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Rhyme without reason falls flat
THE WAR NEXT DOOR
Tricycle
THE War Next Door, an awful bore, is written in rhyming verse.
I must report, though mercifully short, it couldn’t have been much worse.
I cannot understand how this unmentionable drivel from writer Tamsin Oglesby has made it onto the Tricycle stage.
Oglesby in her programme notes draws a decent parallel between the overthrow of Saddam Hussein’s regime and neighbours plucking up courage to confront domestic violence.
She asks if the liberal argument against the invasion works just as well in the case of domestic violence?
Good idea. But what followed was a travesty that shamed the Kilburn playhouse’s great legacy of political theatre, spanning Guantanamo, Stephen Lawrence and Bloody Sunday.
No stereotype is spared as two English upper-middle-class twits ponder what to do about a foreign tyrant who keeps beating up his pregnant wife.
They are one-dimensional characters, with appalling accents, which left me angry to be alive.
The show self-destructed as the calamitous characters and ignorant argument that felt convoluted as the writer strived to rhyme her lines.
The fundamental faux pas is the bizarre use of rhyme – a vehicle of satire – to pass judgement on a very serious subject. I repeat at pain: “Go and have a look, see. One minute she’s lying down, next she’s jumping about like a flea.”
Rhyme without reason – invest elsewhere.
Until Feb 27
020 73281000
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