I headed to London to catch Martin McDonagh’s The Lieutenant of Inishmore before it closes in early September. The bustling theatres of the West End are places I rarely frequent. In the past you’d have found me dotting around the Off-West End, the fringe scene, regional theatres and the big guns: the RSC, NT and the Globe.
So to the Noel Coward in the heart of the West End for McDonagh’s gripping, blackly comic, questioning play about terrorism and terrorists. It seems oddly – and disturbingly? – fitting that I have watched interviews with so-called terrorists throughout the course of this week (not out of choice, I may add, simply because they were on the news). It gave me much to think about in the context of this play, which invites its audience to reevaluate and pull apart any assumptions it may make as to what acts of terror are, who we call terrorists and what associated behaviours and/or ways of thinking are involved.
Let’s get to the plot. Padraic – an exceptional performance from Aidan Turner (yes, he of Poldark fame) – is so extreme in his methods of torture that he’s been expelled from the IRA and is wanting to splinter from a splinter group. We meet him as he graphically describes his process of torture to the man currently strung upside down, toenails removed and, well, let’s leave it at that. He receives a phone call from his father to tell him that his most beloved creature is ill – his cat, Wee Thomas – which instigates his return to the island of Inishmore where he finds the cat a little more than just ill. From here on in the drama unfolds as mad Padraic, so he is dubbed, unleashes his violence on everyone involved, just as gunmen arrive to kill him…
It is violent to say the least – showing just how far extreme beliefs and acts can take you and how utterly skewed one’s world-view can become. And while the focus is Ireland, the feeling is that this could easily happen elsewhere. The programme outlines various productions which have alluded to different events all over the world from the ‘War on Terror’ to localised bombings.
The brilliance in both McDonagh’s play and director Michael Grandage’s production is that we are offered multiple ways in which to view and digest these acts, chiefly through comedy. It’s impossible not to laugh (if out of feeling more than mildly disturbed more than anything else) at the behaviour of all involved, and, too, at the details that resemble a comedy-laden horror film: blood splatters up the walls, strewn body parts and love amidst the chaos. It’s all part of McDonagh’s criticism of the politics of terrorism and the dialogues that surround it.
At the centre of everything is Turner’s excellent portrayal of Padraic in a performance so far from that of Ross Poldark that it may well come as a surprise to fans of the show (yes, there was a whistle as he entered the stage in a blood-stained top). He lends Padraic an air of unwieldy wide-eyed innocence even in his violence. His Padraic knows little other than of the world of torture he has become wrapped up in. He will marry when Ireland is free (‘That’ll be a long fecking engagement!’ says his father). And then there is his attachment to his Wee Thomas, holding the cat in his arms in for what seems like forever – the most real connection he appears to experience throughout.
It’s a fine cast all-in-all from Dennis Conway’s Donny (Padraic’s father) and Chris Walley’s Davey – setting up the ensuing madness from the opening scene – through to Charlie Murphy’s gun-wielding, love interest Mairead.
If you have the chance to catch this Lieutenant before it closes in September, it’s more than worth it – for the laughs, for its eery resonance and for its quality performances and direction.
The Literary Land 