The Hostage

At the Southwark Playhouse until 20 February

Some plays are tightly constructed, pinned together with careful dialogue that is as focused as a pious monk on a Sunday. I have often considered this kind of drama to be the most powerful: instant and poignant. But Brendan Behan’s The Hostage proves me wrong. It is as untidy and boisterous as the playwright himself at a Dublin pub lock-in. Behan is known more for his drunken behaviour that saw him banned from many bars and theatres than his writings. Like a drunk, the play’s structure waivers and its chronology is almost incomprehensible. Nevertheless, it is a fine dramatisation of loss, humanity and war.

The story depicts the residents of a Dublin brothel in the late 1950s as they prepare to house a British soldier kidnapped by the IRA. The soldier’s arrival inadvertently stirs up memories of the Irish War of Independence and a range of characters’ feelings on the ongoing conflict between Britain and Ireland. At its core, the play also deals with a love story, predictable but nonetheless moving thanks to sweet performances by Ben James-Ellis and Emily Dobbs.

The other, much older couple that turns the drama comprises Meg and Pat. They are the typical cantankerous Irish couple, simultaneously in love and at war with each other. Meanwhile, they are in charge of the house where all the action takes place, including running the brothel upstairs. Their fully formed characters bring the play to life more those of any other. From sharp Irish sarcasm (“Arr, you’re so kind – your blood’s worth bottlin’.”) to moments of poignancy, these two really make the play.

It is a shame that other characters could not have been as well developed. I wonder whether The Hostage could be stronger by stripping out every periphery character, leaving behind just the young and the old couples. There are a great many extraneous characters that add nothing but chaos and easy humour. Unfortunately, they are just too one-dimensional to take seriously. One character adopts a new sexuality half way through; another adds nothing until his song comes along when he suddenly makes a valuable point. There may be a great deal of nuance in these performances – in fact, musically the actors are certainly talented – but they do not support the overall trajectory of the play.

Of course, that is the point. This would not be fringe theatre if it were not for these extraneous characters: their chaos and humour is, in fact, absolutely crucial to experiencing The Hostage. It is thought that the play’s original producer, Joan Littlewood, added a great deal to the play when she transferred it to London from Dublin. She could probably see that in fact, the play’s heart was as shambolic as Behan himself and, to draw this out, she needed to add these additional characters with their songs and dances.

The Hostage is probably all the better for Littlewood’s contribution. Somewhat paradoxically, Behan’s fair story would be lacking in depth were it not for these apparently superficial additions. Another writer could, of course, tackle the gritty issues at the play’s core, but not Behan. For him, the chaos, the humour and the musicality are all necessary. They are absolutely appropriate for Behan’s world.

And Behan’s world itself is absolutely appropriate for the excellent Southwark Playhouse. His dirty, playful spirit is captured perfectly under the mouldy arches of the Southwark Playhouse. Morgan Large’s barroom-style set is, inevitably, a character in its own right: the piano in the corner under the low ceiling, the makeshift tables and chairs, the ridiculously small toilet door. That said, one corner of the set is woefully constructed, like the frayed ends of an incompletely knitted scarf.

Adam Penford makes good use of the rest of the set, and the playhouse’s various corners and holes, especially during the musical numbers and the action sequence in the third act.

Fringe benefits

Many in the ragged cast of characters are underdeveloped, but that is crucial to the bawdy, raucous atmosphere of this fun play, which has all the wisdom of a drunk in a Dublin bar. “I’m a drinker with a writing problem,” Behan famously said, consigning himself by an early death to the fringe for sure. His play is a vulgar night out with a drama problem.