Death and the King's Horseman

Some plays are so sensuous, brilliantly written and dramatic that they literally make me want to either take my clothes off and join the action. It’s fair to say Death and The King’s Horseman is one of those plays. It’s like somebody at a cultural bar offered me a cocktail of all the things I love and put it into one play: History, Melodrama, Yoruba culture, proverbs, dance and music and above all great writing. So, you can understand my excitement when I heard the National Theatre was putting on this play. It’s only the second production of the play in the UK, and a very rare outing for it in the west. For those of you who haven’t seen it, or don’t intend to see it – here’s a little précis. It’s 1944 in Oyo and the King has died; as by tradition, his horseman, has to follow suit by committing suicide; but this is Nigeria in 1994, under British rule, so there are obvious complications in this simple aspect of tradition.

This production is good. Soyinka has always said this play is not about ‘a clash of cultures’ – it is deeper than that; perhaps even more than Soyinka as a writer realized; Kwame Anthony Appiah, the philosopher disagreed with Soyinka’s reading of his own play, saying it was a play about a clash of cultures; but when you see this production you'll realise, Soyinka is right. He's said the inspiration for the play came from seeing a bust of Winston Churchill everyday as a fellow at Cambridge and wanting to smash it. In a sense, that is what he has done, when you see this production, you realise what this play says is, silly billy, you’re in our world, a world you don’t understand. This comes out so clearly from the moment, District Officer Pilkings and his wife first hear the drums playing in their home in which the very furniture seems alive. It is a play, believe it or not, which manages with white characters to take place in an entirely African world. Ultimately, it’s a play about how one man deals with Death; It is not by accident that it’s called Death AND the King’s Horseman, rather than Death of the King’s Horseman. I thought Nonzo Anozie really did draw this aspect of the play out, the tragedy of the matter of a man smaller than the mission to which he is called; the British and their intervention are ultimately flies on the backside of a raging elephant. It isn’t Pilkings that prevents Elesin’s death – it is Elesin’s own weakness, a fatal flaw he admits towards the end of the play. That said, the British are very entertaining flies in this production. Rufus Norris’s decision to cast black actors in whiteface brilliantly underscores the fact that the whole play is a mockery of the posturing and artifice that defined the colonial attitude. I thought I saw some white members of the audience squirm to see black actors sending up the empire so comically, which perhaps shows that the play really takes place in a black African world not controlled by the people who think they are in power. The set is delicious and so evocative, with lampshades that crawl and plant pots that nod, and a world of objects so evocative of the Yoruba saying that the world is a market.

There were obvious limitations in the pronunciation of certain words by the actors, a sin for which they can be forgiven I suppose. Nevertheless, the verbal exertions this play requires are masterfully handled. Nonso Anonzie doesn’t really miss a beat as Elesin-Oba; Claire Benedict as Iyaloja is suitably regal, though I found her (and the praise singer) a bit shrill at times, she still delivered what are the best lines, at the end of the play with aplomb. The only performance that really disappointed me was Kobna Holdbrook-Smith as Olunde. This is a character who is meant to have travelled to England as a sensitive boy and come back to Nigeria as a more worldly and critical, even regal and cerebral character, but Holdbrook-Smith delivers a performance which owes more to Keenan from Keenan and Kel; he waddles about petulantly like a fat and spoilt brat who needs his mommy when he’s supposed to be condemning the British. I wasn’t really sad when he died on stage - I thought good riddance. I hope the actor straightens his spine and plays the character with more of the dignity he deserves. An actor, whose name escapes me now, plays one of the market-women really deserves an award for switching so effortlessly from the high camp British accent to a Nigerian accent, and back again. It’s in one of the market scenes that the quality I appreciated the most in this production comes out, its humour, and the light-heartedness with which it wears its authenticity. I’m glad the national theatre brought this African masterpiece to life, now if only they would sell a larger version of the play’s poster I would be totally happy.