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Drama

Wait And See The End (W.A.S.T.E.):

Downstage Theatre from March 8. Written and directed by John Banas (with Nonnita Rees). Reviewed by Martin Edmond.

This is committed theatre. If, as one of the characters says, "integrity is no longer to the point, not since politics became an art-form", the theatre might as well take a political question as its subject matter and treat the theme politically. Which is what happens in W.A.S.T.E., if you accept that pollution is finally a political question. And in treating the theme in this way, the theatre may even salvage a little integrity for itself — the integrity that Comes from a coherent, if generalised statement of the problem. It is a production terribly aware of the dangers of an explicit political theme and position — that our present social and economic system cannot help but pollute and finally destroy the environment that should Sustain us. By dangers I mean what happens to 'art', what happens to entertainment, most important, what happens with an audience expecting one or the other or both? Edmund, a professional campaigner against environmental abuses, knows that when he lectures, the only people who stay to listen are those who left their banners in the foyer; they already have their badges on. Well, no one left, and I saw no banners or badges. The dead silence which greeted the finale was, I suppose, another kind of tribute.

The play is contained in the framework of a small fable or allegory. It is told by the narrator in his opening routine — "What would you, I the audience, think, if you came to the theatre and saw this....?" And it is exactly what we did see, enacted, at the close.

The praise goes up, the money comes down, while Hitler orates and a grotesquely fat, masked figure grins and sways above his minions. What is contained within this framework is the invocation of a corrupt and poisoned society, and the end of that society. It scarcely needs to be said that this society is ours. We are those people. Even if you miss it, the displays of quantified rubbish, the charts of waste and poverty and death in the foyer make it obvious. It is impressive how complete the invocation is. This is partly due to the sophisticated use of television. That medium is so good at building an image of a world beyond, or behind, to which the TV screen itself is the only access. It is a world of news broadcasts, political speeches, advertising, secret police and secret warnings. And, as if that were not enough, two excellent film sequences, by John Reid, extend the theatre still further. The first piece, reminiscent at times of Godard's "Week End", shows a journey through a nightmare city. It took me a while to realise that I was seeing shots of our own Wellington: it takes even longer to recover the safe 'normal' view of the place.

The second film sequence left me with the most memorable image of the evening . A woman deliberately, slowly rubbing herself with her dead husbands plague-infested rags. She is killing herself, while behind, in full gloss colour, runs film of herself, her husband and child, in their garden, laughing. If you are going to have 'ordinary people' in a scheme like this, it is necessary, at some stage, for the audience to identify with them. Which was probably the most difficult task of all, and was handled least successfully. The narrator figure is continually playing with the audience, neutralising their responses, turning them back on themselves. I think the simple humanity of the two couples is meant to come through all this. It doesn't always, but it does this one time, very powerfully.

Of course, the four people are themselves implicated in the processes that lead to chaos, to death — Edmund, played by Craig Ashley, as the anti-pollution campaigner; Jacob (Peter Hayden) as a high-up PR and advertising executive; and their wives. Nevertheless, as much as they are responsible for the crash, they are victims of it; the same is true of us all. The one figure who does seem to escape the consequences is the narrator, the news broadcaster, the trickster' figure. He entertains, but harangues the audience for their need for entertainment; his game-playing is itself a game. The gadgetry is his, the play, and the theatre. Not surprisingly, he is played by John Banas. But as Mr Moneypenny he is finally in the pay of Bolus, the dictator. I was disposed to find him a metaphor for, a personification of, the theatre itself; I'll resist the temptation.

There is also, focused on him a kind of desperate inability to halt the whole horrible process; a quality the play radiates. As when you tell someone with all the intensity you can muster something you feel is dreadfully important. And they say yes, and smile. You try and neutralise that response, get them to see what you're really on about. All the gadgetry, all the game playing, is aimed precisely at this — to strip away the false and easy responses, to communicate directly the urgency, the absolute necessity of crying halt to the poisoning.

So where does it leave you? First of all, with an excellent piece of theatre, tight, controlled, economical and very powerful. Technically, it is superb — there is throughout the play subtle byplay between screens and characters, actors and characters, people and voices: and some obvious parallels with guerrilla theatre. But did it strike home? Somewhere near the end what Wilfred Owen said came into my mind:

"All a poet can do today is warn". I made a point of examining the faces around me, as soon as the lights came on. Despite the silence, the absence of applause, I think the food, the wine, the coffee, was still sitting comfortably. I think, and this is not necessarily a criticism of the play, that many people accepted the concern, told themselves and each other that they shared it; and rejected the implied solution — that the economic and political basis of this society must be changed. But I suppose it is possible some more badges will be bought, and some more banners painted. Everyone already believes in some form of conservation anyway. If you want to be jolted out of the complacency of that belief, if you are prepared to imagine, fully, what the crisis will be like when it comes, go and see W.A.S.T.E.