Theatre review: Journey’s End- The never-ending futility of war

Written by: R. C. Sherriff
Performed by: The Western Players
Performance Date: 5th November 2014
Venue: The Arts Centre, Old Town, Swindon
Future Performances: 6th 7th and 8th November, at the same venue.
For tickets: 
http://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Swindon/Arts-Centre/Journeys-End-by-R-C-Sherrif-presented-by-the-Western-Players/12205152/

https://www.wegottickets.com/location/7108


I’ve just spent the evening at the theatre watching a play that explores the utter futility of war. The play was first performed in 1929, and it had me thinking. What has really changed in all of these years, in all of these decades of movies and theatre performances, and poems, and paintings, and songs about the futility of war?

What has really changed? Modern warfare is different. Young men no longer kill each other in trenches. Today the young men kill each other from a distance, with high tech weaponry, a missile or a drone. But are the dead any less dead? Are the orders not followed just the same? What has changed?

As I travelled back home I passed Bus shelters with advertisements for the latest video game. A game called ‘Call of Duty,’ a game of war where the young are taught to kill on a computer console. It’s a game. It’s not real. Just like a drone flying over a Pakistani village. Shoot, kill, get medal, complete level, follow orders, you are a hero now. What has changed?

Following orders, the biggest problem that humanity still faces

Journey’s End elicits these emotions. It makes you question, makes you ponder on the futility of endlessly following orders from those in positions of ‘authority.’ What would happen if the young men said No? What would happen if humanity as a whole refused to kill each other, for the rich, for the country, for the corporation, for the medals, for the banks, for the oil companies?

There was a heavy scent of authenticity about the entire performance of Journey's End, an aroma that wafted through the excellent set, the muddy boots, the ringing wet socks, the cigarette smoke, the unwashed bodies, the sweat and grime of waiting to die in a military uniform.

The performances increased in intensity as the play progressed. This was the opening night of the show, and the confidence of the cast increased and increased, rising at a crescendo until the very final scene, a scene that wiped away all recollection of Private Baldrick and his Rat au Van. Instead you are left with a sense of deep sadness that these funny, complicated, tormented, decent men died because they were told to die, and being honest patriotic chaps, they felt it was their duty to do so.

Four members of the excellent cast

As the play concludes The Western Players leave the audience in a state of numbness, of shock. There were jokes during the play, but none at the end. The shadows of Blackadder, Ronnie Barker and Allo Allo loomed, but the emptiness of following orders shone through as the final curtain dropped.

It’s so sad, and more so in the knowledge that this order following mindset continues today. No, we don’t have the draft, but what we do have instead is a dearth of opportunities for the young, working class men living in this country today.

In the Swindon town army recruitment centre window there is a list. A list of how much you will be paid if you put on a uniform and go to die in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Libya, or Syria. Iran next? Probably. The pay is very, very good. Far better than what you would get working in a warehouse or at Tesco’s. So no, there is no draft today. That has changed. Instead there is the money, the possibility of getting out of unemployment, out of hopelessness, out of drug addiction, petty crime and prison. It is poison laden bait, and sadly enough, far too many of our young men take it.

Journey’s End is an excellent play, performed at a very high standard by the Western Players. So much has already been said about the futility of war, but this play is far from derivative. Instead, it is funny, sad, and agonising in it poignancy, but the final emotion it tears from me is pure, hot anger. Yes, anger. It made me feel tremendous anger that the wars of yesterday are not so different from the wars of today. Things have changed, but they remain the same. Lessons are unlearnt, and the business of war continues as usual.

Rating: 9/10