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At Sgript Cymru |
| Sgript Cymru / Ruth is Stranger than Richard- An enemy for the people , Chapter Arts Centre , September 15, 2006 |
This review first appeared in Planet Magazine and ius reproduced with their permission...Gary Owen has an awful lot to say for himself. His new play, An Enemy for the People (a little twist on Ibsen, there) is an unashamed political assault on the current state of Welsh politics. A funny, well-written assault, but nonetheless one that takes no prisoners. Owen himself sets the scene in the blurb for the play: In 1997 I hugged complete strangers on Borth beach when we won the referendum, and anything seemed possible in that brave new dawn. Skip ahead to 2003, and those fools down the Bay are arguing about where to sit. I have not forgotten: and now I will be revenged. A policy statement if ever I read one. And you can’t deny that Owen has a point — several very good ones, in fact, that he makes with a light touch and a deal of humour. With just three characters, he creates a world of politics that is only too believable, referencing the well-known (and loved) scandal of Ron Davies, the speeches of Rhodri Morgan, the wasting of public money on large, useless items. Such as a retractable tank trap that tanks can just, er, drive around. An Enemy for the People is set in the First Minister’s office of an unnamed “Principality”, five years after its leash has been loosened from its larger, ruling neighbour. First Minister Terry initially appears to be the sharp, Blair-esque operator who is the friend of all; his parliamentary assistant Sian is an ambitious hero-worshipper, naive enough to have ideals but sharp enough to know how to follow her leader. Glyn, the caricature of Dinosaur Politics — all tweedy bluff and rugby-voiced chauvinism — is the loathsome centre of the party; the sort that keeps bouncing back no matter how idiotic and big-headed their actions. He is, frankly, all too recognisable. With these archetypal politicians, Owen weaves a nice story of truth versus, well, truth. It’s all a matter of how you spin the truth, and what you want it to achieve. As Terry fights for his country’s independence, he seems to veer off the rails; he tells the truth — about himself as much as about his country — and it destroys him, makes him an enemy of the people; at the same time it brings about his ultimate goal of full devolution. He emerges as a true lionheart, understanding that an enemy can rally as well as splinter a cause. He gives his people independence even if they don’t actually understand what to do with it. The freedom to make things worse all by yourself, the play argues, is better than labouring under the success or mistakes of others. Watching and learning, Sian becomes more blasé as she navigates political waters, her principles apparently tarnishing under the weight of government. She ultimately betrays Terry with her truth, only to realise that she has been manipulated by him into doing it. And Glyn, the lizard-eyed monster who represents the “calcified liver” of the party, the “inertia” of the country (not lack of movement, as he points out, but the inability to change course once the compass is set) — he will do whatever it takes to keep himself nicely buffered from the sharp end. He is the inevitable survivor. As a production, An Enemy for the People moves swiftly, yet also has that juggernaut feel that marks politics. The downfall of the First Minister is inevitable; once something is begun, it’s going to get finished and the audience is along for the ride. This has partly to do with the plot twist that Terry has been the engineer of his own demise which could have been a little more obscured, a little less guessable. The final scene where Terry explains all is arguably unnecessary, because it’s pretty obvious what he’s been up to from the moment he gets that “ah ha!” look on his face half-way through. We know where he’s going, and we know he’s going to get there (and that’s without reading the give-away blurb on the flyer). Performances, though, are uniformly convincing. Claire Cage’s Sian is imbued with an irony and warmth that make her ultimate betrayal poignant; Ifan Huw Dafydd as Glyn is comical yet dangerously aggressive. Steffan Rhodri’s Terry is oddly sexless — until the revelation comes that he is, in fact, secretly gay. He is almost too much the hero by the end — considering his turn as sharp operator when the play opens — but that’s the plot and not the actor. We watch him become dishevelled, weary, honest, and ultimately successful in his goal. The one odd note is struck by the brief appearance of Jonathon Floyd as a rent-boy; the truth-sayer who brings about Terry’s demise. While he’s a welcome note of honesty amongst all the politics and flagging principles, he also serves to highlight something that is slightly absent from the play — an emotional core. You can’t help but wonder if there’s more to explore here, more to lift the play. An Enemy for the People may be political, but the things in between the political statements are equally enticing: the way Sian slips so easily into the “little woman” role, collecting Terry’s dry cleaning and running errands for him, worshipping him; how sexuality is still a bastion of scandal; how chauvinism is expected and acceptable if you “want to get on”. In the end, though, Owen delivers a piece of cynicism that is both enjoyable and crafted. For such a political play, it is deliberately accessible — there’s even an after-play debate on “how to live” scheduled for one of the evenings, complete with real ministers. It raises questions as well as laughs, and that’s a lot more than can be said for your average day at the Welsh Assembly. |
Reviewed by: Alex Carolan |
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