The
Royal Court’s now annual Theatre Local season takes place this autumn
in a former industrial building in Peckham. Having first transferred
debbie tucker green’s
truth and reconciliation from the theatre’s main house, the Court now premières Rachel De-lahay’s
The Westbridge
here before it relocates later this month to the Upstairs space in
Sloane Square. Perhaps this location was one factor in renaming
De-lahay’s play from its original title
SW11,
the postcode of Battersea, a few miles to the west. The fictional
Westbridge estate, though, feels equally at home in Peckham, or at any
rate in the area’s reputation. This was one of the principal sites of
rioting in August, and public disturbance forms the background to much
of the action of the play, which unfolds over the day or so following
an attack on a girl in the area.
De-lahay
fits pretty much every ethnic variation into her cast of characters:
Afro-Caribbean and ethnic Asian characters, both full-blooded and
mixed-race, are joined by a young white woman who considers herself
black in spirit although still white-middle-class enough to insist she
lives in “south Chelsea”. What seems at first to be box-ticking is
necessary in order to explore different vectors of racism, principally
Asian-on-black: the rumour quickly spreads that young Asian Sara was
gang-raped by several black youths. In this context Soriya, a
mixed-race white/Ugandan-Asian woman, finds herself re-evaluating
stereotypes about all groups, and in particular questioning her
relationship with Marcus, her mixed-race white/Afro-Caribbean boyfriend
who has just moved in with her.
In her
first play, De-lahay shows an impressively complex vision, staged by
director Clint Dyer on raised rostra and gangways all around the edges
of the space, with the audience sitting in the middle and swivelling to
follow events. However, her voice is as yet more uncertain, and more to
the point so are her characters’ voices. The phrasing is fine, but the
matters uttered all feel too self-consciously to be elements of the
overall debate; nothing seems to happen except in order to give someone
a chance to show some particular angle. Neither Dyer’s undeniably
vibrant if somewhat modish staging, the final revelation of the truth
behind all the assumptions and misunderstandings, nor the most skilled
hands in the cast, Paul Bhattacharjee and Jo Martin as the parental
generation, can dispel this air of deliberateness.
Written for the Financial
Times.