It couldn’t have been more appropriate on a blisteringly hot Stratford-upon-Avon summer’s evening than to turn our attention to climate change. We still frequently hear talk of the famous Kyoto meeting – COP 3 to give it its official title – where 150 countries, each with the power of veto, somehow were able to reach agreement on a subject that has always been extremely contentious, particularly in certain quarters. It was the first time that such international consensus had been agreed on climate change; and although there’s no doubt that the progress hoped for over the subsequent years has been faltering (at best), without it we would surely all be in hotter soup than we currently are.
If there’s one thing that Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson’s new play Kyoto – co-produced by the Royal Shakespeare Company and Good Chance – achieves brilliantly, it’s exposing the extraordinary attention to detail that’s necessary to create a constructive and useful document to which all parties can agree. As I know from personal experience, it can be a most bizarre experience, arguing the toss over a semi-colon here and a conjunction there; one can only imagine the level of pernicketiness needed during a summit like COP 3, to change words, brackets, commas and so on. But the chaos somehow leads to order, and the play demonstrates that superbly.
Kyoto‘s structure takes us through the early stages of meetings between climate scientists, lawyers and international governmental observers, from 1989 through to COP 3 in 1997. At its heart is Don Pearlman, the narrator, stepping in and out of the action to play his part and to keep us, the Swan Theatre audience, up to speed with how things are going. As an oil industry lobbyist, Don is undoubtedly more anti-hero than hero, as he works with the Saudi representative and others to put a spanner in the works wherever possible. He even creates his own NGO – The Climate Council – partly out of mischief, but mainly to ensure that he can be as close to the decision makers as possible. By the time we reach Act Two, the scene changes to Kyoto, with all the conference’s planning, subterfuge, arguments and eventual, unexpected, success, largely due to the determined and distinctly quirky style of its Chaiman, Raul Estrada-Oyuela.
A very important and relevant subject – and there are gripping stories to be told about how it happened and indeed the effect it had on its participants. However, Messrs Murphy and Robertson don’t seem to know which story they are giving us here. Is it the story of how the Kyoto agreement came about, or is it the story of Don Pearlman and the tolls it took on his family and health? Clearly, it’s both, and I found this play over-ambitious, muddled and confusing. So many facts and opinions are bombarded at us that it’s very hard to take it all in and there were a few times where I was frankly lost. And although it’s a lively and highly creative production to watch, with Akhila Krishnan’s video design a work of art on its own merit, many aspects of the production detracted from our understanding of what’s going on.
Miriam Buether’s set presents us with a huge round table, with delegate chairs all around; some of which are taken by members of the audience, who I presume, would feel at the very heart of the debates that take place. The opening scene reveals Don Pearlman being approached by a number of darkly dressed, shady characters, luring him into doing their dirty work for them. Round table? Shady characters? It very much feels like we’ve been plunged into an episode of The Traitors.
My main bone of contention with Kyoto is that there is a disconnect between what the play tells us and what the production shows us. The relationship between the play and its audience is – deliberately I’m sure – blurred from the start. Pearlman addresses us in the here and now and takes us back to the 90s. The audience members sitting around the table merge into the action, for example standing up when addressed by their Japanese host. All audience members are wearing COP 3 lanyards, a cute idea that might make us feel more involved, that, however, neither achieves anything or goes anywhere. In a private conversation with the Chair, Ferdy Roberts’ John Prescott offers cherries to an audience member, thereby breaking the illusion that a) it’s a private chat and b) it’s a deadly serious subject.
This blurring continues: there’s a scene that ends with the chandelier in the Pearlmans’ hotel suite shattering, due to some suspected vandalism/threat. It’s not a particularly impressive visual effect to be honest as there’s no chandelier and just a few crunchy bits of shard tumble down on to the stage with all the lethal sharpness of sycamore leaves. Then Jorge Bosch playing Raul comes on stage and has to step through the shards underfoot to continue with his next scene, even though it doesn’t take place in the hotel but in the conference room. Our sense of location is blurred; it’s messy and it’s muddled.
There’s a very poignant moment between John Prescott, who played a significant role as the UK and European Union’s delegate and worked extremely hard to bring sides together, and German Chancellor-to-be Angela Merkel where she marks the commitment both countries have put in to reach this achievement; a solid moment where EU membership truly helped unite old enemies, that I’m sure is meant to suggest a knowing sigh over Brexit.
There’s an article in the programme written by Prescott where he describes those final moments of discussion: “We just kept going, 48 hours without sleep, finding compromise and wearing down opposition. But we got there in the end. You could call it “diplomacy by exhaustion”.” A great phrase. But the scene where Raul is ending the debate and knocking down his gavel time after time to signify assent to each remaining article doesn’t reflect diplomacy by exhaustion – it’s more like diplomacy by pantomime. There’s neither a sense of exhaustion nor gravitas, just a ludicrous comedy scene played for laughs; totally the wrong tone for the moment.
The final scene is given over to a long eulogy by Shirley Pearlman about Don, who has – sorry, spoilers and all that – died. It was because of all those cigarettes he smoked. Really? We’ve been watching him for the last two and a half hours and he only got his lighter out once, and that was just to set fire to a magazine. The poor man was apparently riddled with cancer. Again, really? He complained of backache once. If the play is meant to give us an insight into Don’s personal situation, it does a pretty poor job. The scene goes on for way, way too long and minimises the impact of presenting the Kyoto agreement. My mind went to the final scene of Death of a Salesman and how succinctly and eloquently Willy Loman’s neighbour Charley notes his passing: “Nobody dast blame this man”. If only Kyoto could have had an ending like that.
As you’d expect, the performances go a long way to redeeming the shortcomings of the play. Stephen Kunken gives a superb performance as Pearlman, in a demanding role that requires him to be in the thick of the story and the nonstop conduit with the audience. The ever reliable Dale Rapley is excellent in all his roles including a bullying suave Al Gore and a meddlesome photographer. Nancy Crane is outstanding as the US delegate, trying to play the upper hand because of the importance of her nation but finding herself frequently outwitted. In fact, all the actors playing the national delegates give brilliant performances, including Andrea Gatchalian’s desperate Kiribati, 
Jude Akuwudike’s dogmatic Tanzania and Togo Igawa’s poetic Japan, whose “welcome to Kyoto” speech that opened the second act was one of the play’s most charming moments.
A highly significant achievement in our recent history, the story of the Kyoto agreement should be kept alive for future generations. And whilst this play powerfully conveys the chaos and market-trading of the conference experience, I wish it had told the story in a clearer, less messy way.
Production photos by Manuel Harlan
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