Review of ‘The Moth’: “Dusty play doesn’t emerge from its cocoon”

Nothing’s better than a good political drama. And probably nothing’s worse than a poorly delivered one. This isn’t by any means one of the worst shows I’ve come across in my years as a critic. In fact, this month has obliged me with an infinite stream of tripe, making me look more favourably upon this play. Still, it isn’t good enough. And beyond its premise, it offers barely anything adequate.

A random encounter on a train starts a 30-year journey of rancour, remorse, and self-penitence. when black rights activist and journalist John Joshana comes across Marius Muller, a former soldier and Afrikaner tormented by the horrors he actively contributed to when serving at the Angolan Border Wall during apartheid.

Drawing inspiration from author Paul Herzberg’s personal background (like Muller, he was raised in South Africa and faced forced conscription), the script comprises currently relevant historical-memory topics while raising a few interesting questions: when (if ever) should those blemishes on the past become a forever-closed chapter? Where does the line between forgiveness and reparation lie? And should we hold participants responsible for their acts if they had no choice but to follow orders or didn’t know any better?

The foundation for a compelling narrative is established, and it’s somewhat functional. Sadly, the writing doesn’t go any further. As much as we can appreciate Herzberg’s ideology and deep knowledge of the conjuncture the show portrays, his dramaturgy suffers from basic mistakes that compromise the piece’s effectiveness, appeal, and impact.

The play opens with two interminable spiels (one for each character) as exposition devices. Although they both make some thought-provoking observations, the overall execution is clunky and unengaging. They do not draw us into the story — quite the opposite. Despite their reflections on racism and systemic discrimination, there’s not enough pathos to entice the audience. For the most part, they come off flat, a trait that applies to every element of the recount — and eventually, to the feeling viewers are left with.

Things rarely improve as the action unfolds. Although the dialogue speeds up the pacing and creates some tension, the approach still is superficial. By the time Act One ends, we’ve been offered nothing but a heated exchange of ideas with next to no dramatic weight. The conflict is introduced but hardly resonant and ultimately vapid. And the characters’ recurring asides bring little poignancy or profundity — mainly because of a lack of subtext.

The same flaws persist during the second half, which, despite using fewer soliloquies, is as lethargic and sketchy as it predecessor. Both protagonists’ arcs are incredibly shallow and unrelatable, a surprising outcome given the universality of their subjects. However, the playwright’s inability to bring human truth and gravitas to those concepts seals the piece’s fate, inevitably cementing its alienation.

The performances are decent but generally one-note. Beyond their average chemistry and acceptable presence, nothing about them is laudable — and like the rest of the work, their shortcomings are too noticeable to ignore.

All of this makes The Moth a promising but clumsy play in the long run — something I doubt it’s destined to. Although it’s possible to save it, it would require significant amendments and bringing new creatives onboard. There’s just as much as this version can provide, which isn’t much to begin with. Its name evokes a bug. And appropriately, that’s what it’s filled with.

All pictures credit to Victoria Wai.

The Moth plays at London’s Finborough Theatre until 21 November. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara