Review: There Is A War, Double Feature, National Theatre

Written for Culture Wars

Tom Basden, once of the celebrated sketch troupe Cowards, is growing in confidence as a playwright. His first, Party, was more of less a sitcom seeking a television slot: squiffy character-driven comedy with very little in the way of actual plot. After that came Joseph K, a screwball adaptation of Kafka’s The Trial for The Gate.

For his part of Double Feature, Basden attempts the rather extraordinary feat of writing a play in the spirit of Joseph Heller’s Catch 22. Like Joseph K, the format plays into his sketch-based past, by placing a single protagonist on a conveyor belt of characters, situations and events. Though some of these have real comic zing, it does remove the possibility of dramatic momentum. The story simply continues, going where it goes, more arbitrary than necessarily. It feels like a string of events.

That said, this accumulation results in a hefty dossier detailing the headless absurdity of war. Even if the overall grows wearisome, there are several scenes of real panache.

Phoebe Fox plays Anne, the Yossarian-figure caught in a war between two almost indistinguishable armies, the Blues and the Greys. Like a fly in a spider’s web, the more she struggles to make sense of it all, the more entangled she becomes. Earnest, browbeaten and moralistic, Anne is a doctor desperately trying to reach a front-line hospital that seems to move with the horizon.

Basden’s trick is to inject the inhuman with absurdity and banality. Clowns stalk the front line as a weapon against child soldiers. Torturers have repetitive strain injuries. Those melting down body parts natter about old school friends with a familiar pub humour: one holds up a disembodied hand and calls for a high 15. A pop star releases the same war song to both sides, simply swapping Blues for Greys in the lyrics.

Best of all is the hapless Martin Reece (Basden), renamed Neil Hill on account of there being another Martin Reece already on the books. Having been advised towards boastfulness on his application form, Reece describes himself as “the best soldier in the country” and is promptly made a general. He toddles through the war he’s supposed to be leading like a clueless child.

This is a war run by buffoonish bureaucracy. Decisions come down to accountancy, such that the tactician’s maps use matchboxes and sellotape for landmarks. But then, what war isn’t about minimizing costs and casualties, rather than preventing them absolutely? Spin and coins rule supreme.

Despite the structural mayhem, just about managed by Lyndsey Turner’s boisterous direction, Basden pulls off two remarkable coups to relate There Is a War to our everyday lives. With all walks of life – from nannies to dance teachers – on the front line, he extends war into a metaphor for society as a whole. The suggestion being that we are all pawns, moved this way and that by a clueless leadership. Or should I say, knowing elite. Soutra Gilmour’s Honey I Shrunk the Kids style design makes toy soldiers of us all, dwarfed by the scale of the world.

Second, his final scene, which takes place after the war’s end has been announced, brilliantly implicates institutions. Having reached the hospital, Anne becomes embroiled in the war of the wards, as the newly formed Reds battle the Oranges for control, invading radiology units and canteens. There are never enough resources to go round – a point that registers particularly strongly in today’s economic and political climate – and each of us is fighting over scraps to ensure our own sustainability or carve out comfort.

Undeniably intelligent, often acutely funny, There Is a War best demonstrates the characteristic quality of Double Feature: ambition. For that alone, it deserves a forgiving audience willing to overlook its potholes and celebrate its successes.