Scottish theatre’s continuing conversation regarding the nature of belonging and identity finds a fresh stage to play out in Nat McCleary’s Thrown. A tale of 5 women brought together by the traditional Celtic sport of Backhold Wrestling, it’s a deceptive tale, only revealing its true thesis in its final pages.
First however, Director Johnny McKnight, and movement specialist Lucy Glassbrook orchestrate a bobby dazzler of an opening, introducing us to our heroes as spandex clad entertainers in a WWE-esque extravaganza. Pay enough attention and it’s a microcosm of the dramatic conflict to come.
Chantelle (Chloe-Ann Tylor) and Jo (Adiza Shardow) are lifelong best friends, both young and ambitious but in different ways. The former is a product of a relatively poor home, the latter better-off though hardly affluent. ‘Rice-Crispie’ and ‘Coco-pop’ they nickname each other, Jo being the product of an Irish father, and deceased Jamaican mother. Race has never entered into their discussions, and never into Chantelle’s mind.
That is until they join the wrestling club, run by the assertive Pamela (Lesley Hart), who dreams of Highland Game glory, whilst wrestling with her own identity, and unspoken ambitions to have a child. Two further recruits, wildly different from each other, will set the proverbial cat amongst the pidgeons. First is Helen (Maureen Carr), a little older than typical newbie, widowed and search of change and community. Then there’s Imogen (Efé Agwele), also young, but from the wealthy side of town, plus she’s black.
Thematically the play is a study of intersectional feminism, each woman sharing in the pressures unique to their sex, but differing in the other forces bearing down upon them. Their shared pursuit of physical and combatitive excellence offers a pool of strength, even whilst their ideas spark off each others’ which unpredictable outcomes. Belonging and ‘Scottishness’ arise again and again, asking who precisely has permission to define what it even means.
The acting is uniformly excellent, each creating a complete character, driven by motivations so strong they almost rise like smoke from their skin. Agwele’s impressive, empowered Imogen is determined to put Jo in touch with her black roots. Chantelle, played with immense heart by Tylor, is desperate to maintain her life-stabilising relationship with Jo. All whilst Jo, a subtle, nuanced performance from Shardow, is made to confront the differences between them, and whether this friendship has run its natural course. It’s a triangle not entirely virtuous, and not a little vicious.
Helen is sure life is far too short for conflict, and that women should be supporting women, end of story. Her crisis deciphered by this older woman, coach Pamela finds she has something to learn, even whilst her brutal wrestling lessons inject a new agency into her supporter’s life. McCleary’s play might be structured around the group’s adventures on the highland games circuit, but the drama is all in their constantly evolving relationships.
Pamela’s coaching sessions aren’t quite metaphors for the play’s grander ideas, but they do create a pressurised environment in which philosophical conflict is married to the physical. The concept of ‘Thrown’ is thus manifest, a moment of defeat, but also clarity. Hart is superb, embodying coach Pamela’s internal conflicts without the least melodrama, and vibrant when taking her into battle. Carr’s delightful Helen is, in many ways the Shakespearean fool of the piece, embodying a simple, compassionate brand of wisdom at first unrecognised by the group, but ultimately indispensable. It is she who ultimately offers an inclusive approach to ‘Scottishness’, inviting the rest to look past their own ideological bailiwicks.
Karen Tennent’s set proves an active, and integral part to proceedings. The wall of gym bars immediately sets the scene, whilst a cunningly illuminated backing screen proves a versatile asset. Movement specialist McLeary and McKnight keep their players in action, rarely allowing conversations to grow static, and only then to emphasise a pivotal moment. There’s immense physicality to the piece, as their should be given the subject matter, but it’s delivered with style and purpose. There’s also a rich seam of comedy throughout, a mixture of the adrenaline fuelled banter familiar to sports clubs, and in the clash of cultures represented by the diverse clube membership.
‘Thrown’ may avoid offering much in the way of resolutions to the show’s conflicts, but there is an empowering undercurrent. Perhaps even the most priceless of friendships have an expiration date, and there may be no easy definition of ‘Scottishness’, but in embracing community, all derive strength.
It could all ring false, feel a little fable-esque, but McLeary’s script astutely avoids making either hero or villain of either Chantelle or Imogen. Both are human beings with their own virtues, along with the flaws, and simply having good intentions doesn’t make you a good person. In the end, people can be their own worst enemies, and the only hope these women have of negotiating their differences, is in finding ways to talk to each other of difficult things.
Chantelle does have some regressive views on ‘Scottishness’ but in crying ‘bigot’, Imogen reduces the possibility of conversation and progress. When the two cackle and share laughs in the club bus, it’s clear a connection is possible, if only they can negotiate their intersecting challenges. The kilt device brought in later in the drama might be a touch obvious, but it’s well meant.
Imogen is absolutely correct that Jo cannot live her life in service to Chantelle, and yet Chantelle’s heart and well-being deserve compassion, and a life time of mutually supportive friendship is not something to jettison without a fight. It’s in refusing to cast Chantelle as the play’s baddie, that McLeary’s tale finally reveals itself for the call for conversation and not conflict it is. There are no angels in ‘Thrown’, but when they work, and talk together there’s a real possibilty of flight. The text might offer a little more in the way of concrete outcomes, but the finale remains satisfactory nonethless.
All in all, ‘Thrown’ is a fine new piece of writing, and this National Theatre of Scotland staging is as fresh and innovative as we’ve come to expect from Scotland’s ‘Theatre without Walls.’ It is big, it is brutal, it is funny, and it might well make some audiences feel uncomfortable. Good.
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