Jasmine Naziha Jones’s playwriting debut takes us through a reverie of horrid revelations to analyze the morals supporting one of the most controversial conflicts in recent history. Guillermo Názara reviews this new work internationally premiered at London’s Royal Court, to let us know what’s awaiting in this story of clashing worlds and feelings.
A man’s called a traitor or a liberator. A rich man’s a thief or philantroprist. No, this is not Wicked, but the Wizard of Oz’s (or Stephen Schwartz’s) wise observations on the relativity of things might as well summarize what this play is all about – and ultimately, what society is all about. We’re judgmental creatures, that’s undeniable (my point just made with this last statement). And however rational we try (or pretend) to be, truth is that when it comes to convictions (especially if those are political), we don’t like being contradicted – or even worse, being shown that we are contradicting ourselves.
Every story has two sides (and often, three and four) and if there’s something experience (for the lack of common sense) teaches us is that, many times, nobody’s that wrong or that right. The Gulf War is one of those topics that has created divisions on many levels: it’s confronted parties (not that they need anything for that to happen), it’s opposed friends with different visions (though that may allign to every single subject of discussion nowadays) and, last and probably worst, it’s alienated families. Is the greater good (that recurring argument to justify the often unjustifiable) really the answer? Is victory really worth the loss?
The ending of the autumn season seems to be studded with political content this year. From Zachary Quinto’s first West End incursion (we’ll be reviewing it soon, don’t worry) to less celebrity-billed material, the London scene has developed more than an appetite to discuss what goverments do and why they’re stupid to do it (well, that’s the theatre, after all). Baghdaddy is a classical unclassic – despite being a new piece, it encompasses the foundation of what’s traditionally conceived as a major work of art: it challenges values, it critiques power and it offers an alternative perspective on a sensitive matter (not that it’s the first to do so regarding this theme, nonetheless). Is there actually a genuine reason for war? Does the protection of a country (or whatever it represents) make up for all the suffering of persons that may have nothing to do with it?
Through fondness and grief, the play recalls the struggle of a middle-aged Iraqui man venturing into the strange lands of the Western world, clashing through a culture that may not be as welcoming as he expected and which has denied him the chance of ever looking back. Once proud and beloved, soon will this heritage turn into a curse haunting his British-born daughter, as the origins of her family will forever change the perspective that not only she but the rest of the world have about her. It doesn’t matter who you are, it just matters who they think you are. Many questions and conclusions risen through a text that, though insightful, seems however a bit too preachy, taking sides far too evidently in its form, and thus not leaving much room for the viewer to reach their own conclusions.
Recounted through several time jumps (a good contributor to the overall rythm), the piece swings in style between straightfoward narration and philosophical abstraction, the latter achieved by the use of a Greek chorus commenting on both the action and the inconsistency of human behaviour in general. Though an interesting feature, its execution is however not satisfying enough, as on several occassions their dialogues seem too long and a bit disoriented. In addition, its supposedly edgy aesthetics eventually result in more of a camp look – which even if intentional, it doesn’t really work.
As for the cast, Jasmine Naziha Jones plunges into artistic moonlighting by also playing the lead character, portraying a double-sided persona swinging from the innocent confused eyes of a little child to the uncomforted maturity of someone who’s come to terms with life’s rawness,.Though providing a convincing rendition, the greatest standout is however is Philip Arditti, for his captivating energy onstage and his impressive and brilliantly executed range of acting and character registers, as one of the members of the Greek chorus.
Baghdaddy is, in all its levels, a first work. It’s fresh and it’s pure. It’s obviously an enthusiastic attempt for the playwright to tell what she always wanted to tell. And on that, she has succeeded. But on the other hand, it also has the inevitable flaws of inexperience, as the pace and the way its message is developed could benefit from more polishing. When we want to make an audience think, we must trigger the thought, instead of giving the feeling we’ve been lectured on. Does this mean the show is therefore a failed attempt? Nothing of the sort. It does have a heart (no reference to that scene, for those who’ve seen it) and, most importantly, a voice – it just needs to project it better.
Baghdaddy runs at London’s Royal Court Jerwood Theatre Downstairs until Saturday 17 December 2022. Tickets are available on the following link.