Mohammed arrives back in his shabby apartment. His eyes are
black and bruised, blood splatters his face, cigarette burns litter his shirt
and scar his chest. He’s clearly been attacked, but no explicit reason is
given. The implication: because he’s a homosexual.
This is the starting point for playwright Tom Coash’s latest
play Cry Havoc performed at the Park
Theatre. While homosexuality is not criminalised in Egypt, there is prevailing
public opinion against LGBT+ people and many people of the community are
regularly abused or punished by the police. It’s in this world that Coash sets
his love story between an Egyptian man and an Englishman, a play that hinges on
the identity crisis of a young man outlawed by his own society yet failing to
find peace in another.
Mohammed (James El-Sharawy) and Nicholas (Marc Antolin) are
painted as two very different men, star-crossed lovers embarking on a forbidden
relationship. Nicholas is foppish and speaks in clichéd British-isms and
references; Mohammed is intense and brooding. Much of the play is spent with
the two men discussing their religious and cultural differences, but little
common ground on which to base their relationship. Nicholas intends to return
to England and sets out to acquire a visa for Mohammed to join him, a decision
that has dire consequences.
Politically, Cry Havoc
intrigues. The depiction of modern day Egypt is eye-opening, the sense of
danger just outside the apartment walls palpable. El-Sharawy gives a
captivating performance as Mohammed, trapped by his own identity, tormented and
conflicted. When he speaks of his time in prison, the ordeal is harrowing. When
he seeks to solve violence with violence, his radicalised actions are
tragically inevitable. By contrast, Antolin’s Nicholas represents the
helplessness of the West, his involvement dealing with an immigration officer
only makes things worse. The haven of England is written in cliché, a distant
dream.
Yet it’s all a little too heavy handed. Love is described in
overtly poetic terms by both Nicholas (the character is, of course, a writer)
and by Karren Winchester’s immigration officer Ms. Nevers in one particularly
on-the-nose scene. That’s starkly contrasted with the reality of their
situation, spoken in deadpan sarcasm and deadly truths. These are two men
clearly at opposite ends of a spectrum – the short, well-paced scenes consist
largely of exchanges of experience without any real conversation or evolving
relationship.
Undermining the plot is a lack of chemistry between the
actors. Through their exchanges, there’s no commonality between them and, while
the actors work incredibly hard individually, together their relationship just
doesn’t feel real. As such, Cry Havoc resonates
politically more than emotionally, highlighting the frightening dangers of
being gay in a violent country.
3/5
Watch: Cry Havoc runs at the Park Theatre until 20th April.
Photos: Lidia Crisafulli
