In the opening moments of Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, we hear the recorded voice of George Dubya Bush promising figurative sunflowers and butterflies when Saddam Hussein is toppled, and we all know how well that went. Mind you, I can’t talk, I’m as much to blame as anyone, as I fully believed that Saddam had those Weapons of Mass Destruction. After all, we sold them to him! He must have hidden them somewhere… Best not go there.
Unlike Rajiv Joseph, whose play goes there all guns blazing. He fearlessly pulls apart the Iraqi war of 2003, in an attempt to analyse the nature of war and warriors, the damage they do and the consequences they have. At least, I think that’s what he’s doing; it’s a very complicated play! In the case of this particular war, he also turns his attention to the almost unique position that interpreters have, working on the ground as a link between occupying forces/liberators (your choice) and local people. Do they count as warriors, or are they more like support staff, akin to army medics? A problematic situation calls for a problematic play, and Joseph certainly delivers that.
The inspiration comes from the bombing of Baghdad which, inter alia, caused the zoo to be destroyed, and all the animals escaped except the zoo’s solitary Bengal Tiger. With no keepers to look after him and no regular meals, he was starving to death in his enclosure. He was discovered when two American soldiers reconnoitred the zoo; one of the soldiers tried to feed it, resulting in the tiger attacking him. Unsurprisingly, the tiger was shot and killed. A relatively minor incident in terms of the war as a whole, but a fascinating springboard for an exploration of the casualties of military action.
Dubya’s opening speech sets the tone for two and a half hours of dramatic irony; those sunflowers and butterflies remain noticeably absent. The play is structured as a series of episodes or stand-alone scenes; if you want a connecting narrative you have to do the work yourself. It teems with complex ideas that crash into each other, making it hard to draw conclusions or see easy solutions to putting an end to conflict. The chaos of war is everywhere – not only noise, destruction, death and disfigurement, but also miscommunication, mental breakdown and the suspension of logic (a hand job costs ten dollars more than full sex, sorry if you’re having lunch).
Omar Elerian’s production emphasises the chaos within the play, relying on many alienation techniques, with incomprehensible or inappropriate language and accents, disturbing sudden loud bangs, blackouts, flashing lights and so on, the constant presence of ghosts; not to mention a talking tiger.
Ah yes, the fourth wall-breaking tiger; whom we see as a slightly disgruntled, lazy beast in his cage until he gets shot, after which he becomes a ghost for the rest of the play. He’s the most interesting and entertaining character, with his bitchy disdain of the lions, self-loathing for being stupid enough to be caught and brought from the wild, regret for a moment of madness when he killed and ate two children – but he was hungry, what was he meant to do? – and his extraordinary progress towards a state of redemption, culminating in – he thinks – meeting God. Clearly, this is not just any tiger. In Peter Forbes’ brilliant performance he invests the tiger with a broad, gruff Scottish accent that sets him apart from both the locals and the Americans. Arguably, the tiger is the only character who behaves with dignity and without guile; truly honest from the start, whilst all the other characters are playing a part or going rogue. I’m not sure if there is actually a message in this play, but if there is, it’s probably: be more Tiger.
You definitely don’t want to be like the two American soldiers who “liberate” the zoo in the opening scene. Tom ends up with a prosthetic hand after the tiger takes a bite, and his only hope for the future is making a bit of money on Ebay by selling Uday Hussain’s gold revolver and his gold toilet seat – except that he has lost them in the chaos of war. Upbeat and arrogant Kev, who’s only interested in who’s getting some pussy (again, apologies), loses his senses in a delicate but tense operation involving locals and the interpreter Musa, becomes hospitalised as he can’t get the ghost of the tiger out of his head, and eventually becomes a ghost himself after chopping off his own hand. This is war: no one gets out alive. But then again, is it fair to expect an ordinary bloke off the street from Michigan (no offence) to excel in the theatre of war?
Even Musa is haunted by the ghost of Uday Hussain, Saddam’s flamboyant and extravagant son, for whom he gardened before the war and who regrets introducing his sister to the villainous wretch. At a rough count towards the end, I think the number of ghosts probably outweighs the number of survivors.
Rajha Shakiry’s set admirably reflects the disarray of the chaos of war, with its crumbling walls, relentless sand, and comfortless concrete platforms. Even the poor tiger only has an old tyre to play with. Jackie Shemesh’s lighting design adds to the shock horror of war, with suggestions of a burning city in the background; a small thing, but I did enjoy how the lighting made a ceiling fan turn into helicopter blades – very inventive.
Excellent performances from the always superb Arinzé Kene as Kev, his confident bluster turning to mush has he falls further into mental torment, and Patrick Gibson as Tom who lets his guard down at a fatal moment. Amma Haj Ahmad gives an intense and disturbing performance as Musa, the translator who perhaps has an overdeveloped sense of his own significance and needs to find his own course of survival; and Sayyid Aki is disconcertingly entertaining as the alarmingly unpredictable Uday. It’s a shame that there are no meaningful female voices in this play, but that is perhaps a fair reflection of the events of this war.
Imperfectly impressive, infuriatingly inconclusive, at times hard to understand and always challenging for the audience. It’s not an easy watch, and the alienating techniques can get to you. Sometimes you feel this is more of an intellectual exercise than an absorbing or rewarding play; perhaps reflecting this, there was hardly any applause at the end of the first Act, and there were several non-returners after the interval. But you have to admire the surreal originality of the play, the talent of the cast and the effectiveness of the production. And in spite of its content, it genuinely is strangely entertaining! Bengal Tiger stalks the stage of the Young Vic until 31st January.
Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!