The National Theatre is having an
interesting time of it on the issue of race. Their Travelex £10
season in the Olivier already included Richard Bean’s
England People Very Nice, which has
faced accusations of racism. It has now been joined by the first
significant London production in nearly 30 years of Wole Soyinka’s
Death And The King’s Horseman, in a
production with an all-black cast, some of whom “white up” to play
British colonial officers in Nigeria.
In absolute terms this
is
racist, no less than a white actor blacking up would be. However, the
crucial difference is that it is not offensive: partly because it is
directed against a (still) dominant group in a position to withstand
such a tactic, but also because the very notion of it being “directed
against” anyone is less than accurate. What the whiteface device does
here (as in a production of Genet’s
The
Blacks at Stratford East a couple of years ago) is to challenge
us to recalibrate our perceptions and listen to the colonists’ remarks
on their own terms rather than as emblems of English imperialism or
whatever. The story then ceases to be one of imperial oppression
(although, in a witty visual touch, a ball scene is padded out by
having actors carry mannequins to whom they are joined by, almost
literally, the yoke of colonialism).
The story, based on real events in 1940s Nigeria, attains a more
classically tragic power in showing two forces unable to understand
each other. On one side there is the Yoruba culture, in which the death
of a king is followed by the suicide of his favoured liegeman to
accompany him into the afterlife, failure to perform which dishonours
the individual, family and entire community; on the other, the powers
that be who have their own contrary code that suicide is illegal and to
be prevented, even if it costs more lives. When horseman Elesin’s son
Olunde, newly returned from England, informs the District Officer’s
wife that “You [i.e. the English] have no respect for what you do not
understand,” it is not an accusation but a simple observation. It gets
the loudest applause of the evening.
Rufus Norris’s production excels in every significant aspect. It is
visually breathtaking without indulging in pointless exotica; with
Javier de Frutos’ choreography pervading the action. As Elesin, Nonso
Anozie is as dramatically imposing as he is physically; even the shame
and subjugation in the final phase radiate off him in waves. Claire
Benedict as Iyaloja, the “Mother” of the local market community, shows
her characteristic blend of fire and steel; how I hope she gets to play
Medea again, so that this time I can see her in the role. Soyinka’s
play is complex, even at times contradictory; its inclusion in this
season underlines that the NT likewise shuns simplifications, which is
as it should be.
Written for the Financial
Times.