THE explosive impact of Gagarin Way, Gregory Burke’s first play two years ago, was always going to be a tough act to follow. And sure enough his new play, The Straits, is a very different beast.Had The Straits appeared first, however, we would still be welcoming a distinctive new voice. It has the same carefully paced build-up to a shocking climax and the same persuasive ear for dialogue (even among a cast of inarticulate teenagers). And, in linking masculinity with military adventurism, it asks some searching questions about exactly what options are on offer to the majority of young men.
Three youths haul themselves out of the sea on the edge of Rosia Bay in Britain’s strange southern European garrison at Gibraltar. They have been shooting octopus but it is May 1982 and the real shooting, in the Falklands, is about to start. Darren, 15 and newly arrived on the Rock, has met up with Doink and Jock, a year older but longer resident. They are lean and fit from the outdoor life. Darren has some catching up to do in every sense. Doink is the alpha male, leaking testosterone from every pore, whose only purpose in life is to join the Marines.
All three just want to be men. If they can’t fight the Argentinians like the men in the Task Force, well then the Spanish (Spain supported Argentina during the war) on “anti-English day”, an annual unofficial rumble with the local youth, will do nicely.
But outside forces interrupt the boys’ bonding. One is Darren’s older sister Tracey, who tries to protect her easily led brother while at the same time feeling somewhat drawn to Doink. The other is personal news from the war itself.
Unable to take this in at any level, Doink becomes bullying and withdrawn. Darren, increasingly desperate to win his approval, ends up provoking a tragedy on the same day that British troops establish a bridgehead on the Falklands. Burke’s bleak coda suggests that, far from bringing them all to their senses, this really does secure Darren’s acceptance with Doink.
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This is a serious and, in many ways, a subtler play about manhood from Burke, which takes a different approach from the rash of urban male plays in the 1990s. Most of the pyrotechnics, such as the arresting opening in which three young men in swimming trunks climb up and writhe damply over Neil Warmington’s simple cruciform platform stage, come from John Tiffany’s inventive production.
But with four excellent performances (James Marchant, in a highly impressive debut, struts around like a turkey-cock) this is a solid follow-up.
Until August 24. Box office: 0131-248 1404