UPDATE: Happily, this production is selling out, and has been extended until August 20. More info at Hoy Polloy’s blog.
Observe The Sons of Ulster Marching Towards The Somme, By Frank McGuinness, Hoy Polloy, Brunswick Mechanics Institute, cnr Sydney and Glenlyon Rd, Brunswick, Until August 13.
The cast of Observe The Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme.
Hoy Polloy is a quiet workhorse on Melbourne’s independent scene. Its latest show typifies its thoughtful programming from the world stage.
For Ireland, WWI was a fateful moment in the struggle for independence. Home rule was deferred by the outbreak of war, and simmering unrest between unionists and nationalists fed the forces sent to the front.
Frank McGuinness’ 1985 play Observe The Sons of Ulster Marching Towards The Somme unmasks the Ulster Volunteer Force, a militia of Protestant unionists originally raised to resist Irish republicans. Resolutely anti-heroic, it begins with a long, keening monologue from an aged Kenneth Pyper (Ian Rooney), his company’s sole survivor from the trenches.
Rooney gives a desolating performance; hurling abuse at God, lamenting and calling upon the spirits of his dead comrades. Perhaps the most affecting element is the way Kenneth, having cast off the shroud of religion, still clings to the tattered rags of sectarian bigotry. This heartbroken man is part of a cycle of violence that did not end with the war.
Hurled into the past, the scene opens on a young Kenneth (Dan Walls) first meeting his comrades-in-arms. He’s a charismatic joker, a black sheep from a wealthy family whose irreverent teasing and gallows humour feel like flirting.
Kenneth is, in fact, bisexual, and director Steven Dawson allows the homoeroticism in his relationship with David (Nicholas Brien) full play. It’s beautifully acted, too, with a subtlety that avoids anachronism. The twinkle of mischief in Walls’ eye slips into desire at Brien’s shy, willowy innocence, and their clandestine affair is met with incredulous mutterings and bemused glances.
The production loses traction in the difficult second half. Through snatches of the soldiers on leave, the play finds a whimper behind every bang. Seeking emotion to match the enormity of the horrors these men have witnessed, the performances slip into sentimentality and accents go awry.
Yet it remains a powerful work and a worthy production. McGuinness angrily undermines any authority for the slaughter – whether of empire, nation, or creed – and this production remains a disturbing and moving portrait of flawed young men on the brink of annihilation.