The Witness *****

Jerwood Upstairs, Royal Court Theatre, London

“the piece’s potence is more immediately to be found from the thrall in which the actors grip you, rather than through presenting issues which resonate long afterwards.”

The Witness depicts a father-daughter relationship unravelling as the adopted Alex embraces her Rwandan background and learns disturbing secrets about her rescue from the genocide. Indubitably, Vivienne Franzmann has written a very good play. This is, however, a startlingly brilliant production, due to some impeccable direction by Simon Godwin and truly outstanding performances by Pippa Bennett-Warner as Alex and Danny Webb as father Joseph.

The actors are quite astonishingly believable in their construction of characters and relationships (whilst David Ajala (who plays Simon) never quite reaches the dizzy heights of the other pair, his consistently high quality performance never lowered it from the stratosphere either). The audience are wholly immersed in the action, (often uncomfortably) privy to arguments and displays of affection that are normally reserved for private moments. The acting never felt acted, the dialogue didn’t seem scripted, and the plot progression never appeared forced. To complete the audience’s complete immersion into a family’s insular little world, the seating is cleverly designed to become a part of the house the actors are based in. The entrance into the studio space is also the house’s hallway, complete with hanging coats and umbrella stands, whilst the aisle next to me also acts as the staircase upstairs to the loo and bedroom. The care and attention given to constructing verisimilitude is meticulous. It was, beyond doubt, the most credible performance – in every way – that I have ever seen.

The play doesn’t say anything especially new or fresh about the Rwandan genocide, but it does remind us of it, how recent it all was, and does well to place it in the context of British life today. Through the intelligent Alex, it presents us with the potential that so many massacred people might have had if born into a different life. It also provides a cynical insight into what we British emotionally respond to and how art can be employed as a tool to manipulate this. The age-old question of whether the end justifies the means is posed, but to be honest the piece’s potence is more immediately to be found from the thrall in which the actors grip you, rather than through presenting issues which resonate long afterwards.