It seems a touch patronising to point out that Bully Boy’s opening at the brand new St James theatre is both topical and timely. Just this week the plight of the British armed forces has made the news again as two more soldiers were killed in Helmand. The sad truth is, this show could have played at pretty much any point in my lifetime and still felt topical.
Playwright Sandi Toksvig may be best known for her comic exploits but, while there are patches of laughter to lighten the mood of her affecting 90 minute drama, this tale of war and its hideous effects demands a serious tone.
Anthony Andrews stars as the wheelchair-using Major investigating a combat incident that climaxed with the most disturbing death of an eight year old boy. Newcomer Joshua Miles plays the northern squaddie, who enlisted aged 16 with no qualifications to his name, suspected of being the team member who perpetrated the heinous crime.
By now you should probably have a fair idea of how the play proceeds. There are few hidden surprises to be found as the piece delves into the psychological effect of modern warfare and the irreparable damage it inflicts not just in the most obvious physical fashion, but also in the hidden mental state of combatants.
Toksvig pulls no punches either. Recounting a pivotal incident, Miles’ Eddie says of his colleagues’ remains: “My friends poured over me”. It is a sickening image.
While Toksvig has a tendency to labour her points with facts and figures that weigh the piece down, sometimes introducing them with all the subtlety of the IED that plays such a prominent role in the story, Andrews and Miles lift it with their performances.
While the veteran, who boasts a brow more furrowed than a county of winter fields, occupies the role of the superior, necessarily cold investigating officer who thaws with time and knowledge, the newcomer gives a feverish performance of perpetual motion, his nervous energy, panic and anger escaping through ticks, leaps and even shivers in a panting performance that feels constantly on the precipice of exhaustion. He puts one in mind of a children’s toy that vibrates when a cord is pulled, but one with unimaginable pain hidden behind its furry façade.
That concept of unimaginable pain is, of course, the major stumbling block. It’s a point reinforced by both characters, who can’t begin to describe their emotions to anyone who hasn’t seen active service. Recounting the horror from the stage gives us a glimpse of the atrocities with which they have to contend, the skewing of viewpoint necessary to survive war, the indoctrination of the armed forces and, in this production, the despicable way that combatants’ mental health is cared for.
It is only a glimpse; a controlled, deliberate glimpse at one incident from one direction. But it is a glimpse that, thanks to Andrews’ and Miles’ memorable performances will help to keep this important conversation going.