensitive but callow playboy king to mature (if not always wise) world leader, who places his monarchy above and beyond religion.

Much responsibility for that rests on the well-toned shoulders of Rhys Meyers, who gets high marks for athleticism, royal tantrums and erotic intensity. But as Henry becomes a more ruthless power player in the final episodes, Rhys Meyers' portrayal needs to evolve, deepen and disturb accordingly.

Misha Berson: mberson@seattletimes.com