Brightest Young Things

Shakespeare Theatre Company presents The National Theatre of Scotland’s production of Black Watch by Gregory Burke, directed by John Tiffany 1/26/2011—2/6/2011

Black Watch is a truly extraordinary play, filled with many shattering moments, each exquisitely realized over the course of two hours (with no intermission). During each performance, one could rightfully expect someone to take advantage of the extensive medical services available in case of emergencies – a service that is announced over the loudspeakers every few minutes in the run-up to the curtain. For it is one long heart-attack of a play, with languid moments of humor and poignancy interrupted by ear-splitting explosions, music, swearing, and, yes, even dance. Words fail me in describing the dazzling audacity of this most important play – and yet words are all I have, so I’ll try.

Black Watch, written by Gregory Burke, is directed by John Tiffany and produced by the National Theater of Scotland. It is an example of verbatim theater – incorporating snippets of interviews, speeches and pieces of radio and TV news into a seamless portrayal of the experience of the Black Watch regiment of the 4 (Armoured) Brigade. The play focuses on a small group of soldiers that served as part of the October 2004 deployment of the unit to Camp Dogwood to cover the American assault on Fallujah. The deployment was deeply unpopular in Britain, with the 800-man regiment moving into an area known as the “Triangle of Death” that had last been occupied by 4,000 U.S. Marines – incurring nine casualties and more than 200 wounded in the previous four months. The deployment was seen by many in the UK as a gesture of political support by the British government for the Bush Administration in the run-up to the 2004 election.

The play requires unique demands of theaters for staging – echoing the layout of the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo, with two bleachers coming off a central flat rectangular pitch with a scaffolding on each end and a cargo container under one of the scaffoldings (filling in as the unit’s Warrior infantry fighting vehicle). The “parade ground” is covered in the marks that they will use to move the scenery seamlessly throughout the play, but for now, it’s all blaring bagpipe music and drums, with projections of the Saltire flying around the stands and monitors that sit atop the two scaffolds. The play begins with a voiceover – the same one that has been steadily, cheerfully preparing us for potential disasters – announcing the beginning of the Tattoo. The music and lights come to an abrupt halt with the main character – Cammie, emerging from the container under a spotlight to offer a comically understated “A’right?”

The brilliant intercutting of the noise of the Tattoo and the silent opening presages the repeat of this loud-soft trick again and again (a bit like a Mogwai tune). The opening cuts to some of the soldiers now in civilian gear, having their “Sunday Sesh” at a Fife pub, waiting for a “tasty” female researcher to show up. Instead of Sophie the researcher (the real name of the researcher who set up the interviews that begat the play – you see what I mean by verbatim theater), who never appears, we are introduced to the (male) author of the play (“Writer”), played with brilliant sensitivity by Paul Higgins. These scenes of Writer trying to win the trust of the soldiers are nerve-wracking. These boys need therapy to deal with the things they’ve done and seen, and the Writer, as the therapist-proxy, is bringing ugly memories to the fore – figuratively treading into a psychological minefield of guilt and sorrow and rage.

The tension is leavened with tremendous humor, and we switch from the pub to Camp Dogwood again and again to illustrate the stories the Writer pulls out of the boys. The accents are heavy, and little has been done to make the play more comprehensible to an American audience (if you don’t know the Scottish use of “ken,” I’m afraid you’ll be pretty lost) – though they do change “kids” for “bairns” and St. Andrews Beach for Kinghorn Beach (I understand the former, but why the latter?). Also, the swearing, oh, the swearing. If you’ve ever seen the excellent “In the Loop” movie or “The Thick of It” TV show, you’ll be prepared for the cavalcade of “fucks” and “cunts” that serve as a verbal beat for every sentence the soldiers deliver. And, if you’ve seen either, you’ll be familiar with Paul Higgins who plays the Writer, though it’s only when he re-emerges as Sergeant that he gets to showcase his dazzling scatological verbal skills (as he does as Jamie McDonald in the movie and TV show). And they are dazzling.

I didn’t recognize him as Writer – he’s so gentle and fey – but he’s suitably violent and propulsive as Sergeant, carefully balancing his soldiers’ desire for discipline and readiness for a fight. His most dazzling two moments in the play, though, come in the parts that I found the biggest surprise – when the words stop, the music overwhelms the soundtrack, and the characters enact choreograph moves of dancing, fighting, or mourning. There’s a scene where the soldiers descend into the utter chaos of a brawl – which is done as a brilliantly physical dance – where Sergeant slowly looks at a map and contemplates his next moves while the fight rages around him. It’s incredibly powerful, but not nearly as stunning as the moment when he stops a soldier from weeping, handing him the day’s mail call, and all the cast members come out to silently read their letter, let it drop to the floor, and using some beautiful, slow sign language, express their sadness, loneliness, and desire to be home. It had me gasping for air.

Further verbatim touches include news reports – snatches of the Today Programme, an exact reading of Scotland First Minister Jack McConnell’s scathing criticism of the deployment, and Defense Secretary Geoff Hoon’s impassioned rebuttal – and bits of dialog that are repeated from the pub to the field. A further device is the delivery by the unit’s Officer, reading emails to his wife in a spotlight, to give voice to a more educated and nuanced view of the situation, but with no less fear and trepidation infusing each reading. There’s also a lovely double use of a pool table as a way to rather violently introduce the uniformed soldiers in a jarring early scene, as well as the interior of the Warrior as the soldiers roll into the only battle of the play. And there is singing and dancing. No history of a Scottish unit could be considered complete without the songs of the regiment. They’re reimagined here, and beautifully, seamlessly incorporated into the action – The Gallant Forty-Twa is gorgeously rendered; as is the Forfar Sodger, and the Twa Recruiting Sergeants.

The first night I saw the play – Friday – Cammie was played by the understudy, Paul Tinto. It was extraordinary to find out afterwards that he’d had about 10 minutes warning that he’d be thrust into the most demanding role in the play in front of a potentially hostile Washington, DC crowd on the marquee performance of a controversial play. And he was extraordinary, perfectly embodying the confused and quiet, shy but proud Private. He emerges as a leader through the play, and his growth is tremendous to watch. Jack Lowden took back the reins in the Saturday matinee (yes, I saw it again), and played an even gentler, younger-seeming and more sad version of the same character. Both were extraordinary.

In fact, it would be hard pressed to say that anyone was less than extraordinary in the play – the Officer/Lord Elgin/Jack McConnell playing Ian Pirie was extraordinary – his shifts of tone as Lord Elgin are almost played in high camp, his reading of his emails are moving and revealing, and the wisdom he displays as the Officer is never less than compelling. Scott Fletcher as the young Kenzie, the object of many a lesson from the more seasoned soldiers, and Jamie Quinn as the mercurial Fraz, the terrifyingly mood swings of Stewarty, the streetwise lessons of Ross Anderson as Rossco, the quiet credulity of Nabsy, and the understated humor and playacting of Richard Rankin as Granty – they’re all excellent. I felt bad for Cameron Barnes as Macca having to play the pipes – always a challenge to do and speak and march without losing your breath.

Still, I haven’t yet touched on the most extraordinary part of the whole piece, when Cammie delivers the history of the Black Watch regiment while being dressed in the uniforms of the different eras. What could be a dry history lesson, or distractingly broken up by using several different actors to minimize dress time, is instead a dynamic martial parade/dance, where the soldiers come out and pick up the still-talking Cammie to change out his spats, kilts, shoes, tunics, and hats in a truly breathtaking precision drill. Not a single missed beat in the whole exercise as actors bend down to provide a place for him to sit and change his shoes or lift him at various angles to change the pants – it’s simply extraordinary to watch, unforgettable, and a history lesson, to boot. It is easily the most extraordinary scene I’ve ever seen performed on stage, and I’ve seen it twice this weekend.

There is one thing missing from the play – deliberately so. That is the Iraqis. Even the Americans are only referenced by the characters from time to time, though they do watch a four-hour bombardment of a largely- abandoned village by American firepower that kills no insurgents and two civilians. The Iraqi absence is more telling, for, as Stewarty bellows at the Writer, “what the fuck have the Iraqis got tay fucking day way anything?” This is the story of the boys of the Black Watch, and, by the end, you feel you know them, and you feel extraordinary empathy for them. You know that they hurt – you’ll never truly know how much, though you’ve been through so much with them. The explosions are VERY LOUD and they occasionally use very loud music as well – I think to drown out any possibility of other thoughts in your head other than to focus on the physical tableau before you. It’s a bit of a PTSD-inducing affair, but never less than enthralling.

By the way, I had a further shattering moment when I researched this article. The play includes an incident – and, I’ve sort of agonized as to whether to mention this here, but I think I owe it to everyone to go ahead and say this – so, SPOILER ALERT: The car bomb explosion that kills Sergeant, Fraz, and Kenzie occurred on November 4, 2004. It also killed an interpreter and wounded 8. The dead are real, as is the grief. The interviews that go into this play are real. The names of the dead are Sergeant Stuart Gray, Private Paul Lowe, and Private Scott McArdle. Though it is undoubtedly no comfort to their families, their death has allowed Gregory Burke to create the most moving, thoughtful, beautiful, and terrible exploration of the Iraq War that I know of. For their sacrifice, I thank them – and to all the soldiers of the Black Watch. Thank you.

Previously in Play DC:

• 5/9: PlayDC: The Taming of the Shrew @ Folger Theatre
• 5/3: PlayDC: God of Carnage @ Signature Theatre
• 4/25: PlayDC: "Come Fly Away" @ Kennedy Center
• 4/23: PlayDC: "Strange Interlude" @ Shakespeare Theatre Company
• 4/17: PlayDC: The Washington Ballet's Alice (in Wonderland)!
• 4/10: PlayDC: Long Day's Journey Into Night @ Arena Stage
• 3/22: PHOTOS: Behind The Scenes With PETRUSHKA's Puppeteers
• 3/21: PlayDC: Brother Russia @ Signature Theater
• 3/20: PlayDC: 12 Angry Men @ Keegan Theatre
• 3/19: PLAYDC: Ah, Wilderness! @ Arena Stage