Service personnel rarely speak of their experiences in a war zone. In Yesterday’s Tomorrow, Gene David Kirk goes a long way towards explaining this reluctance and how difficult the memories of horrors witnessed are when returning to a peaceful society which often chooses to overlook the bloody consequences of conflict. How can you maintain humanity when many choose to abandon it? If you care to listen, their silence says it all.
On a simple set of cardboard boxes and folding chairs, Hamish MacDougal has directed an excellent ensemble with directness and clarity, making full use of the opportunities in this interesting space. He gives us a long, silent (except for unintelligible dialogue in a foreign language) opening scene which demands the audience start to question where we are and what may happen. Some of the most powerful sequences in this excellent production are played without dialogue. A haunting soundscape from Phil Hewitt subtly leads our imaginations to shocking actions. Anna Morrisey has co-ordinated movement through the piece so it remains fluid and compelling with just enough military style drill to be convincing.
Gene David Kirk weaves various episodes to illuminate the central friendship between Ian (Ben Carpenter) and John (Matthew Schmolle) in a time when it was illegal for them to be more than friends. Their caring relationship is delicately developed and beautifully played against the suspicions of their comrades. Ian’s confused torment focusses on his collection of plants; John’s compelling confession letter draws them closer, yet not quite.
Cynical, brutalised Simon (Nicholas Waters) initiates naïve Paul (River Hawkins) into the realities of their peacekeeping role. Both make the audience care and wonder at their contrasting attitudes whilst accepting that their training or experience has produced these values. Simon is convincingly incredulous when confronted by local men; Paul revels in putting his new skills to work. Provence Maydew plays abused local women, giving individuality to each with a look or a posture which convinces without words. Beautiful work!
The Waiter (Lewis Griffith) sees everything but says nothing, accepting humiliation even from the guys who are trying to behave decently. Until he speaks: of the patronising futility of outside forces trying to impose peace and their version of civilisation on a local conflict. He will be left to clear up their mess, yet again.
Directed with flair and some theatrical flourishes which allow our imaginations to furnish detail, with flawless acting throughout, this is a high class production. I have rarely known an audience to remain so silent throughout a show. Too many serving personnel never come home, but what happens to those who do? When faced with tragic, pointless horror, the silence says it all.
Derek Benfield
