THEY DRINK IT IN THE CONGO
Almeida Theatre, London N1
Opened 23 August, 2016
***

The title of Adam Brace’s latest play comes from a 1980s advertising slogan for the tropical juice drink Um Bongo; Brace uses it to signify that that is our primary association with the Democratic Republic of the Congo rather than its continuing wars and atrocities, funded in large part by mineral mining. One of the characters here appears in a shocking pink suit festooned with mobile phone components made, we infer, with conflict-mined coltan ore.

Some of the play’s scenes take place in the DRC itself and deal with the bloody chaos there; most, however, are set in London and tell of an attempt to stage an awareness-raising arts festival, Congo Voice. Issues alluded to include western hypocrisy, pretending to come to aid whilst still exploiting the area; the sectarianism of diasporas, who here cannot agree on which interpretation of “the Congo” they want to help; the notion, common to all too many, that an event can come to be considered more important than the cause in which it is intended; and above all, that this kind of thing is not about actually helping but simply salving liberal consciences and turning patronising anguish to complacency.

Indeed, the opening words of the play, from the character of Congolese exile Anne-Marie (Anna-Maria Nabirye, excellent), are an indictment along these lines. It’s clearly meant as an upfront, pre-emptive acknowledgement, a pretended mea culpa but actually an exculpation. However, the play never quite shakes off this suspicion. Brace, and director Michael Longhurst’s cast led by Fiona Button as festival organiser Stef, blend intense seriousness with both comedy (such as an African band playing a rumba version of The Smiths’ “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now”) and satire. The intention is to avoid being pigeonholed, but I fear the effect is to seem unfocused. After the last words uttered on press night, we heard what sounded like the plaintive notes of the most unambiguously tragic figure’s mbira thumb-piano; in fact it was an audience member’s ringtone. It was both symbolic of my reservations about the play and a serendipitous moment that took the play’s deliberate ironies one step further.

Written for the Financial Times.

Copyright © Ian Shuttleworth; all rights reserved.

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