Once upon a time Martin McDonagh wrote a disturbing, haunting play called The Pillowman. A sinister tale concerned with the ancient craft of storytelling, it is the perfect play to stage at Halloween, against the backdrop of chilling ghost stories whispered between friends. McDonagh questions the impact that literature can have upon its readers, as his protagonist Katurian is arrested in a police state following a series of child murders that bear an eerie resemblance to his dark short stories.
The first scenes of the play hover in the murky zone between fact and fiction, with the line between storytelling and reality repeatedly blurred. It is not always clear where Katurian’s fabricated fictions end and the truth begins, whilst his police interrogators Tupolski and Ariel frequently employ deceit in an effort to force him into a confession. Interwoven into the plot are terrifying retellings and enactments of Katurian’s stories, one of which, under the veil of fiction, exposes his own horrific childhood and begins to explain his twisted tales.
Theatre Group’s production, ably directed by Rob McGough and Sam Gray and produced by Hannah Griffiths, works wonders with a basic space. The Annex Theatre is transformed into the gloomy, intimidating interrogation room, faintly lit by a single, flickering overhead lightbulb. In a master stroke, audience members enter the auditorium in almost complete darkness, the only light illuminating a distressed and blindfolded Katurian on stage, establishing a tense atmosphere from the outset.
In an impressive cast, Richard Copperwaite in particular stands out as the central character of Katurian, convincing both as the cowering captive and the disturbed master storyteller. At crucial moments his horror is utterly believable and he adds the softness to Katurian, particularly in the scenes with his brother, which is necessary to invite audience sympathy. But it is when he is narrating Katurian’s gruesome stories that he is at his best, with a menacing glint in his eyes that has the power to truly terrify.
He is well supported by fellow cast members Irene Babille and Sam Beath as interrogators Tupolski and Ariel respectively. Babille brings a contained anger to the character of Tupolski which occasionally spills over in excellently judged outbursts and she inserts one brief moment of subtle vulnerability as a counterpoint to her otherwise consistent cynicism. In the early scenes Beath comes across as a relatively two-dimensional ‘bad cop’, but as we gradually learn about his past the performance becomes more nuanced and his anger assumes a tragic air. Alexis Forss also does well as Katurian’s mentally disturbed brother Michael, lending childlike innocence to the role whilst handling the dark comedy successfully, but there were moments where he did not entirely convince.
Although I found McDonagh’s play clever, chilling and thought-provoking, I was ultimately unsure what he is trying to say about storytelling and morality. His question about the power of literature to influence others is never effectively answered; one wonders if his aim was to be provocative rather than to engage with larger issues.
Perhaps we are intended to make our own conclusions, but I am still formulating mine. In the meantime I will have to hope that the nightmares remain at bay.
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